So here's a fun fact I learned: demonic binding rituals feel like being struck by lightning while simultaneously drowning in molten lava.
Zero out of ten stars, would not recommend. Definitely leaving a bad Yelp review.
The kiss, and I'm using that term 'very' loosely here because "kiss" implies something romantic or consensual and this was neither, it wasn't anything like what you'd expect. No soft lips or gentle pressure or any of that romance novel nonsense.
This was 'power'.
Raw, unfiltered, absolutely terrifying power flooding into me through the point where Azryth's mouth pressed against mine.
It felt like my veins were filling with fire, like something was rewriting my DNA one excruciating cell at a time. The symbols spinning around us flared so bright I could see them through my closed eyelids, searing afterimages into my retinas.
I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except feel this foreign 'thing' burrowing into my chest, wrapping around my heart, my lungs, my very soul, and 'squeezing'.
Somewhere distant, I heard myself make a sound. Not quite a scream, more like all the air being forced from my lungs in one agonized gasp.
Azryth's hand on the back of my neck tightened, holding me in place as the binding took hold. I felt something in my chest 'shift', like puzzle pieces clicking together, like two separate things becoming irrevocably one.
Then, just when I thought I might actually die (and honestly, death seemed like a pretty good option at that point), it stopped.
The burning faded to a dull ache, the pressure released, Azryth pulled back, and I would've collapsed if he hadn't been holding me up.
"There," he said, sounding infuriatingly composed, like he hadn't just performed magical open-heart surgery via face-mashing. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
I tried to respond, tried to tell him exactly where he could shove his "wasn't so bad." What came out was more of a strangled wheeze.
"You'll adjust," he continued, still holding me upright with one hand. "The initial integration is always the most... intense."
My vision was doing weird things. Blurring at the edges, colors too bright, shadows too dark, and there was something else. Something wrong.
I could 'feel' him. Not physically, though his hand was still on my arm. But deeper, closer, like he was right there inside my ribcage, a foreign presence that definitely shouldn't be there.
"What..." I managed. "What did you..."
"The binding is complete." He released me, and I immediately swayed. "Our lifeforces are now intertwined. Congratulations."
I wanted to punch him. Would've tried, except my limbs felt like jelly and the room was spinning.
"You..." Deep breath. Another. "You said it wouldn't hurt."
"I said it wouldn't hurt permanently." He had the audacity to smile. "Minor distinction."
"I hate you."
"Yes, I imagine you do."
The world tilted sideways, or maybe I was tilting, hard to tell. Everything was getting fuzzy around the edges, darkness creeping in from all sides.
"Oh," Azryth said, like he'd just remembered something mildly important. "You might experience some side effects, disorientation, fatigue, possible unconsciousness. Completely normal for mortals undergoing infernal integration."
"You... could've... mentioned..." The words came out slurred.
"Where's the fun in that?"
That was the last thing I heard before everything went black.
***
I woke up convinced I was dead.
Not like metaphorically dead, like "ugh, Monday morning" dead. Literally dead. Because there was no way I was still alive after whatever the hell had happened last night.
Except dead people probably don't feel this comfortable.
I was lying on something soft, really soft. The kind of soft that suggested a mattress that cost more than my car, high thread count sheets that felt like actual clouds against my skin, a pillow that cradled my head in what I can only describe as expensive luxury.
This was definitely not my apartment.
I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and I mean 'floor-to-ceiling'. The kind of windows you see in architectural magazines, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The morning sun turned everything golden, illuminating a bedroom that was easily three times the size of my entire apartment.
The bed I was in could've comfortably slept four people, maybe five if they were friendly.
Dark wood frame, pristine white sheets, more pillows than any human could reasonably need. Across the room stood a dresser that probably cost more than my yearly salary, topped with what looked like actual art. Not prints. Original art.
Everything screamed money. Old money. The kind of wealth that didn't bother with price tags because price was never a concern.
I sat up slowly, my body protesting every movement. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, a truck made of fire, that also maybe ran me over a few times for good measure.
That's when I noticed my wrist.
There, on the inside of my left wrist, was a mark. A sigil. Intricate lines forming a pattern that seemed to shift when I looked at it directly, symbols that hurt my brain to process. It glowed faintly, pulsing with a soft amber light in rhythm with my heartbeat.
And just like that, last night came flooding back.
The gala, the storm, the amulet, the impossibly attractive demon who'd literally forced a magical contract on me via non-consensual kissing.
"Oh god," I whispered. "That actually happened."
"Good morning."
I nearly fell off the bed.
Azryth stood in the doorway, looking like he'd just stepped out of a cologne commercial. Same impeccable suit (or maybe a different impeccable suit, hard to tell when they all probably cost a fortune). Hair perfectly styled, not a single wrinkle or crease or any indication that he'd recently performed a demonic binding ritual.
Meanwhile, I was pretty sure I looked like death warmed over.
"You," I croaked, my voice rough. "You... we..."
"Yes." He moved into the room with that same predatory grace, carrying what looked like a coffee cup. "We did. Though I'd appreciate it if you could form complete sentences, I find partial thoughts tedious."
I stared at him, at the mark on my wrist, then back at him.
"This is real," I said. "This is actually, genuinely, really real."
"Astute observation." He set the coffee cup on the nightstand beside me. "I was beginning to worry the binding had damaged your cognitive functions. Good to know you're merely slow, not impaired."
The coffee smelled incredible, rich and dark and exactly what I needed. I didn't touch it.
"Where am I?"
"My penthouse." He gestured vaguely at the expansive room. "Top floor of Valek Tower, seemed more practical than leaving you unconscious in the exhibit hall."
"You brought me here, to your home."
"Where else would I bring my newly bound spouse?"
The word hit me like a physical blow. "Spouse."
"Did the binding scramble your hearing as well?" He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Spouse, husband, if you prefer the traditional term, the contract we enacted last night is legally and magically binding in both mortal and infernal jurisdictions."
I looked down at the sigil on my wrist. At the mark that apparently meant I was married to a literal demon.
"No," I said. "No, absolutely not. This is... there has to be a way to undo this."
"There isn't." He said it with such casual finality. "The binding is permanent, well, permanent until death, but given that our lifeforces are now intertwined, death would be... mutually inconvenient."
"Mutually..." I couldn't even finish the sentence. "You're saying if I die, you die?"
"And vice versa." He examined his fingernails like we were discussing the news. "One of the less appealing aspects of the arrangement, I'll admit. Try not to get hit by any buses."
This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. I was Riven Kael, a data analyst, professional nobody, my biggest life drama was choosing between Netflix shows.
I was not married to a demon CEO.
"I want out," I said. "Right now. I want out of this... whatever this is."
"Can't." He moved to the windows, looking out over the city like a king surveying his domain. "Separation would trigger the binding's fail-safe, specifically, it would kill us both in approximately seventy-two hours. Quite painfully, from what I understand."
"You... you can't just..." I grabbed the coffee cup because I needed something to do with my hands. "This is kidnapping, this is illegal. This is..."
"Perfectly legal, actually." He turned back to me, and those ember eyes were unreadable. "As of approximately three this morning, you are legally registered as my spouse in every relevant database. Corporate records, government files, even the supernatural registry that most mortals don't know exists."
I nearly dropped the coffee. "You forged marriage documents?"
"I didn't forge anything." A small, dangerous smile. "The binding itself generated the necessary paperwork. Infernal contracts are quite thorough, your employer has already been notified of your change in marital status and living arrangements, I took the liberty of having your belongings transferred here this morning."
"My... my belongings?"
He gestured toward a door I hadn't noticed. "Your clothes are in the closet, personal items in the study. I had my people sort everything, they were quite efficient."
This was insane.
This was absolutely, completely, utterly insane.
"I have rights," I said, knowing even as I said it how ridiculous it sounded. "You can't just... people will notice I'm missing, they'll ask questions."
"Will they?" He tilted his head. "Let's see, you're a mid-level employee with no immediate family, few close friends, a very notable tendency toward isolation and avoiding social interaction. Who, exactly, is going to notice? Your manager Karen? I assure you, she's thrilled to have a connection to Valek Industries through you."
Each word was like a knife. Because he was right. I'd spent so long building my boring, invisible life that I'd effectively made myself disappear.
"The media will eat this up, of course," Azryth continued. "Mysterious whirlwind romance between the reclusive CEO and a nobody employee. Very tabloid-friendly. My PR team is already drafting the official statement."
"I never agreed to any of this."
"You agreed to the binding." His voice went cold. "Everything else is consequence."
I wanted to throw the coffee cup at his perfect face, wanted to wake up and discover this was all some horrible nightmare.
Instead, I looked down at the glowing sigil on my wrist, at the proof that my life as I knew it was over.
"What happens now?" I asked quietly.
"Now?" Azryth moved back toward the door. "Now you learn to live with the binding, play your part as my devoted spouse for the cameras and curious colleagues." He paused in the doorway. "And try not to do anything stupid that might get us both killed, I've worked too hard to die because my accidental husband walked in front of a bus."
"I hate you," I said again.
"Yes," he replied. "You've mentioned that."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone in a bedroom that cost more than I'd make in a lifetime, marked with a sigil I didn't want, legally bound to a demon I'd met less than twelve hours ago.
I looked at the coffee, at the expensive room, at the city sprawling beyond the windows.
"I didn't sign up for this," I whispered to no one.
The sigil on my wrist pulsed in what I swear was agreement.