Chapter 2 The Mark That Burns
MIREYA'S POV
He steps out of the shadows, and I forget how to breathe.
This isn't what demons are supposed to look like. In all my research, in every picture and description, demons were monsters. Horrible creatures with twisted faces and rotting skin.
But he's beautiful.
Terrifyingly, impossibly beautiful.
Tall, with skin that seems to glow with a strange silver light. Black hair that moves like it's alive. And those eyes—golden like melted honey, staring straight into me like he can see every secret I've ever kept.
Then I see his wings.
Massive wings spread behind him, black as midnight but torn and scarred. And horns curve from his head, darker than the shadows around him.
My brain finally catches up with my body. I stumble backward, tripping over my own feet.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no. What did I do?"
The demon's eyes narrow. When he speaks, his voice sounds like velvet being dragged over broken glass. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
"After five hundred years in that hell," he says slowly, "I'm summoned by... you?"
Five hundred years? My mind races through everything I studied. Only one demon was imprisoned five hundred years ago. Only one was powerful enough that it took every angel in existence to trap him.
"Azraeth," I breathe. The name tastes like ash in my mouth. "You're the Demon King."
The stories about him flood back. The Burning of Thornwood where he killed an entire coven of witches. The Blood Plague of 1523 that murdered thousands of people. The Massacre at Greyhaven where children died screaming.
I summoned a mass murderer.
I'm going to die.
His lips curve into something that might be a smile if smiles could kill. "So you've heard of me."
Before I can run, before I can even move, pain explodes in my chest.
I scream. It feels like someone pressed a burning iron against my skin. I claw at my shirt, trying to make it stop. My fingers find bare skin over my heart, and it's hot enough to burn.
Through my tears, I see black lines appearing on my chest. Symbols and writing I recognize from my research, glowing like dying embers. They twist and spiral, forming a mark right over my heart.
Across from me, Azraeth staggers. His hand clutches his own chest. His face—that terrifying, beautiful face—twists in shock and something that looks like horror.
"No," he snarls, and for the first time, he sounds afraid. "Not you. Not again!"
The pain fades slowly, leaving me gasping on the floor. I look down at my chest. The mark is still there, black as ink, pulsing with a faint red glow.
"What did you do to me?" My voice comes out broken and scared.
"I did nothing." He's breathing hard too, still holding his chest. "You did this. That mark is a soul bond. The rarest magic in existence."
"What does that mean?"
His golden eyes lock onto mine, and I see ancient rage burning there. "It means your soul called to mine across the veil. It means we're connected now. Bound. Your life feeds mine."
My stomach drops. "Bound? Like... forever?"
"Forever," he confirms. Then his expression turns darker. "And if you die, I die with you. If I die, you die with me. We're stuck together, little scholar."
The walls feel like they're closing in. I can't breathe. This was supposed to prove my research was real. This was supposed to give me power to fight back against everyone who hurt me.
Instead, I chained myself to a monster.
"No," I shake my head frantically. "No, there has to be a way to break it. There has to—"
The door to the summoning chamber explodes inward.
Wood and stone fly everywhere. I throw my arms over my head as debris rains down.
When I look up, my heart stops completely.
Kieran stands in the doorway.
My ex-fiancé. The man who stole everything from me. He's here, with six armed guards behind him, all holding weapons that glow with magic.
But Kieran isn't looking at the guards. He's staring at Azraeth with wild, hungry eyes. The kind of look a starving man gives food.
"I knew it!" Kieran shouts, and he's laughing. Actually laughing. "I knew you were stupid enough to try it, Mireya! Do you have any idea what you've just given me?"
The guards raise their weapons.
Kieran points at us both. "Capture them! Alive if possible. I want the demon especially. This is going to make me the most powerful mage in history!"
Azraeth steps in front of me.
I blink, shocked. The Demon King—the monster who supposedly killed thousands—is shielding me with his own body.
His wings spread wide, blocking me from view. His voice drops to something low and dangerous.
"Who," he asks quietly, "is this insect?"
Despite everything—the terror, the pain, the absolute insanity of this situation—I feel something hot and fierce rise in my chest.
"My ex-fiancé," I hear myself say. "The one who stole everything from me."
Azraeth's smile is the most terrifying thing I've ever seen.
"How convenient," he purrs. "I was starting to worry I'd lost my touch fo
r creative violence."
Then all hell breaks loose.