Chapter 6 Waking Up Marked
MIREYA'S POV
I'm drowning in someone else's memories.
A woman with dark hair stands in moonlight, holding hands with a demon king who looks younger, less scarred. She's laughing at something he said. He looks at her like she's his entire world.
"I love you," she whispers. "Even if it damns us both."
"Then we'll be damned together," he replies.
The scene shifts. Blood. So much blood. The woman—Morwenna—lies dying in Azraeth's arms. An angel stands over them, her white wings splattered with red, her sword dripping.
"This is what happens when you corrupt the pure," the angel says. Seraphina. I recognize her from earlier.
Morwenna reaches up with a bloody hand. Touches Azraeth's face. "Find me," she gasps. "I'll come back. My soul will find yours. We'll—"
She dies. Azraeth screams.
I wake up screaming too.
My chest heaves. Sweat soaks through my torn clothes. For a horrible second, I don't know who I am. Mireya or Morwenna? Present or past? Alive or dead?
"Easy." A hand touches my shoulder. Gentle but firm. "You're safe. You're in the cathedral."
Azraeth. His voice anchors me back to reality.
I'm Mireya. Not the dead witch from five hundred years ago. I'm me.
But her memories sit in my head now, fresh as my own. I remember loving him. Remember dying for him. Remember making that last desperate promise.
"What did you do to me?" My voice comes out hoarse. Raw.
"I did nothing." Azraeth sits back. He looks worse than before—black veins crawl up his neck, his eyes are dimmer, his breathing labored. "The bond is awakening Morwenna's memories. Your soul remembers what your mind forgot."
I scramble away from him until my back hits cold stone. The cathedral is ruined around us. Scorch marks on the walls. Broken benches. Shattered windows letting moonlight pour in.
"I don't want her memories!" My hands shake. "I don't want to be someone else!"
"You're not someone else. You're you—with her soul." He tilts his head, studying me. "Does it feel like you're her? Or does it feel like remembering something that happened to you?"
I open my mouth to argue. Then stop. Because he's right. The memories don't feel foreign. They feel like mine. Like I was there. Like I was her, just... before.
"I died," I whisper. "She—I—died in your arms. Seraphina killed me because I chose you over her crusade."
"Yes."
"And you were trapped. Tortured. For five hundred years."
"Yes."
Rage builds in my chest. Not mine. Hers. Ours. "They took everything from us."
"They did." His expression darkens. "And they'll do it again if we let them. Seraphina won't stop until you're dead. Lilith won't stop until she's harvested your power. And the curse won't stop until I'm gone." He gestures to his chest where the mark pulses with dying light. "We have maybe twelve hours. Then the curse finishes what the angels started."
Twelve hours. Half a day. Then the demon bonded to my soul dies, and I either die with him or lose everything I just gained.
"The ritual," I say. "You said we need to complete the bonding ritual."
"You remember that conversation?" He sounds surprised. "You were barely conscious."
"I remember everything now. Your memories. Hers. Mine. They're all tangled together." I press my hands to my head. "It's too much. There's too much in here."
"It'll settle." He moves closer. Not touching, but close enough that I feel his warmth. "Your mind will organize it. Give it time."
"We don't have time!" I look at him. Really look at him. The demon king from Morwenna's memories was powerful, confident, unstoppable. This one is dying by inches. "You're fading. I can feel it through the bond. You're getting weaker every hour."
"I know."
"Then we do the ritual. Now. Tonight."
"No." His voice is firm. Hard.
"What?" I stare at him. "You said completing the bond would break the curse!"
"It would. But I won't force you into it while you're confused about whose memories are whose." He stands slowly. His wings drag on the ground, too heavy to lift. "Morwenna chose me freely. If you complete this ritual, I need it to be Mireya's choice. Not her ghost making decisions through you."
Something cracks in my chest. Not the mark. Something deeper.
He's dying. The curse is eating him alive. And he's refusing salvation because he wants me to choose him for real.
Kieran never cared what I wanted. He used me for my research and threw me away.
My mother sold me before I was born.
My whole life, people have made decisions for me, about me, without me.
And this demon—this supposed monster—is the first one who ever asked what I actually want.
"You're an idiot," I say. My voice breaks. "You're going to die because you're too honorable to take what you need."
"Probably." He smiles slightly. It's sad. Tired. "But I spent five hundred years being powerless. Having no choices. I won't take yours away, even if it costs me everything."
I stand. Walk to him. We're close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"You want to know what I choose?" I ask.
"Yes."
"I choose rage." The words come from somewhere deep and true. "I choose to stop being the victim. I choose power. I choose to make everyone who hurt us suffer." I press my hand over his heart, over the mark that matches mine. "And I choose you. Not because some prophecy says I should. Not because Morwenna's memories are bleeding through. But because you're the only one who ever treated me like I matter."
His hand covers mine. His skin burns like fever.
"You're sure?" he asks quietly. "Once we complete the bond, there's no going back. You'll be changed forever. Part demon. Part witch. Something the world has never seen."
"Good." I smile, and it feels fierce. Dangerous. "Let them fear what I've become."
Something shifts in his eyes. Heat. Hunger. Pride.
"Then we begin at dawn," he says. "The blood moon sets in a few hours. We'll need daylight for the ritual. Demon bonds formed under sunlight are stronger—they can't be broken by angel magic."
"Dawn," I agree.
He releases my hand. Steps back. But through the bond, I feel his emotions. Relief. Hope. And underneath it all, fear.
Fear that something will go wrong. That he'll lose me again.
I'm about to reassure him when pain explodes through my skull.
I gasp, clutching my head. The memories—they're not settling. They're multiplying. Fragmenting. I see Morwenna's childhood. Her first spell. The day she met Azraeth. Their first kiss. Their bonding ritual.
But I also see my own memories. Growing up ignored. Kieran's betrayal. Summoning Azraeth. Everything tangling together until I can't tell where she ends and I begin.
"Mireya?" Azraeth catches me as I stumble. "What's wrong?"
"The memories—there's too many—I can't—"
A new memory slams into me. Not mine. Not Morwenna's.
Someone else's.
A woman in dark robes stands over a cradle. A baby—me—sleeps inside. The woman weaves magic over the child, whispering words I somehow understand.
"Sleep, little demon-touched. Sleep and forget. Your power is mine. Your destiny is mine. You'll never know what you could have been."
Lilith. Cursing me as an infant.
But there's someone else in the memory. Watching from the doorway. My mother. Helena Ashcroft. She's crying, but she doesn't stop it. Doesn't save me.
"I'm sorry," my mother whispers. "But Celeste must be safe. You understand, don't you? Someone has to be sacrificed."
The memory releases me. I collapse in Azraeth's arms, shaking.
"She watched," I gasp. "My mother stood there and watched while Lilith cursed me. She chose my sister over me before I could even talk."
Through the bond, Azraeth's rage mirrors mine. He pulls me closer, and for a moment, I let myself lean on someone. Let myself be held.
"They all betrayed you," he says quietly. "Your mother. Your fiancé. Your family. Everyone who should have protected you."
"Yes."
"And they'll do it again if we give them the chance."
I pull back enough to meet his eyes. "Then we don't give them the chance. We complete the ritual. We get strong. And we make them all pay."
He smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's the smile of a demon king who remembers how to break his enemies.
"I knew there was a reason I liked you better than her," he says.
Before I can respond, the cathedral doors explode inward for the third time tonight.
But this time, it's not Lilith or Seraphina.
It's worse.
A figure walks through the smoke. Female. Young. Wearing expensive clothes that scream money and privilege.
I know her immediately. Would recognize her anywhere.
Celeste. My sister. My perfect, beautiful, beloved sister.
But she's not alone. Behind her, six Celestial Guards stand ready. Their weapons glow with angel magic.
"Hello, Mireya." Celeste's voice is soft. Sad. "I'm sorry. I really am. But they showed me what you've become. What that demon did to you." She gestures at Azraeth. "I'm here to save you. Even if you hate me for it."
"Celeste, wait—"
"The angels explained everything." Tears stream down her perfect face. "That mark on your chest? It's demonic corruption. It's poisoning you.