The Devil's Bride

2. The Master

Amelia felt, upon coming back to her senses, like something hard had hit her full on the head… which wasn’t entirely wrong since her head had hit the kitchen floor thanks to her fall.

As she sat up groggily, willing her entire upper body to stop aching, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye –the creature she had found in the kitchen.

She jumped to her feet, heart racing like there was no tomorrow, gasping for the much needed air. She then pointed her forefinger accusingly at the creature who had dared to break into her house –repeatedly for god only knows what reason– and screamed as if her life was on the line.

Arthur, the demon king’s familiar, as he had introduced himself, simply put one of his claw-like fingers on his right pointy ear.

When her screaming session finished, and she was left completely out of breath and utterly drained, he told her with a sneer, “Just so you know, I put a barrier around the house so that no one will hear your screams.”

The words echoed in Amelia’s mind but she found them meaningless at the beginning. What kind of wall could be built around the house so fast while she was unconscious for a few seconds, minutes at best? Even if he had managed to do so, wouldn’t that look even more suspicious?

She couldn’t comprehend his words for a few seconds before it clicked in.

This Arthur was not human.

He could perhaps do things that were far beyond her… for all she knew, he could kill her and dispose of her body within seconds, making it as if she had never existed to begin with.

The mere thought sent her into a frenzied panic.

She tried to back away from him but hit the kitchen doorframe on her way out and stumbled, falling to the ground unceremoniously.     

Are you going to hurt me? The question died on her lips as she saw and heard Arthur snort at her.

She could not show him how scared she was. Or at least that’s what she decided at the very same moment the words were burning her lips to be let out… she never begged, never had, never will.

She glared at the creature the best she could while sitting helplessly on the floor, before she gathered just enough courage to stand up.

She was just about to fire a contemptuous comment, her eyes not meeting Arthur’s crimson red ones, when she felt a sudden change in the air, and saw the creature stiffen.

The beast, that didn’t stand like an animal on four paws but on two, fell to his knees, bowed his head out of respect or fear, she couldn’t say for sure, and said the dreadful word she’d later wish she had never heard. “Master.”  

Blood drained from Amelia’s face and she didn’t dare to look around, afraid as she was of the sight that awaited her.

If the beast was this scary, she could only imagine how the master looked like.

Nothing short of hideous, she was sure.

“Care to tell me why you left the palace, Arthur?” The cold voice that greeted her ears was nothing like Arthur’s gruff one.

Arthur just apologized while bowing his head even more… out of fear, she was sure this time around.

Now, if the beast that had her heart going into overdrive was afraid, one could only imagine how she must feel like.

To say she was scared would be the understatement of the year.

Without turning around to meet her inevitable death, she said in a voice that she had wanted to be strong and powerful but that came out weak despite her. “Pray tell what are you doing in my house?”

She merely blinked, only to find herself face to chest with the master. “What did you just say?” He demanded to know in his most blasé tone.

She gasped in surprise, but remained frozen in her spot, what little courage she had leaving her at once.

She breathed in, and then out – in and out, in and out… until her heart finally calmed down a bit, and she willed herself to look up, right into the demon’s face.

He had pale skin, high cheekbones, a well-defined nose, a kissable mouth and black pools for eyes in which any woman would drown happily. To sum it all up, he was nothing short of beautiful, but she would rather die a hundred times than admit that to him or anybody.  

“Who do you think you are, little one?” He asked matter-of-factly, no hint of irritation showing in his tone despite his face’s –angry? She couldn’t say for sure– expression.

“The owner of the house?” She asked rather than stated, hating herself the moment the words left her lips for how weak she sounded.

“Wrong,” he declared, face impassible, eyes unreadable, his earlier expression long gone

She didn’t dare to ask what he thought she was.