Chapter Two
2168 Words
Chapter Two
I stare, slack jawed, at Hector—noting that everyone around me does the same. For about two seconds, silence. Absolute silence.
And then chaos.
Everybody is yelling, screaming, laughing, crying. My presence at the podium is all but forgotten as the boy I killed stands in front of me, looking no different than two weeks ago, when I killed him.
How the hell is he here?
Although a sea of people swarms between us, I can still somehow feel his gaze burning into me.
The chaos only gets larger, louder as more people swarm in and happy noises turn into agonized ones.
Gunshots intertwine with screams and echo through the funeral home, creating an almost poetic scene of death and destruction. My mind struggles to catch up with events as I fall onto the floor, curling into myself. And waiting my turn.
I killed Hector, and yet he’s somehow alive. Seemingly in a position of power, and currently killing everyone we both grew up with.
I close my eyes, breathing deeply and waiting my turn. I’ll be dead soon enough, and all the weight of guilt will be lifted from my shoulders.
Fingers brush my arm, pleasurable jolts of electricity accompanying them. I have to fight the seemingly instinctual urge to lean into whoever is touching me.
What the hell is that?
“Open your eyes, Antheia. I want to see the ocean in them,” Hectors voice murmurs in my ear, and I realize that he’s the one touching me.
He’s always loved my eyes. Said that when I was with him, he had a piece of the ocean with him as well.
I know why he wants to see them now. He wants to see the light leave them. To see the life exit me. He always told me that was his favorite part of killing someone…
And I comply.
I want this over. Done with. I have had the worst possible two weeks since his death, in which I had pondered taking my own life several times. I’m ready to die. To not be forced to deal with this anymore.
“Jesus I’ve missed you,” he breathes as soon as he can get a good look at my eyes.
I eye the gun in his hand expectantly, waiting for him to get on with it. He follows my line of sight before chuckling.
“No, no, Antheia. This isn’t for you.”
He pulls a syringe out of his suit pocket, taking off the cap and eyeing my neck.
“This is for you.”
The needle descends on my flesh, darkness following shortly afterwards.
* * *
“Wake up Antheia,” a voice coos, pulling my out of my slumber. I roll over onto my stomach, murmuring curses at having to woken up from such a blissful and dreamless sleep.
“f**k off,” I mumble, trying to get the pest who’s awakening me to go away.
A sharp slap on my ass is what forces my eyes to snap open, though my vision takes a moment to adjust before I see my assaulter clearly.
Hector.
The funeral. The… m******e…
My best friend who I killed, not dead.
“Don’t swear at me unless it’s well warranted,” Hector warns, amusement dancing in his forest eyes.
He’s sitting on a very large, comfortable bed with me, in what I would guess to be his bedroom. It’s big, with every inch of it either black, white, or grey. Though I do see hector’s bloody shirt from the funeral draped over an arm chair in front of the fireplace.
I eye Hector up and down, trying to work with the little information I have. I killed him. He was absolutely and without a doubt dead… he had no pulse.
He studies me right back, looking over me with a newfound appreciative sparkle in his eyes. A sparkle very similar to the one he has every time he murders someone.
When he shifts towards me I immediately scramble backwards, finding myself falling on the floor with an unpleasant “thud”. I hear him chuckle from the bed.
“You are just too adorable.”
I look up as he steps off of the bed, staring at me intently, seemingly trying to decide what to do.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” he commands, before stripping off his T-shirt, followed by his sweatpants—so that he stands in front of me just wearing his boxers. I try to shift my vision away from his God-send body, but he lets out a low warning growl.
And then, he starts to change. His eyes contort in pain as his back arches, and for a moment sickening cracking noises fill the room, before wings suddenly expand from his back. Jet black wings with feathers like that of a raven’s. When I look back to his eyes, I see that they are glowing red.
Demon.
The word echoes in my head, making me want to bang my head against the wall until I either wake up from this nightmare or pass out to escape this suffocating reality.
Demons aren’t real. They’re just bedtime stories. Campfire scares. There is no way this can be possible, but the truth stands face to face with me.
Red eyes are locked on me as Hector stares at me with absolute possession in his gaze.
What in the actual f**k is happening to me?
I sit in stunned silence, wiping away tears occasionally as I wait. I don’t know if I’m waiting for death or hoping to pass out from all of this stress, but I can’t do anything other than sit, frozen in fear.
When Hector speaks, I realize that this isn’t him. The voice is flat, toneless, and speaks as though the situation is a mathematical equation.
“You are mine, now. Ours.”
Is Hector possessed?
If he was, he wouldn’t suddenly grow wings, would he? Is it a possibility that the demon I’m faced with was always part of him, but only emerged recently?
The wings retreat into his back and I watch as his eyes shift from red to a blazing green.
He stares at me for a few moments, taking in my reaction before speaking.
“I’m a Demon, Antheia.”
Guessed as much.
“Before you ask questions, I’m going to explain,” he says slowly, walking over to me. I inch away from him, but to no avail as he swiftly takes a seat on the bed and pulls me on his lap so that I’m forced to straddle him. His hands clamp around my waist in a possessive yet soft hold, not letting me escape—but not hurting me either. When I open my mouth to scream, he clamps his palm over it, effectively silencing me.
“Demon’s act like regular humans for the beginning of their life. The only reason they know they’re different is because they’re normally raised among demons. However, when I was born, the impostors who pretended to be my parents stole me away from my actual family. I’m not just a demon, Antheia. I’m a noble. Set to take over the population of demons in North America when my real father steps down.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why someone would want to steal me away. My real mother had a difficult time getting pregnant, and I was her only child. She couldn’t have another. I was, and am, the single heir of the royal family. Taking me away meant chaos would erupt whenever my dad would either die or step down, and I couldn’t take over because I was lost.”
His voice cracks before he takes a breath and composes himself, continuing on.
“It’s at the age of 18 that a Demon’s actual demon, the entity that is a part of us, finally starts showing. The stronger and higher-ranking demon you are, the more intense that entity, your demon, is. Mine was very strong with a lot of pent-up rage due to being separated from it’s family, so it went insane after I turned 18 and started realizing something was different. The only reason the insanity was stopped is because when you attempted to kill me, I sent out a blast of power so strong that my parents picked up on it and found me. Of course, they were worried upon seeing my bloodied body, but Demon’s are immortal. There’s only one way to kill us, and it is extremely difficult.”
His gaze flicks to my terrified one, looking at me with a possessive expression that almost reminds me of the one I saw when his demon surfaced, slightly less intense.
“You’re probably wondering how you have to do with any of this, aren’t you?”
I’m sure he’ll want to make an example out of me. Show his people what happens when someone crosses him.
“Well, sweetheart, when I came back to life, it finally hit me. The only reason I hadn’t realized before is because I wasn’t in tune with my Demon.”
What does he mean? Isn’t he going to kill me?
“What?” I whisper.
“You, my love, are my soulmate. Other half. Every supernatural species has their own version of a soulmate, and demons refer to them as mates.”
I start shaking my head. Softly at first, but then more animatedly as what he said sends pure fear coursing through my veins, I struggle against him harder, and he responds by slipping his hand under my shirt and resting his hands on my bare waist. Sparks of pleasure similar to what I experienced in the funeral home explode on my skin, making me shiver in disgust and shame. How can I enjoy his touch?
I remind myself that he killed my family. My parents.
The thought hits me like a ton of bricks as I recall them getting shot down like dogs in the street. I shake my head even harder as I start crying, tears rushing down my cheeks like a waterfall.
“You killed my mom and dad,” I whisper. Then, my anger surfaces and I snap at him.
“Let me go, you bastard!”
His grip tightens as his green eyes blaze with frustration.
“In case you didn’t understand, I’ll clarify. You are mine, Antheia. You won’t feel the effects of the bond until I mark you, but as soon as you let me do that, you’ll see just how deep our connection runs.”
“No!” I exclaim. I’ve read enough supernatural romances to venture a guess as to what “marking” me means, and I’m not on board with it.
His eyes harden even further as he speaks again.
“Your reaction is understandable. Human brides aren’t uncommon for demons, and most react negatively, because you see us as monsters. There is a therapist in the south wing of the castle to help you get over your reservations, and when you are ready, I will mark you.”
“I’ll never let you mark me.”
One of his hands leave my waist to slip around my throat, applying the smallest bit of pressure to let me know that he’s in charge, and there’s nothing I can do about that fact. To my great shame, pleasure sparks from his hand, traveling down my body and settling in my core. I avert my gaze from his.
“I can make life very difficult for you, Antheia. I’m not the only one who found my bride at that funeral, two other humans happened to be brides to two of my demon’s. I won’t hesitate to hurt them if you don’t comply.”
The motherfucker will hit where it’ll hurt me the most. Of course he will.
“You think that will make me accept your mark?”
A low growl escapes him.
“I only have so much patience, Antheia. And when that patience runs out, you will wear my mark. Whether you consent or not.”
My best friend is gone. In his place is an unrecognizable monster.
- Writer
