Page 2 of Demon Seed

That’s when I see her. Standing among the twisted trees, she’s a vision bathed in moonlight. One moment, she’s merely a shimmer of light between the ancient trunks—the next, she materializes fully formed. Long dark hair cascades down her back like midnight water, and when she turns, her eyes capture me: blue as forgotten depths of the celestial sea and as endless as my centuries of waiting. My entire existence narrows to this single moment.

A moon nymph—a being I’ve only heard about in ancient stories. She must have come from the Divine Peaks, their ancestral home among the clouds. Demons are forbidden there, but I would have stormed those mountains long ago if their mountain refuge held such an ethereal beauty.

The woods seem to hold their breath around us. Even the perpetual whispers that give this place its name have fallen silent, as if nature itself acknowledges the significance of this encounter. My skin burns with recognition, and the bond snaps into place with such force that I nearly stagger. The ancient magic binding our kind surges between us, invisible threads of fate pulling tighter.

Mine. Mate. The other half of my darkened soul.

The words echo in my mind through the centuries of solitude I’ve endured. I’ve waited lifetimes for this moment, for her, though I never truly believed it would come. With a single word, I send Morrigan away. Although she hesitates momentarily, she won’t dare question my command.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Morrigan mutters as she walks away, signaling her guards to follow.

“I do. Keep your distance or suffer my wrath.”

Morrigan nods as she marches toward the castle, shaking her head as she mumbles something I can’t understand. She doesn’t believe in fated mates—that each one of us has another half who will ultimately complete us.

My mate hasn’t noticed me yet, hidden as I am within the shadows. I watch her move gracefully across the forest floor, her bare feet barely disturbing the fallen leaves. Each movement is a dance and each breath she takes pulls at something primal within me.

I should announce myself. I should follow protocol—the formal introduction of a demon king to his discovered mate. There are ceremonies and traditions. But I’m too thrilled to compose something appropriately deserving of this momentous occasion.

Instead, I step forward, breaking a twig beneath my boot. Her head snaps toward me, those blue eyes widening with recognition… then fear.

“Who are you?” My mate’s voice is like wind chimes on a summer breeze.

I should maintain the distance, but I find myself moving toward her, drawn by something more ancient than the crown I wear.

“My name is Vesper,” I say simply, my title suddenly insignificant compared to the pull between us. “And I’ve been waiting for you.”

Selene

Earlier that evening

The sacred grove breathes around me, ancient trees swaying in a dance older than memory. I trace my fingers along the rough bark of an oak, feeling the slow pulse of life beneath my touch. This is what it means to be a nymph—to exist between worlds, neither fully divine nor mortal, but something precious and rare.

My mother often proudly speaks of our lineage, tracing our bloodline to Apollo himself. “We are the daughters of gods,” my mother reminded me yesterday, her eyes flashing like sunlight through leaves. “We must preserve what makes us divine.”

I understand my family’s caution. Nymphs have guarded their bloodlines for centuries, careful not to dilute the sacred blood that flows through our veins. Those who have chosen mortal lovers often fade faster, their children born with only whispers of our gifts. Some elders speak of these unions as betrayals—not just of our kind, but of the essence that makes us who we are.

Yet, as I stand at the edge of our territory, watching the kingdoms in the valley below, I cannot help but wonder what it might be like to walk among them, not just as an observer, butas something more. To feel what they feel. To love as they love—with desperate intensity and beautiful brevity.

“Dangerous thoughts, Selene,” I whisper, pulling away from the boundary stones. The wind carries my words away, but the doubt remains, settling in my chest like a seed waiting for spring.

Change is coming—I can feel it in my bones, and I don’t believe I’m meant to fight something this big.

My mother warned me not to yearn for the unknown. “Selene,” she’d said, her eyes reflecting stars that died a millennia ago, “our divine blood is both blessing and burden. The gods may have forgotten us, but their essence remains in our veins.”

I pause by the stream, watching my reflection ripple across the surface.

“Thinking about that human again?” My sister, Naia, appears beside me, her flower-petal dress shimmering with dew.

I don’t answer—I don’t need to. My silence says far more than any words.

“Don’t put too much stock in dreams,” Naia continues, dipping her toes in the water. “You know what happened to our cousin Esme when she discovered her mate. Do you want that to happen to you?”

I do know. Esme’s stories are passed down as warnings—nymphs who diluted their divinity, whose children were born without the connection to the nature that sustains us. Some faded into nothing more than myths, their powers diminishing each generation until they became mortal. I’m not sure what became of the others who have gone astray because once they leave, no one speaks of them again.

But that’s not the worst fate. As horrific as it may be to live a mortal life, it is unfathomable to surrender our divinity to a creature of the night, forever extinguishing our light.

But still, I can’t forget the male from my dreams—he was unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. And I know I’m meant to see him again.

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