Page 29 of The Devil's Canvas

The others stay quiet, but I can feel the shift in the room, the way the air seems to thin.

My father steps closer. "So, it has begun."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Seth says, his eyes flicking between me and my Mark.

"Looks like one of you found your soulmate," my uncle says, one brow raised and the corners of his mouth pulling up just slightly.

"And faster than expected," my mother says.

"A soulmate…" Owen trails off, his gaze fixed on my forearm.

My father exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw before speaking. "For the demon, the bond is a tether. It starts as a hum beneath the skin, an awareness that builds until it’s impossible to ignore." His gaze flicks to me, steady, knowing. "It doesn’t fade or break, it only gets stronger."

My uncle leans forward, arms crossed. "And it changes everything. Whether you want it to or not."

My mother tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes assessing. "For the mortal, it’s different." Her voice is even, but there’s something else beneath it—something maternal. "The Mark doesn’t appear on their skin the way it does for the demon. It lives inside them, in ways they can’t see but will always feel."

My aunt, quiet until now, finally speaks. "At first, they don’t realize it’s happening. They resist it, fight it. They’ll try to rationalize it, to push it away." A pause. "But they can’t."

My mother’s gaze flickers to me, sharp. "Because for them, it burns." She lets the words settle, lets them sink into the air between us. "The Mark doesn’t settle on their skin. It carves straight into their soul. It burns, slow and merciless, searing into every part of them until it’s undeniable."

My uncle’s expression hardens. "And it is agony."

Selene’s voice is smooth, matter-of-fact, but there’s something cold beneath it. "They wake up fevered, with their skin burning like an open wound. Some scream for hours. Some don’t stop for days."

A slow, creeping dread coils in my gut. It’s not shock—I knew it would be bad. But hearing it like this, laid out so plainly, makes it worse, makes it real.

Owen shifts beside me, exhaling through his nose, his posture tightening.

"And for the demon?" Lucas asks.

My father’s jaw tightens. "It’s nothing compared to what they go through. The bond doesn’t carve into us the same way. It starts as a pull, an awareness, a force we can’t fight. But…" He trails off for a moment before finishing, "watching them suffer is worse than any pain we could feel ourselves."

I roll my sleeve back down, my jaw locking. "And when does it stop?"

My mother watches me.“Normally, it takes decades. The body learns to survive, the soul learns to endure. But this bond… it’s already rewriting the rules.”

My uncle nods. "But it doesn’t settle. Not until it’s accepted." I already know the answer before they say it. "When the mortal chooses. Freely."

My aunt’s silver eyes flick to me. "The demon has no control over it. He can’t take what isn’t given."

Owen exhales. Lucas mutters something under his breath.

"And if they don’t?" I ask.

My father holds my gaze. "The bond never completes. It remains… unfinished. They live, but they are never whole."

"And if they’re forced?" My voice is quieter this time.

My mother’s expression darkens slightly. "It isn’t a bond. It’s a wound. A wound that never heals."

My aunt’s voice is steady, final. "And a wound like that… festers."

"It gets worse. I made a deal with her father. I took her emotions. Empathy. The ability to express them. And I gave them to her sister," I say.

My aunt tilts her head slightly, her silver eyes sharp. "Well, that's a problem."

"But I can see them," I say.

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