Page 117 of The Soulbond and Her Beloved

“You’re not the one who has to hold her when the memories come,” Daemonikai snapped. “Not the one who hears her apologize as ifshe’s to blame for whatyoudid. It’s not you who has to watch her walk through the halls for days afterward like an empty shell.”

“I understand, I do, but do you truly think those memories only come to her during intimacy? You really believe she's not in pain now?”

Daemonikai looked away.

“If you want her to heal from this, you need to take the first step. She needs you to make her whole again. You both need that.” Vladya glanced toward the soldiers training on the field. “I worry for you both. In her condition, she should be getting your seed often. You should be fucking her every chance you get, preparing her body for the birth of your child, as the connection forged during intimacy aids with delivery. She is carrying a Urekai, Daemon. It's essential.”

“You are right,” Daemonikai admitted. “After tonight’s episode, I will try again. Perhaps… do something different. Maybe take her to the cottage, we had good memories there.”

“That is a wise idea.”

“Something has to give. We cannot continue like this.”

A brief hush settled upon them.

Vladya broke the silence. “About the missing females in heat, there’s been an update.”

Daemonikai was not particularly interested in that right now, but he waved him on.

“An eyewitness has come forward. According to him, he saw men dressed in black, dragging a female from her dwelling at night. It was the last time she was seen,” Vladya said. “He claimed the female’s scent was strong—he believed she was approaching full heat.”

“Can he identify any of the males if he sees them again?”

“That is our next step. I have already given the order to bring him in.” Vladya nudged Daemonikai, his chin tipping slightly. “Look.”

Daemonikai followed his line of sight.

Across the field, just beyond the plantation rows, Emeriel and Aekeira had emerged, each carrying a handbasket filled with fresh vegetables. Their heads bent close together as they spoke. Laughter floated to him on the breeze, clear and bright as birdsong.

Daemonikai’s tipped ears perked up as he tuned into the sound. Watching her like this—carefree, at peace, radiant in a loose dress dancing around the roundness of her belly—eased his headache a bit.

“I have been thinking.”

Vladya gave him a sidelong glance.

“If I'm cured of this madness, and our bond is not restored, Emeriel and I will do the bonding ritual.”

Vladya scoffed, surprised. “You would?”

His eyes remained on Emeriel. He would never tire of seeing her this way... completely carefree and happy. He would do anything to capture that happiness for her forever.

“If we are no longerSoulbonds, then I will make her my bondmate. Ukrae may be the master of cruel jokes, but he's a fool if he thinks I'll ever let her go. Bond or no bond, she's mine.”

***

That night, Vladya watched his friend through the narrow window, behind the thick warded glass. Inside the chamber, Daemonikai snared and roared, those yellow eyes infuriated.

He thrashed, sweat streaking his bare chest, muscles straining. He fought wildly, though the heavily fortified prison ensured no sound could escape. His teeth were red with his own blood where he had bitten down on his tongue, again and again.

Vladya's hands fisted. He hated watching this agony play out with no relief in sight. Suffering endless lust through the long, dark hours of the night until his strength failed and he was emptied. Until the madness ran its course.

On nights like this, Vladya rarely found sleep. Many others could never truly understand the demon Daemonikai battled or how close it was to destroying him, but Vladya did.

He knew the fire they were playing with was starting to burn hotter than they could contain.

Each episode was worse than the last. Each time, Daemonikai became more erratic and violent. Yet, there'd always been one small comfort that was constant.

No matter how vicious the madness became, the episodes had never lasted longer than twenty-four hours. He would collapse, sleep, then wake, exhausted but sane. Twenty-four hours was always the limit.

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