Page 37 of I Summoned A Demon For A Date?!
From my pocket, I withdrew the small object I had crafted earlier. It gleamed faintly in my palm, catching what little moonlight filtered through the trees. A delicate charm in the shape of a rose, formed from a metal not found in the human realm. Its petals were intricately detailed, the curves and edges impossibly fine. At its center, a tiny drop of my own essence, solidified and crystallized into something that resembled a ruby but held infinitely more power.
It would protect her, even when I couldn't. Even when Ishouldn't.
Moving silently across the lawn, I approached the side entrance nearest to her room. The door was locked, of course, but such barriers meant nothing to me. With barely a thought, the mechanism clicked open, allowing me to slip inside.
The house was quiet, the humans asleep save for a few servants still moving about the distant kitchen. I made my way through the darkened hallways, following the invisible thread that connected me to Rosie. Our door was just ahead, closed against the world. Against me.
As I stood before it, I could hear her soft breathing beyond the wood. The temptation to enter, to lay beside her, to wrap myself around her and never let go, was nearly overwhelming. My hand rose of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob.
I snatched it back as if burned.
"No," I whispered harshly to myself. "You made your choice."
The choice to protect her from myself. From what I was. From what I would inevitably do to her.
Demons weren't capable of love. We were creatures ofpossession, of obsession. The mating bond was no romantic fairy tale. It was a claim, a mark of ownership. It would bind her soul to mine for eternity, denying her any chance at an afterlife. Whatever she might feel for me now was nothing compared to the prison I would create for her if I allowed this to continue.
I placed the charm on the floor before her door, just to the side where she would see it when she emerged in the morning. My fingers lingered on the metal, infusing it with one final surge of protection. It would alert me if she was in danger. It would shield her from minor hexes and curses. It would connect her to me, even when I forced myself to keep my distance.
It was the most I could give her without damning us both.
"Sleep well, little minx," I murmured, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "Dream of better things than demons."
I backed away from the door, forcing each step when every instinct screamed at me to go to her. The bond between us thrummed in protest, a physical ache that intensified with each foot of distance. By the time I reached the garden again, the pain was excruciating, a burning throughout my entire being.
I deserved it. I deserved far worse for what I had done. For making a deal for her soul when I knew she was my mate, for allowing myself to touch her, to taste her, to make her care for me. For almost revealing my true self to her tonight.
The memory of her face when she'd seen my eyes change, when the air had crackled with my power as I'd held Roger by the throat – there had been no fear there. Only wonder. Acceptance. As if she could look upon the monster I truly was and still see something worthy.
She was wrong.
I sank down onto a stone bench, my eyes fixed on herwindow. I wouldn't sleep tonight. I couldn't, not when the need to be near her clawed at me with vicious intensity. Not when I could feel her restlessness, her sadness, through the bond I had no right to forge.
So I would watch. I would protect from a distance. I would suffer this self-imposed exile as penance for my sins against her.
And tomorrow, when she emerged into the light of day, I would continue the charade. I would play the devoted lover for the humans, keep her safe from her wretched family, and fulfill our bargain to the letter.
But I would not, could not, allow myself to give in to what I truly wanted. What the bond demanded.
What my blackened soul yearned for with unprecedented desperation.
Her.
Morning arrived with brutal efficiency, yanking me from my vigil. I had kept my post beneath her window all night, a silent sentinel with nothing but my thoughts and regrets for company. Now, as the first rays of dawn painted the sky, I finally retreated to prepare for the day ahead.
The charm remained where I had left it, untouched outside her door. She hadn't emerged yet.
After a quick shower and change of clothes without waking her, I made my way to the dining room where breakfast was to be served. I would need to face her soon, to maintain our façade of a relationship while keeping the true distance I knew was necessary. The thought alone made my chest constrict painfully.
I arrived early, hoping to compose myself before Rosie appeared. A few early risers were already seated. Rosie's father at the head of the table, buried behind a newspaper; twoelderly aunts conversing quietly over tea; and at the far end, the insipid Roger nursing what appeared to be a hangover.
Good. I hoped his head pounded with the force of a thousand hammers.
I took a seat midway down the table, positioning myself so I would see Rosie the moment she entered. A server approached with coffee, which I accepted with a nod. The rich aroma did nothing to distract me from the constant awareness of Rosie's movements upstairs. She was awake now, moving about the room. Getting dressed. Coming closer.
More guests filtered in, the room gradually filling with morning conversation and the clinking of silverware against fine china. And then, like a shift in the atmosphere itself, I felt her presence before I saw her. My head snapped up, eyes finding her instantly as she hesitated in the doorway.
She looked exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes testifying to a restless night. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, her face clean of makeup. The summer dress she wore hugged her curves in a way that made my mouth go dry. But it was the small object clutched in her hand that caught my attention – my charm. She had found it.
