Page 110 of Demonic Cage
“I doubt your brother would be among the herebias.” Darya’s voice is sincere and quiet. Before I can react, he presses me against the table. My eyes widen, and my heart starts poundingfaster. I freeze as his fingers touch my face, pushing my short hair behind my ear.
“It suits you,” he whispers, and I feel like I’m done for good, falling apart. I need to get out of here, but Darya’s body is pressed against mine. I feel his muscles harden, pushing into my soft spots. He leans closer, my lips burning with the desire to touch his.
He’s too close. If I don’t escape now, I never will.
I use the move he’s been teaching me all day. I press my hip against his side and punch him in the stomach. He doubles over and steps back, and I use the space, pulling him towards me and kneeing him in the stomach again.
He laughs. I push my hips out and drag him to the table. Without thinking, I grab the bowl of ambrosia and smash it against his head. It breaks hard against his skull. I should jump on him, continue what I started, but I hesitate. He takes advantage of the opportunity. He sweeps my legs, then pulls me beside him, pushing me into a stone wall. He hovers over me, presses his chest against mine, pinning my arms above my head.
“Why did you stop?” he asks coldly, and I’m surprised. I try to free myself, but I can only weakly struggle.
“I don’t know!” I confess.
“You shouldn’t have,” he says softly, his voice ringing with hunger. “Now you’re mine.”
He spreads my legs with his foot, pressing his forehead against mine. I can’t move.
“Which part of me is still free?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Where could you hit me?” he repeats, and I quickly assess the situation. My hands are pinned, my legs are immobile, and my body is pressed between him and the wall. I have no idea how to burn him, but Darya said not to rely on that, anyway. I have nothing to defend myself with. Unless…
Without thinking, I spit in Darya’s eye, then headbutt him as hard as I can. It’s like a cannonball colliding with my forehead, and I wince.
The demon’s grip loosens, and I aim a kick at his groin. Or I would, if he didn’t close his legs at the last moment. He lets go, and I roll out from his grip. My head throbs terribly, and the space around me sways. Darya looks at me, wiping his eyes. A proud smile appears on his face, making my heart dance in my chest. I lower my arms. When he speaks, his voice is serious and deep.
“There is always a way out, Kindra. Never forget that. You are capable of finding it.”
Darya’s training sessions are getting tougher, but days pass without me being any closer to beating him. Sometimes, I feel like I might succeed, but in the end, I always wind up in the dust.
Days turn into nights. I try to nestle myself at the very edge of the bed, but I always wake up with Darya holding me. For a few nights, I resist. Then I give in. His warmth is comforting. I’m not alone. I don’t know when the last time was that I didn’t feel alone.
The next day, he beats me again and again on the training ground.
After the hand-to-hand combat training, I usually find myself in the mirror garden, trying to figure out what to do. Pandora refuses to talk to me; the white smoke swirling in the glass floating lifelessly.
Every day, I decide to drink Darya’s blood, hoping I’ll get to meet Lavian with the help of the celestial orbs, but two weeks have passed, and every morning I just stare at them. I don’t know what will happen if I ever do see Lavian again. I don’t know what I want. Darya doesn’t help either, and clearly, neither does his blood, but there’s something liberating about it. Each morning, I return to my boring, moral self.
The Demon King didn’t lie. No matter how much I climb on him and no matter how his eyes turn black, we never go any further. He makes me beg shamelessly once he’s brought me toorgasm, but after two weeks, I feel it’s not enough. I want more. Yet, I’m still glad for Darya’s promise not to sleep with me while I’m under the influence of his blood. A small part of me seeks his blood every night as a safeguard.
“Purple or blue?” I ask Nárs, who thinks deeply while wearing a stern expression. He showed up an hour ago with a suitcase full of Sephora makeup stolen from my world. Since then, he hasn’t been able to decide what kind of eyes he wants.
“Green.”
“Nárs,I washed off the green only ten minutes ago, when you wanted to throw up because of it!”
He shrugs.
“But now I like it.”
I blow out a breath in frustration and put my hands on my hips.
“Okay, I’ll put it on, but…”
“Lizander.”
We both freeze and simultaneously look towards the windowsill. Darya, shirtless, crawls in like a cat. He must have bathed somewhere, water droplets are dripping from his hair onto his well-defined chest.
