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If I succeed, the price will be counted in bindings and the soft ruin of a human life tied to my fate.
I close my eyes for a breath and let the old names and the old fears settle.
The trident on the wall gleams in the green light. My fingers itch to lift it.Later.
For now, there is a woman walking my halls I have need to claim and an ocean that must remember how to obey.
Chapter 8
Phoebe
Wanderingthe Halls of Castletide
Okay, so to recap, I’m trapped in a strange world.
Taken by a strange man—aDemon Lord with magic fingers who made me come faster than my favorite toy locked away in my nightstand back home.
But trying to understand what I’m doing here?Forget it.
I’ve got nothing.
Amber—milady’s maid (snort)—is the one assigned to help me adjust, and she’ssomething.
A thing of beauty, her skin smooth and gray with bronze highlights that catch the light like molten metal.
Her hair is seafoam blue with white streaks, and it’s pulled back in a severe bun? It’s her eyes though, sharp as a hawk’s, that make me nervous.
I want to ask, but before I can, she answers like she’s been listening to my thoughts.
“I’m a Demon, Lady Phoebe. Much of Nightfall’s population are Demons. Did the Lord not explain it to you?”
“Lady? Demons? Lord? No, he hasn’t explained a freaking thing,” I reply, the words sour in my mouth.
I mean, technically he walked away while I was still trying to catch my breath.
If I looked in a mirror right now, I’d probably see my lips still swollen.
Lord knows, my thighs ache, and every nerve in my body feels like it’s been rewired to answer only to him.
Kael.
The impossible, arrogant, infuriating Lord of Water who literally ravaged me not an hour ago.
Those kisses—drugging, relentless—stole every protest off my tongue.
And his fingers? Gods, I don’t even want to think about the wicked talent in those long, rune-etched hands.
I came so hard I saw stars, clinging to him like the tide clings to shore.
And then—then—he stroked himself to completion, groaning like a man unmade, spilling his release across my skin like he was signing me with something ancient and possessive.Marking me.
No one has ever done that before.
No one has even thought to.
And I have no idea why it was so hot—why the sight of him undone, trembling, claiming me in that primal, messy way made me want to arch into him and beg for more.
And now that it’s over?
