Present Day…
Akila jolted awake with a hand clasped against her heaving bosom, panting hoarsely as if she had ridden vigorously on Uma — her Arabian mare — for hours. Perspiration matted her greasy hair and soaked through her tattered ball gown, making a jest of her once royal status and privilege.
"Another dream…," she lamented, stifling a bitter sob that threatened to escape.
Ever since the demon's visit, she was plagued by recurring nightmares that wreaked havoc on her sanity, unable to escape Zagan. Seven days passed and she refused to submit to his will, rebelling against him in every manner. Refusing to eat or drink was childish but, she could barely summon the appetite to eat when her loved ones were dead. Every night she cried herself to sleep devoid of solace, haunted by her encounter with the demon king — an unforgettable memory that played like a broken record.
Akila still reeled about how human he appeared that night, and how...warm his touch was. An elemental attraction was born along with an inane curiosity about this compelling demon. After his daunting confession, she was impeded by cries erupting from the castle and before she knew it, she tore out of his arms and hurtled into the chaos. Reliving the bloody scenario over and over again didn't make it any easier. In fact, she cursed this reality where she still lived.
It wasn't fair.
Many lives were mercilessly killed, and they didn't even know why. Hell, she didn't even know what Zagan's objective was.
In her dreams, she desperately sought her father and sisters, praying they were unharmed. As she shoved through the melee, a largely built man jarred her shoulder, and she stumbled and fell. Flinching from the cut on her palm, she lifted her head and — their gazes connected. It was him — the demon who had stolen a kiss. Except, he was no longer human. Dark, red blood coated his lips and dripped from his smeared mouth. He was the bogeyman come alive.
His face contorted with rage and something else she couldn't describe. She only knew the horror of watching him snatch another victim and savagely ripped out the poor woman's neck, blood spurting in an arterial rush.
She muffled a terrified cry, the dinner she had hours ago spewing onto the ground.
"Demon attack! Run for your lives!" A distant voice bellowed through the raucous cries and blistering screams.
Crippled with fear and denial, Akila's head swam, and her legs wouldn't obey her command to move. In a sea of turmoil, she witnessed everything in slow motion and that included the demon who started in her direction, his lips moving soundlessly.
She couldn't hear him but, her heart stopped as she read his muted words.
You are mine.
Fear was a living, breathing creature in her chest. She didn't understand the pain — like fingernails scratching down her throat — until she realized her mouth hung open, and the most gruesome scream welled from the depths of her lungs before everything went dark.
The next time she awoke, she was a prisoner in her own home. No one visited her but the guard who delivered her meals. The familiar clang of the dungeon gates heralded the old demon's prompt arrival. In the days he was assigned to her, the demon was neither unkind nor was he amicable, though she recognised pity in his eyes.
"It's dinnertime," he said gruffly, shoving the tin tray of insipid soup and chunks of leftover dry meat through the small opening. "If you want to survive, you should eat whatever we feed you."
Huddling in the corner with nothing but her ruined gown to keep warm, she summoned the rest of her strength and her teeth chattered. "You're awfully talkative tonight."
The old demon slanted her a wry look, scratching his overgrown beard. "Seems like you still got some spirit left in you."
Akila made an unladylike snort, her tone brimming with resentment. "A dead woman has nothing to lose."
"Death ain't something you need to worry about. Killing you will be the last thing my master will do."
"And where is your master?" she demanded with a sarcastic lilt.
"Having his dinner, like you should be doing," he replied fairly, gesturing to her food. "The master won't be happy to learn that you've been starving yourself. If you continue to cross him, I can't promise what he'll do to you."
She opened her mouth to rebuke him when a sudden wave of vertigo and nausea overwhelmed her senses, causing her to slump over. From a faraway place, there was a loud clang, and she could hear the old demon calling her name as he shook her. How odd that he knew her name, even though he struck her as a starchy old warrior who would rather die than lower his dignity for a mere prisoner. For a fanciful second, it sounded as if he cared.
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Grasping the female by the nape, he fed deeply without tasting or indulging. He swallowed perfunctorily before sealing the wound with a flick of his tongue. The splendour of having a group of demon worshippers at hand was the steady supply of blood whenever he wished. Despite their allegiance, Zagan held no gratitude for this flock of mindless individuals who mistook him for a God. If their positions were reversed, he would have taken his own life before submitting to a heartless tyrant like himself. He didn't understand these eccentrics who revered him or demons in general. Apart from their unusual diet, demons breathe, think and function like humans, although Zagan would rather stick a knife in his gut than admit that.
"You hate it when they degrade our kind but, you also detest how they worship you," Kobal's voice filtered through his head. "Sounds to me like you're a fickle minded bastard."
Being a demon of humour — if that was even true — Kobal found the simplest amusement in everything and everyone. For some perplexing reason, the demon chose to attach himself to Zagan. Other than Balan, Kobal never withheld his thoughts or attempted to flatter Zagan — traits the Demon King respected and preferred over his groveling lackeys.
Suddenly, a panicking servant stumbled into the room, kneeling before Zagan with trained subservience. "Master! Master! We have a problem!"
A muscle ticked in Zagan's jaw, and he shoved the human female away. "It better be important or you'll find your corpse being someone else's problem."
"The human prisoner has collapsed," the boy spoke, keeping his eyes trained to the ground despite his frazzled nerves.
Zagan's brows knitted with disguised concern. "Has she fallen ill?"
"Farrow says she's been refusing to eat or drink for a week," the boy answered, sounding conflicted. "He's worried she'll become severely ill if this drags on. What are your orders, Master?"
So, the little lamb had fallen. She lasted longer than he anticipated, attesting to her sheer will and stubbornness. Clearly, he had underestimated her. Zagan's lips formed a crooked smile. "You have my permission to move her into the upper bedchamber and fetch the physician to examine her. After that, summon Bennu to me."
"Aye, Master!"