I woke up, or at least, I thought I did. The room was dark, the air heavy with an eerie silence. My bed felt colder than usual, as if something had drained the warmth from the sheets. The only source of light was the faint red glow seeping from the cracks in my bedroom door. My heart pounded. That wasn't normal.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn't respond. Sleep paralysis. Again. I'd had it before, but this felt different—darker, more… alive.
Then, I heard it.
A deep chuckle.
My breath hitched as the air thickened, pressing against my chest like invisible hands. Slowly, my bedroom door creaked open, revealing a shadowed figure standing at the threshold. He was tall, unnaturally so, with broad shoulders and an aura that made the darkness around him feel even heavier. His glowing crimson eyes pierced through the black, locking onto me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Finally," he murmured, his voice like silk laced with venom. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't call for me again."
I tried to scream, but my throat betrayed me. His footsteps were soundless as he approached, stopping at the foot of my bed. He was beautiful in a terrifying way—his features sharp and otherworldly, his skin a shade too pale, as if it had never known the warmth of the sun. Two curved black horns jutted from his raven hair, their tips glistening as though wet with fresh ink.
A demon.
I was dreaming. I *had* to be.
"I must say," he continued, tilting his head, "you've been quite stubborn. Resisting me for so long. But here you are…" His lips curled into a smirk. "Weak. Vulnerable."
His voice dripped with amusement, but there was something else in his tone—something dark, possessive.
"I don't—" My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Who… who are you?"
He chuckled again, lower this time, a sound that sent a strange thrill through me. "I go by many names, little one. But you may call me Asmodeus."
The name curled in my mind, ancient and forbidden. The name of a demon of desire.
My heart pounded against my ribs as he leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of my body, caging me in. His scent was intoxicating—smoky, like embers burning in the depths of a long-forgotten forest.
"What do you want from me?" I breathed.
He reached out, tracing a cold finger along my jaw. My body tensed, but a strange heat followed where his touch lingered.
"I want what was promised," he whispered, his lips ghosting over my ear. "You."
I swallowed hard. "I didn't promise you anything."
His smirk widened. "Didn't you?"
A memory flickered in my mind—those nights when I whispered into the dark, feeling unseen eyes watching me. The times I'd begged for *someone* to be there, to take away my loneliness, to hold me in a way no one else could.
Had he been listening?
His fingers trailed down my neck, slow, deliberate. My body shuddered, both from fear and something else I refused to acknowledge.
"You're lying to yourself," he murmured, his lips brushing against my skin. "I can hear the way your heart races, feel the warmth of your breath hitching in your throat." He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes weren't just red—they burned.
A spell. That's what this was.
"This is a dream," I whispered, trying to convince myself.
His laughter was low, wicked. "If it helps you sleep at night, keep telling yourself that."
Then, he kissed me.
It wasn't soft or hesitant—it was deep, consuming, as if he were claiming something that had always belonged to him. A burning sensation spread through my chest, like fire licking at my soul.
I gasped as I felt something shift inside me, something ancient stirring in response to him. It was terrifying and exhilarating at once. My body betrayed me, melting under his touch despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.
"See?" he whispered against my lips. "You *do* remember me."
"No…" My voice trembled, weak against the growing storm inside me.
He traced a finger down my arm, stopping just above my wrist. "Your soul recognizes me. It's why you dream of me. Why you call for me without realizing it."
I shook my head, trying to wake up, to break free. But his grip tightened around my wrist.
"You can run," he said, voice laced with amusement, "but I will always find you."
The walls of my room darkened, the shadows stretching, creeping like living tendrils. The air buzzed with energy, thick with something unholy.
"You belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear once more.
Then, suddenly—
I woke up.
Gasping, my body jolted upright. My room was normal again. No red glow, no eerie whispers. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst from my chest.
Just a dream.
It had to be.
I exhaled shakily, wiping the sweat from my forehead. But as I moved my hand, something caught my eye—
A faint bruise around my wrist.
Exactly where he had touched me.
And from the darkness of my room, where the shadows were deepest, I swore I heard that same deep chuckle.
It wasn't over.