Bound to the Demon King

*Trigger Warning: graphic sexual assault below*

I should panic when they tie my legs to the edge of the table, but the feeling doesn’t come.

Chanting begins around the clearing. There’s someone in the far corner, someone I cannot see, who they seem to be speaking to. Not only do the shadows dance, but so do the flames. They leap from the constraint of their pit and twirl around the figures like fairies.

I close my eyes against the dizzying twists in my vision. What was in that drink?

I do not notice the drums until they cease. In fact, the whole clearing has gone silent.

I crack my eyes, batting my lashes around to see that every stranger is facing me. Waiting.

I try to sit up, but recall the bindings around my wrists and ankles. They burn against my flesh.

“What—?” My voice is thick; my throat dry. I shift again, and that’s when I see him.

The sight of the hulking scarlet creature doesn’t alarm me as much as it should. Nor the heavy curve of horns at his temples. Not even the way he’s watching me, eyes burning hotter than the flames of hell with carnal want. He’s draped only in a dark, gossamer robe. It’s something that he peels off as he curves around the stone table, one thick hand sliding over my abdomen.

My brows furrow. I know what this is. I know what’s going to happen, but I can’t seem to make sense of it.

“My rabbit,” he murmurs, leaning over me and claiming my mouth. His kiss is brutal. Blistering. His sharp teeth nip my bottom lip, drawing blood.

Most importantly, when he pulls back, he is not unconscious, like many men before him.

This thing is immune to my last defense. My poisonous kiss.

Fear ebbs down into my chest as he saunters to the edge of the table, down toward my feet. I finally squirm. I tug on the rope binding my hands over my head.

“No.”

The creature traces my leg up to my thigh, intentionally digging his nail into my flesh. My blood stains the fine cream of my gown.

“No,” I manage again, my voice guttural. I force my legs together at the knee, and just as easily, he spreads them apart, bending over me.

“Please,” I beg, squeezing my eyes against the tears.

His rough hands grip my chin. The mass of his c*ck twitches against my thigh, where it rests impatiently.

“Did you stay pure for me?” He wonders, holding my eye.

I whimper.

“I’ve watched. And waited. For years, little rabbit, I’ve waited for this night.”

I try to bring my thighs back together, but his waist is already settled in, and there’s no way for me to push him off. His free hand, the one not sliding to my neck and limiting my air, brings his manhood up to my center.

I sob. The feel of it, smooth and veiny, is far thicker than I would ever have imagined. He strokes himself against my entrance. What once wound me with desperate torture hours ago now fills me with utter panic.

“Stop,” I beg, tears making my lips salty. “Please, don’t.”

“It’s so much better when they’re a virgin,” he says, as if we’re having a conversation over dinner. As if he’s not about to take everything from me.

I roll my head away and see that around us, the strangers have disrobed. They are coupling up. Kissing, touching each other.

Waiting for their master to take his bride.

Deities, is that what’s happening?

My breath hitches as one finger slides inside, and my legs go tight.

“Stretch for me, my love,” the creature croons.

I nearly pass out at the added pressure of another finger. My whole bottom half is trembling with tension.

“I can’t,” I croak.

“You can and you will,” he commands, removing his hands.

How did I get here? Why did I ever leave home?

***

It started with a dream.

The pad of my fingers trace the angled planes of Teddy’s face. The tilt of his lips when he grins. The sound of his laugh—light; carefree. The smooth, pale flesh of his chest just visible beneath his shirt. Those soft, white-blond curls that set my heart racing. Especially when they fall into his sapphire eyes.

He’s perfect.

He’s always been perfect.

Just the thought of him fills me with want. A need that is as unbearable as it is necessary. I don’t know how I’ve gone this long without it.

Without him.

His hand closes over mine and draws it lower, down the center of his chest, guiding me beneath the folds of his shirt. My fingers spread over his bare skin. Warm. Firm. His heartbeat drums steady under my palm.

“You touch me like I’m fragile,” I whisper. “You don’t have to be careful.”

“I want to be,” he breathes.

He leans in. Our lips almost touch. And I can’t stop myself. I tilt my chin. Just enough. Just enough for our mouths to meet—soft and slow and shattering. His kiss is heat and hunger, laced with a sweetness I’ve only ever imagined. My body hums like a plucked string. I’m trembling, but not from fear.

Teddy kisses me again. Harder this time. His hand drifts to the laces of my nightgown.

My breath hitches.

“You don’t have to stop,” I whisper, even though every part of me is screaming that I should. He’s my brother. Not by blood—but still.

It’s wrong.

Gods, it’s wrong.

But when his fingers skim the curve of my breast and his knee slips between mine, the shame twists into something hot and dizzying. I arch into him, helpless to my own desire. If this is sin, I want to drown in it.

“I think about you like this,” I admit, voice small. “I hate myself for it.”

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting me.”

His teeth graze my neck. His tongue follows. I gasp.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, breath warm in my ear.

“You,” I pant. “I want you.”

His laugh is low. Almost… wrong.

I freeze.

There’s something off in the way he’s holding me. The press of his body too heavy, too cold. The scent on his skin has changed—no longer citrus and linen but something darker. Ash. Iron.

His mouth is still at my throat, but his breath is no longer warm. It’s icy.

“Teddy?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push at his chest. It’s hard as marble.

And when I look up…

His eyes are no longer blue.

They’re black. Depthless. Burning at the edges like dying embers.

The thing wearing his face grins wide. Too wide. His teeth are too sharp.

“You dream of him,” the creature croons, its voice a distortion of Teddy’s. “But you called me.”

“No,” I breathe, scrambling away.

“Yes,” it says. “You let me in.”

The room burns away. Only the thing remains.

And me.

Trapped in the shape of my longing.

Magdolen jerks hard through a tangle, bringing my mind back to where it belongs.

“A lady of the court is demure, attentive, and lovely,” I repeat.

Shuri sweeps in from the closet, a clean lavender gown in her arms. She sets it on the four-poster bed, giving me a swift glance from the corner of her eye.

“The Queen never should have agreed to send you,” Magdolen says. “A bunch of dirty old men.”

She’s a tall, thin woman with harsh brows and shrewd eyes. She’s unmarried, from the city, and the eldest of my ladies-in-waiting.

Shuri is barely eleven. She watches us both with rapt attention, anxious to see how I’ll react to the blatant disrespect.

But I don’t react. I’ve known Magdolen half my life, and now I’m used to her. If she’s harsh with me, there’s always a reason for it.

“Marquis Alsett will be there,” Shuri sighs, wrapping her arms around the chair by the fireplace and staring out the window, fantasizing.

I make a face. Marquis Alse