“Daisy,” he says, pulling me gently to the back, out of sight of the customers. “I believe you, what you went through. I do. Ethan was an asshole. But...” He sighs, dragging his fingersthrough his hair. “I can’t have this kind of drama in the cafe. Customers are leaving. Not to mention you’ve been flaky, missing a lot of shifts. And now this.” He gestures to where Phoebe was standing just moments ago.
“No, please—” My voice cracks. “That wasn’t my fault. I’ll fix it. I’ll do double shifts. I’ll?—”
“I’m sorry.” He says, shaking his head. “I have to let you go.”
It hits like a punch, straight to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault that my police report had been leaked. It wasn’t my fault I was raped. It wasn’t my fault that people were choosing to side with a dead rapist over me. So why am I being punished?
I nod. I don’t argue any further; there’s no point. I grab my bag, my limbs moving on autopilot as I hang up my apron for the last time. By the time I manage to burst out of the cafe door, I’m already sobbing. The snow outside is falling in heavy, wet clumps, instantly soaking through my hoodie. The wind slices through me as I begin to run, as fast as I possibly can. My feet pound the pavement, my chest heaving as staring faces pass by in a blur.
I stumble through my apartment door and slam it shut, my breath coming out of me in broken, sobbing pants. My bag crashes to the floor, and I finally break. I scream. It’s raw and guttural, my soul seeming to tear in two at the sound that pours out of me. The kind of scream that rips through your chest, that leaves your throat shredded. I grab the nearest thing to me and throw it as hard as I can. I watch as my sunshine mug flies and smashes into the wall, exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.
“KORITHAX!” I shriek, my voice cracking. “KORITHAX, I FUCKING SUMMON YOU!”
Nothing. Of course, when I actually want him to turn up, he doesn’t come.
I spin, tears blurring my vision as I desperately grab my phone from my bag with frantic fingers. I begin searching the internet like a madwoman. I pace back and forth as I read creepy forums, shady websites, anything and everything I can find that has Korithax’s name attached to it. I don’t care, I just need to find something. Anything that will make him appear.
Eventually, I find a method that swears to work. One that didn’t need candles or incantations or fancy herbs and spices. Just blood, his sigil, and a summoning circle. Perfect.
I shove my rug aside and dash into the kitchen to grab the sharpest knife I can find. I move back into the tiny space in my living room and, without hesitating, I drop to my knees and drag the knife down my arm, whimpering at the pain as the blood wells thick and bright, dripping down to my wrist. I steady myself as I go lightheaded from the adrenaline, then dip my fingers into the crimson fluid, drawing the shaky summoning circle the best I can onto the wooden floor, his sigil in the centre. I glance at the image on my phone, then slowly move my bloodied fingers. An inverted triangle with thorned tendrils curling around the edges of the shape. A spiralled serpent in the middle, consuming its own tail. Above the triangle sits a crescent moon, with a vertical slash through it and one across it. The bottom, a blood drop. I squeeze at the cut on my forearm, draining more blood from my body as I sketch out the image as perfectly as I possibly can. My fingers burn as I finish the last of the sigil, shaking as I look down at the bloodied mess on my floor. I take a slow, deep inhale, anger still vibrating through my core as I grit my teeth. This better work.
“Korithax!” I whisper. “I summon you!” Nothing again. “Korithax!” I cry louder, voice utterly broken.
I sit there, bleeding, panting through gritted teeth as my chest heaves, waiting. Hoping that the Prince of Hell will answer my broken, bleeding call.
Chapter 22
Korithax
Ifeel it the second it happens.
Blood magic. Her blood. My sigil burns across the veils between our realms, yanking at my very soul like a fucking leash. I roar from behind my desk, the force of it shaking the walls around me, shattering the delicate glass decanter I hadn’t even touched. The walls pulse with my fury. I stand abruptly, wings snapping wide behind me, hitting the shelves surrounding me, sending their contents flying. My fists clench so tight my nails pierce my palms. Her blood—she’s used her fucking blood to call me.
I vanish mid-snarl, the force of the magic pulling me through to the mortal realm like I’ve been hooked through the heart and dragged behind a chariot. Her apartment materialises around me, my body still vibrating with fury and residual magic. I stagger slightly from the potency of the summons, the sickening sweetness of mortal blood in the air hitting me like a drug. The scent is thick, intoxicating—her blood, coppery and warm, stillwet on the floorboards. The summoning circle is shaky, but it’s fucking perfect because it’s been made from her, by her.
She’s knelt in the middle of it, her hair sticking to her tear-streaked face, her arm bleeding freely as her trembling fingers hover near the sigil she carved in blood. I blink at the sight of it, the shock of it all making my stomach twist.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snarl, storming toward her.
She lifts her head, her wild eyes red-rimmed, glassy with rage and grief. Her lip trembles just once before she hardens her expression into something almost deadly.
“I accept,” she bites out, rage lacing every syllable. Her breaths are sharp and erratic, like she’s on the edge of falling apart entirely. “I accept your stupid fucking proposal.”
The room is too small to hold her pain. It pulses around her like a second aura, hot and suffocating. My nostrils flare as I inhale the storm of emotions she’s barely keeping contained. I can hear her heartbeat pounding erratically. It’s too fast, like a cornered animal that’s about to be slaughtered. Something’s happened. Something monstrous.
“You said I could have anything I wanted in return, right?” She demands. Her voice cracks near the end, but she straightens her spine like the stubborn mortal I know, and looks me right in the eye without a hint of fear.
“Yes,” I answer warily, my smoke flicking around me, betraying my calm exterior.
She rises, and my gaze is instantly drawn back to her arm. Her blood drips steadily from the open cut, falling from her fingers and splashing fat crimson droplets that stain the floor like roses blooming in reverse.
“I will marry you, Korithax,” she declares. “Because you’re clearly not going to let me die,” she scowls at me but lifts herchin, “I will marry you if I can live in Hell. If I can leave this horrible place behind forever.”
The demand hits me hard, entirely unexpected. She doesn’t just want out of this world; she wants in on mine. My Hell. The one I have spent centuries protecting, ruling without a crown. The desperation in her eyes is unmistakable. Her voice isn’t shaking anymore either, despite her body trembling. She’s holding herself upright on the crumbling bones of her own strength. And gods help me, I should say no. I should tell her she’s out of her damned mind. But I don’t. Because I’m a fucking selfish, self-serving asshole who needs this.
A scroll unfurls in the air, the parchment dark as ash, glowing faintly with silver veins of contract binding magic. The black feathered quill floats beside it, awaiting her.
“Read it. Sign it. Then add a drop of your blood,” I say, voice stripped of any emotion, marking this as nothing more than a business transaction.
