Chapter Three #2
Attempted. Such a clinical word for something that had left Isaac feeling like his skin was on backward.
“You’re…apologizing.” He shook his head.
“I’ve heard stories about the mighty Whichello.
Powerful demons like you demand and take and rule with an iron fist, but what you don’t do is say you’re sorry. ”
“You speak as if you know me personally.” Whichello sat in Dimitri’s vacated chair, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
If Isaac wasn’t fighting so hard to stop himself from falling apart, he might’ve said Whichello was drop-dead gorgeous.
He was also a ruthless demon, just another violent man circling in Isaac’s orbit.
Whichello leaned forward, forearms on knees, grey eyes weary.
“I’ve been alive for nearly fourteen hundred years, Isaac.
A person does not live that long unless they are willing to do whatever it takes to stay at the top of the food chain.
Death is a part of life, and although I’ve protected myself by any means necessary, I’m not the bloodthirsty, battle-hardened demon most claim me to be. ” He shrugged. “Not anymore.”
Isaac didn’t know what to do with that information. He’d lived that kind of life, only not on Whichello’s scale. Every time Gilbert’s fist connected with Isaac’s body, every time those cruel words cut deeper than any blade, Gilbert thought he was carving weakness into his son.
Instead, each blow had forged something harder within Isaac, a stubborn refusal to shatter that grew stronger with every attempt to destroy him.
That wasn’t something Isaac wanted to have in common with Whichello. In fact, he didn’t want to have anything in common with the demon. All he wanted was to leave this insane place.
To return to…an empty existence.
“No one else will touch you again,” Whichello said as if he could read Isaac’s mind. “You have my word.”
“Your word?” Isaac’s laugh came out broken.
Whichello did not just fucking say that.
The confidence of that sentence was almost cruel.
As though words alone could rewind violated skin and breath and memory.
“One of your homies just tried to—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t name it without it taking more from him. “Your word doesn’t mean shit!”
Whichello’s features darkened then suddenly softened. “You’re right.”
That was twice now Whichello conceded to him. Isaac wasn’t sure what was more terrifying, the demon willing to end a life in mere seconds or the man trying to trauma bond with him. Both were unsettling.
Killing was obvious. Trauma bonding was subtle and frightening. One was fast. The other rewrote you slowly.
Whichello scrubbed a hand over his head. “Dimitri told the other guard to take a break. Raze came straight to me, informing me of the dismissal.”
Then Whichello rushed to his rescue. Isaac was eternally grateful for the save, but it didn’t change the situation. Not just with Dimitri, but the whole shitshow, starting from the moment the auction hammer slammed down.
You know damn well it started way before then. This is just another chapter in a life that keeps demanding resilience like a tax.
Whichello stood, moving toward the door, not toward Isaac, and spoke to someone outside that Isaac couldn’t see.
His voice carried that same controlled tone, but underneath it, something simmered.
“Bring dinner to the tower room. Make sure it’s hot.
And post two guards outside. Marcus chooses who.
No one enters without my explicit permission. ”
He closed the door but didn’t lock it, turning back to face Isaac.
“You think food makes this okay?” Isaac’s voice came out louder than he intended, sharp with lingering terror and rage that had nowhere else to go. “You think a meal is going to fix what just happened?”
“No,” Whichello said quietly, turning back to face him. “Nothing fixes this. But you need to eat, and I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe?” Isaac stared incredulously at him.
“I’m not safe here. I was never safe here.
You bought me at an auction, kidnapped me from my apartment, locked me in a tower, and then…
” He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the trembling that had taken over his entire body.
His wrists ached where Dimitri had gripped them, and he could still feel phantom touches on his skin that made him want to vomit.
Whichello’s eyes darkened, but he kept his distance. “I’ll move you to different quarters if you promise not to run.”
The offer caught Isaac off guard. He stared at Whichello, searching for the trap hidden in those words, but the demon just waited with uncharacteristic patience.
“Why would you do that?” Trust was a bullet, and Isaac was already riddled with holes. If Whichello betrayed him, it just might be the shot that finally broke him.
“Because you shouldn’t stay in a room where you were assaulted.
” Whichello said it like it was obvious, like Isaac’s comfort mattered in some equation that Isaac couldn’t figure out.
“I’m offering you a choice. Stay here with guards posted or move to the east wing where you’ll have more space and better security. ”
Better security meaning Whichello. Instinct said to take advantage of the offer. Sanity said proceed at his own risk. Isaac could practically hear the hammer cocking.
“I need your word, Isaac. I can’t protect you if you keep trying to escape.”
Choice. Not dominance. Not ownership. Dependency. Protection with conditions. The kind of offer that changed the shape of the cage instead of removing it.
Even knowing this, Isaac’s mind turned over the reality of his situation.
What did he have to run back to? A crappy apartment he could no longer afford.
A dead-end job at the grocery store where his boss was moments away from getting slugged in the mouth.
A father who’d sold him without a second thought.
The only person who would miss him was Danny, but his best friend had Ash now, a mate who would protect him and love him the way Danny deserved.
Isaac had nothing. No one except a best friend who was building a life that didn’t have room for Isaac’s chaos.
“If I stay,” he heard himself say, “how do I know this won’t happen again?”
Whichello met his eyes, and for once those gray depths held something Isaac recognized.
Sincerity? Maybe. Or at least the demon equivalent.
“I’m not going to lie. Dimitri isn’t surviving the night.
He hurt you, and I will violently end anyone who threatens your safety, little panda,” he stated with quiet but fierce conviction.
The promise was cold and focused and terrifyingly sincere. Isaac studied Whichello, noticing the exhaustion around his eyes, tension in the set of his jaw.
“Your word.” Isaac wanted something solid in a world that kept dissolving under him. “You swear it?”
“Harder than I’ve ever sworn anything in my long-ass life.” Whichello placed one hand over his heart in a gesture that appeared almost formal and completely ridiculous. “You are under my protection, Isaac. That means something to me, and I don’t give my protection lightly.”
Isaac wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to believe he could stop running and fighting. He hadn’t exhaled in years and would give anything for five uninterrupted minutes of air.
Whichello’s face tightened with suspicion, as if bracing for a string of obscenities rather than agreement. After all, Isaac had escaped before. Twice, if you counted getting lost in a creepy passageway.
But for all his faults, Isaac had never broken a promise once given.
“I’ll stay.” He sighed from the depths of his soul. It was a calculated risk taken by someone who knew exactly what promises cost, yet he was giving one anyway. “You have my word.”