Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
MAX
Ivy’s voice tangled through my dreams—low, steady, and full of quiet storms. Sometimes she laughed, sometimes whispered. Sometimes it was just breathing, and that was enough to make the world tilt.
Every word we’d shared during the trial replayed in pieces: her teasing, her warmth, the way she’d said wind like it meant freedom itself. I’d told her about loneliness, and she hadn’t filled the silence with pity. She’d just been there. Present. Listening.
Somewhere in that mess of half-sleep, she had her wings back.
I don’t know how I knew what they’d looked like—they shimmered at the edges of my mind, pale and bright.
Maybe it was imagination, or perhaps I’d seen her truer than she meant me to.
All I knew was that she was braver than she thought, smarter than she let on, and far too sweet for a place like this.
She’d seen the real me, the one stripped of titles, body, and bravado—and somehow, she’d cared.
When I finally woke, I wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or a revelation.
The barracks buzzed with the restless noise of men who’d survived another trial. Kevin was sprawled on the bunk opposite mine, tossing a small metal coin in the air and catching it like he had nothing better to do.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said without looking up.
“Maybe I have,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand through my hair.
Kevin smirked. “Let me guess… blonde hair, great legs, can’t keep her eyes off you?”
I shot him a look.
“Not my fault, you’re predictable, counselor.” He caught the coin again and squinted at me. “You’re thinking about her. That demoness, Ivy.”
I hesitated. “How much do you know about imprinting? Can you tell me more?”
That got his attention. The coin hit the floor with a dull clink.
“Imprinting?” he repeated. “That’s serious stuff. Are you sure you want to do something like that? It means never going back to earth—ever.”
“I know,” I said, sitting up. “I just… want to know if it’s real.”
Kevin leaned back, thoughtful. “It’s rare. From what I’ve heard, when a HuBull and a demoness are… fated, the bond shows itself the first time they’re intimate. The guy’s eyes glow gold. Golden bands appear on both their wrists. And then that’s it—no one else for either of them. Ever.”
“Eternal?”
“Eternal,” Kevin confirmed. “Soul to soul. Sounds romantic, but just remember, there’s no divorce in Hell.”
I tried to laugh. It came out thin. “Has it ever happened to anyone you know?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve seen it before but never to anyone I know. I’ve been here long enough to see a lot of things. Some people say Lucy hasn’t even been imprinted. Like I said earlier, sometimes it happens to the contest winners.”
That image. Lucy in love. It was unsettling enough to derail the conversation.
Kevin looked at me sideways. “Why the sudden interest? You just met the girl.”
I shrugged. “She was my handler during the last challenge. I don’t know. I just feel a connection of some kind. Call it morbid curiosity.”
“Curious,” he echoed, grinning. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”
I snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s sacrilegious. If we weren’t already in hell, I would be warning you about lightning strikes.”
Before he could answer, the door slammed open.
Agnus filled the doorway, all bulk and thunder. “Rise and shine, boys. It’s your favorite kind of morning—the humiliating kind. Final trial’s up.”
Groans erupted across the barracks. Someone muttered a curse.
Agnus ignored them. “Today, you’ll prove your endurance the old-fashioned way.
Each of you will report to the milking stations.
We’re measuring volume, stamina, and recovery time.
You perform well, and one of you will make the team.
You don’t—well, you can imagine what happens to bulls that underperform. ”
The room fell silent.
My stomach turned—milking station.
Agnus smirked, clearly enjoying our collective horror. “You’ll have the option to request your attendant. Choose wisely.”
She clapped her hands once, sharp as a gunshot. “Move out.”
Men shuffled toward the door. I stayed put until Kevin nudged me.
“You look like you’re about to face a firing squad,” he said.
“Maybe I am.”
“You’re seriously considering it, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
He gave a low whistle. “Satan’s Biscuits! You’re going to ask for her. If she says yes, you’d better mean it. That kind of bond doesn’t break.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “That’s the point.”
Kevin’s grin faltered. “You’re not just into her. You feel something.”
“Yeah.” I stood, pulling on the regulation shirt. “That’s the problem. How do you know if you’re in love?”
Kevin shot me a horrified look, which made me laugh.
He clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go get your Juliet.”
We filed into the corridor, the air thick with anxiety. My number was called over the speaker. “Subject 37, report to Station Six.”
When I reached the row of chambers, the attendant at the console glanced up. “Preference?” she asked flatly.
My mouth was dry, but I managed, “Ivy.”
The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “Bold choice.” She jotted something down and pressed a button. “Request submitted. We’ll see if she accepts.”
I stood there in the hum of machinery, pulse thudding like a countdown clock.
If she did say yes, I’d have one chance. One impossible, irreversible moment to show her what she already meant to me.
And if she didn’t—well, then maybe that would be my real trial.
Somewhere down the hall, I thought I heard her voice through an open intercom—soft, clear, and alive.
My resolve locked into place.
If this was the last thing I did in Hell, I wanted her to be the one to see me.
She didn’t sweep in like Lucy. She walked in like she’d been trying to avoid being seen and failed, chin up anyway.
Her hair was pulled into a messy knot that made me want to be the man who undid it.
The scars where wings had caught the light in thin, pale crescents along her shoulder blades—beautiful.
Her eyes flicked to the glass, found me, and stuck. I felt it in the base of my spine.
My cock, unhelpful bastard that it was, surged like it had opinions about who its mistress truly was.
Agnus noticed Ivy and softened by an almost measurable percentage. “Demoness Ivy, do you agree to collect the specimen for subject thirty-seven?”
Ivy nodded. “I do.”
Agnus took some notes and then turned to me. “Okay, I have you down with Ivy for the automatic collection.”
“I’d like to,” I heard myself say, voice steady when the rest of me was not. “I’d like… manual.”
Ivy’s face whitened, then flared red.
Agnus made a note. “Max chooses the manual. Collection required.”
The door hissed open. My feet carried me before my brain could talk me out of it. Ivy turned to face me.
She looked terrified.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered.
She shook her head imperviously. “I want to.”
Then louder she said, “Max, do you consent to me using my mouth and hand to milk you to completion while your sample is collected?”
My chest was a drum. “Yes. Please.”
“Can I touch you anywhere else?”
“Anywhere,” I rasped.
“Will you tell me if you want me to stop?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”
“Good bull,” she murmured, and the praise almost took my knees out.
I lay back on the chaise. The cushion was cooler than I expected, the leather smooth against my shoulders.
My cock was heavy and high, the head already slick, the vein along the underside hard enough to see my own pulse.
Ivy knelt between my thighs, hands bracketing my hips for a moment like she was aligning herself for the guillotine.
“Breathe,” she said. However, I wasn’t certain if it was for her or for me.
I did. In. Hold. Out. I could control my breathing, but I couldn’t control the way my body reacted to her. The need to touch her, to claim her. To be claimed by her. I hoped to God this wasn’t a mistake.