Chapter 3
Piper
There should be rules about demons following you home.
Like… Don’t. Or at the very least… call first. But Slade stands in my living room like he owns oxygen, arms folded over his stupidly muscular chest, green eyes glowing faintly as they track every inch of me.
It’s unsettling. Infuriating. It’s… annoyingly attractive.
“Make yourself at home,” I mutter. “By all means. I just love unexpected supernatural intrusions during the holidays.”
He doesn’t move. Hasn’t blinked. Just watches me like a predator.
Like he’s waiting for me to bolt so he can chase.
The heating kicks on with a soft rumble.
My curtains sway from the draft, brushing against the faint hum of magic still clinging to Slade like a second skin.
I tap my fingers against my thigh. “So. Ground rules.”
His lips twitch. “Rules. For me?”
“Yes.”
“Bold.” His green eyes flash mischievously.
“Shut up.”
He smirks, stepping closer. My breath catches — damn him — because he moves like a threat and a promise wrapped into one. “What are your rules?” he asks, voice low and ruinous.
“Rule one: You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“If I wanted a bed,” he says, leaning in, “I’d take yours.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “No. You will not be taking anything.” Another step. I retreat instinctively, bumping into my bookshelf. His eyes dip — briefly, hungrily — to my throat. “Rule two,” I whisper, “you can’t just… touch me. Whenever you want.”
His gaze darkens. “I’m already restraining myself, little witch.”
I hate how that affects me.
Newt leaps onto the bookshelf beside my head, hissing at Slade with theatrical disgust. I stroke between his ears to soothe him. Slade glares back, unimpressed with my furry bodyguard. “That creature has a death wish,” he mutters.
“His name is Newt,” I correct. “And he’s family.”
Slade scoffs. “I’ve slain warlords with less ego.”
I roll my eyes. “Rule three… Stop making everything sound like a threat.”
His expression turns wicked. “Sweetheart, everything I say is a threat.”
And I believe him.
I exhale, pushing past him toward the kitchen. My apartment smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and my favorite winter candle — Frostbound Hearth — something I usually find comforting. Tonight it feels… intrusive.
Slade shadows me like a large, ominous storm cloud. Every motion radiates heat. Every breath vibrates with something dark and ancient.
“Stop looming,” I snap again.
“I’m observing,” he says.
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m ensuring you don’t pass out,” he says with an eye roll.
“I am NOT going to pass out!”
“You’re flushed,” he says, eyes dragging over my face. “Your breathing is uneven. Your magic is—”
“Stop analyzing me like I’m a blood pressure reading!”
He steps closer again, stealing the distance between us. “You summoned me, Piper.”
“FOR THE LAST TIME… I ACCIDENTALLY… summoned you.”
He laughs, soft and deadly. “There’s no such thing as accidental magic when it comes to a bond.”
My stomach drops. “Stop saying bond like it means something.”
“It does,” he murmurs.
I cross my arms, trying to hide the tremble in my hands. “Look. I’m going to get water. You are going to sit on the couch. Quietly. Like a… demonic houseplant.”
“I don’t sit.”
“Well, you’re going to tonight.”
“I don’t take orders.”
“You do now,” I shoot back, trying on confidence I absolutely don’t feel. “Because you’re in my apartment, demon man.”
He steps forward until his chest brushes my shoulder. “So brave,” he murmurs. My heart slams painfully.
As I reach the kitchen counter, the pendant lights flicker. My magic swells unexpectedly, reacting to something in the air — something from him. “Why is the entire apartment suddenly acting like we’re in a haunted Hallmark special?” I mutter.
Slade breathes in — slow and deep, like he’s tasting the energy. “The curse,” he says. “It’s responding to me.”
“Responding how?”
He leans close enough that his breath grazes my ear. “It recognizes the bond.”
I whip around. “Stop. STOP saying bond. There is no bond. There is no tether. There is no cosmic matchmaking conspiracy.”
He laughs again. Dark. Knowing. “I can feel your magic,” he says softly. “And you feel mine. You’re trembling from it.”
“I’m trembling because you’re terrifying!”
His gaze drops to my lips, a sinful smile slowly spreading across his face. “You’re trembling because you want me.”
My jaw drops. Heat floods my cheeks. “You—! Arrogant—! Lantern-jawed—! Hell… REJECT!”
His grin widens. “Adorableeee.”
“Get out of my space,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. Slade catches my wrist — gently, maddeningly gentle — and guides my hand to rest on his chest. His heartbeat thunders against my palm, strong and wrong and intimate. “Feel that?” He whispers.
I swallow hard. “What… what is that?”
“A demon recognizing what’s his.”
My breath leaves me in a rush. Before I can form a coherent response, Newt leaps between us onto the counter, screeching like a tiny warlord defending his queen.
Slade snarls. “I swear to every infernal god, I’m going to banish him.”
“You TOUCH that cat,” I warn, “and I will hex your dick.”
His eyebrow lifts. “You assume yours is the only magic affecting it.”
The air between us crackles — magic, heat, fury, tension — thick enough to choke on. I break first. “Fine,” I mutter. “One night. ONE. And you sleep on the couch.”
He leans in, brushing a curl from my cheek with a touch too soft for my sanity. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I don’t sleep.” Then he steps past me and throws himself onto my couch like he owns it.
I stand there speechless. Newt jumps onto my shoulder like an angry fur scarf. And I realize… I have a demon in my living room, a curse reacting to him, and a bond I refuse to acknowledge.
And exactly… zero plan.