Lucia
The silence in the car grew thick and heavy, broken only by the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers battling the downpour.
I stared at their hypnotic movement, counting each pass like a prisoner, marking time.
The demon drove with unsettling precision, his hands relaxed on the wheel, his inhuman eyes fixed on the rain-slicked motorway stretching endlessly southward.
When the quiet became unbearable, I shifted in the leather seat, my swollen belly making the movement awkward.
“What did you mean that I signed for this?” My voice sounded too loud in the confined space. “And how did I get pregnant overnight?”
His fingers flexed slightly on the steering wheel. “Our contracts are written in blood. You died before fulfilling your end of the bargain.” He paused before continuing. “I didn't expect to find you in a convent this time.”
The careful phrasing made my skin prickle. He was omitting something important.
“It's a demon child, then,” I said flatly. “I suppose patience isn't one of your virtues.”
“Half-demon,” he corrected, his mouth quirking at some private joke. “And no, we're not known for our patience.”
I couldn't help but be sarcastic. “Will it be born with a tail and horns?”
His faint smile didn't reach those bottomless eyes as he glanced at me. The wipers thumped out several more cycles before I broke again.
“Say I believe you. I'm thirty-four years old. Why wait until I was locked away in a convent?”
“I found you by chance,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
I studied his profile. The sharp jawline, raindrops still clinging to his too-perfect hair. A beautiful lie. All demons were monstrous.
“And what did my past life get in exchange for her soul and... this?” I gestured to my stomach.
“Eternal life.”
A caustic laugh escaped me. “No. I wouldn't be that stupid in any lifetime.”
“I’m a few hundred years old,” he said quietly.
“But you're a demon.”
“Semantics won't change the contract.”
The brand on my finger pulsed as I pressed further. “How did I die?”
“I don't remember. I make countless contracts.”
Another lie.
“Whose wedding ring was it?”
The car hit a puddle, sending up a spray of water.
“Yours,” he said softly.
I rubbed my temples where a headache was building. None of this made sense, yet the life growing inside me was proof enough of his claims. The seat leather creaked as I turned toward the window, watching the countryside blur past.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
The single word carried unsettling finality.
I exhaled sharply through my nose and began fiddling with the seat controls.
If I had to endure this maddening half-conversation, I'd rather sleep.
The seat reclined with a quiet whir, the position easing the constant ache in my back.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the rhythmic sound of rain against glass, trying to ignore the presence beside me and the impossible future growing inside me.
◆◆◆
The car's deceleration pulled me from uneasy dreams. I blinked against the golden sunlight streaming through the windows.
The world outside transformed from the stormy motorway to rolling green fields that stretched endlessly.
The countryside unfolded like a medieval tapestry—simple, untouched, breathtaking in its pastoral beauty.
There were no houses, power lines, or signs of human existence—just earth and sky and the winding ribbon of road.
I turned to study my captor's profile, wondering what monstrous truth lay beneath that flawless human mask. The sunlight played across his features, making him look almost normal—almost handsome. The illusion would have been perfect if not for those devilish eyes.
“What's your name?” I asked, stifling a yawn that tasted of sleep and lingering fear.
I adjusted my seat upright, the leather creaking. Still no signs of civilisation. Just endless emerald hills and the occasional twisted oak standing sentinel.
“Bael.” His voice was calm as if we were discussing the weather.
My breath caught. “As in Baal?”
A slight tilt of his head. “Humans called me many names.”
The implications settled over me like a shroud. This was no minor demon. The Canaanites had worshipped him as a god. Some texts called him a fallen angel, others a prince of Hell. My fingers found the brand on my finger, tracing the inverted cross as if it might burn me anew.
“How old are you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
“Old.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose. “Ugh. It's like talking to a brick wall.”
Amusement flickered across his fake human features. “You sound frustrated, Lucia.”
He was mocking me.
“How can someone kill a demon?”
His laugh was a dark, rich sound that filled the car. “Wow. That's harsh for a nun. Isn't the church all about forgiveness?”
“I’m only human,” I said with a shrug.
“Yes, I guess we can't deny our nature or purpose,” he murmured.
The car slowed further as we approached a stone bridge arching over a babbling brook.
Sunlight danced on the water's surface, the cheerful sparkle at odds with the cold dread pooling in my stomach.
Bael was a being older than civilisations, and I was carrying his offspring.
The absurdity of it all threatened to choke me.
As we crossed the bridge, the tyres humming against ancient stones, I caught sight of our destination in the distance.
It was the only building in the vicinity—a manor constructed of weathered sandstone bricks with shimmering windows.
My fingers tightened around the door handle, the brand on my finger pulsing in time with my quickening heartbeat.