Chapter 10 Threxian
THREXIAN
The bond tears through my awareness like a blade dragged across raw nerves. Sleep. Fear. Shock. The emotions arrive tangled together, violent and uncontrolled, surging through the tether between us with such intensity that the infernal plane itself seems to recoil from the sudden spike of power.
Elowen is awake. And she is terrified. I do not hesitate.
The world folds around me as I move, shadow splitting open beneath my will as I cross the thin boundary between realms. The marsh night rushes up to meet me, cold air and damp reeds whipping against my senses as I emerge near the small cottage at the edge of Briarthorn.
The broken window is visible immediately. Glass glitters across the ground beneath the frame, pale shards catching the moonlight like frost scattered across the earth.
The bond roars with fury. Someone frightened her.
My attention sharpens instantly. Infernal instinct does not require investigation to identify a threat, but I force myself to pause long enough to follow the lingering trace of mortal scent drifting through the marsh path beyond the cottage – ale, sweat, and cowardice. The trail is not difficult to follow.
A man stumbles down the narrow road leading back toward the village square, his steps uneven with drunken arrogance as he mutters something under his breath about witches and curses and justice.
He does not realize he has already died.
I step from the shadows behind him. He senses the shift in the air a moment too late.
The man turns, confusion already forming on his face as his eyes attempt to adjust to the sudden distortion of darkness gathering around him.
“What the—”
The hell-born flame answers my anger before the sentence can finish forming.
Flame erupts around him in a bloom of white-gold heat that consumes flesh and bone with merciless efficiency.
His scream lasts only a heartbeat before the fire devours the sound along with everything else that made him human.
When the flames vanish, nothing remains but drifting ash that scatters across the empty road. The destruction satisfies nothing.
My focus has already shifted back to the cottage. The bond remains unstable. Fear continues to ripple through the tether, raw and uncontrolled in ways that feel dangerously close to the surge that destroyed Garruk in the alley.
The realization settles with cold clarity as I move. When she wakes abruptly from fear, her mind has no time to control the reaction. Terror reaches the bond before reason can intervene. Which means this will happen again. Unless I change the rules.
I step through the broken window. Elowen stands near the center of the room, her breathing uneven as moonlight spills across the scattered glass around her feet. The fear in her expression shifts immediately when she sees me emerge from the darkness.
Relief arrives so suddenly through the bond that it nearly steals the anger from my chest.
“Threxian,” she whispers.
I cross the room in two strides.
“Easy,” I murmur as I reach her.
Her hands are trembling. The sight sends another surge of wrath through my veins, but I force it down with deliberate control. Violence has already been answered tonight. Now she requires something else.
My arms close around her before she can protest. For a moment she stiffens in surprise, clearly not expecting the contact, but the resistance fades quickly as the reality of the night settles around her. Her forehead presses lightly against my chest.
I can feel the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat through the thin fabric between us, fast and uneven in the wake of the shock that tore her from sleep.
My hand continues its slow path along her back, careful and steady, the same motion one might use to calm a frightened animal that does not yet trust its surroundings again.
The bond responds immediately to the contact, the wild surge of infernal heat settling into something quieter as her breathing begins to follow the rhythm I set.
Each slow inhale she manages pulls the chaos inside the tether back toward control, and with every passing moment the urge to burn the entire village to ash recedes just a little further.
“Breathe,” I say quietly.
Her voice trembles against my chest.
“I tried.”
“I know.”
The words leave me with surprising gentleness.
“You woke suddenly,” I continue. “Your body reacted before your mind could steady the bond.”
Her fingers curl lightly into the fabric at my side.
“I hate that this keeps happening.”
“It will not forever.”
“How do you know?”
Because I refuse to allow it. The answer remains unspoken. Instead I guide her breathing the same way I did the night before, my hand resting gently against her ribs as I slow the rhythm of her inhale.
“Follow me.”
Her breath shudders.
“In.”
Her chest rises beneath my hand.
“Hold.”
The bond reacts, heat pressing briefly against the edges of control.
“Out.”
The tension loosens slowly. We repeat the rhythm several times before her pulse begins to normalize again. When she finally lifts her head, her eyes search my face with lingering uncertainty.
“You felt it,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
“Before you came here?”
“The moment you woke.”
Her gaze drifts briefly to the shattered window.
“Someone threw a stone.”
“I know.”
The quiet certainty in my voice draws her attention back immediately.
“You know?”
“I found him.”
Something sharp passes through her expression.
“What do you mean you found him?”
“I mean,” I reply calmly, “that the man responsible will not be throwing stones again.”
Her breath catches.
“Threxian…”
I do not apologize.
“I warned them.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just burn people alive.”
“He frightened you.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
Silence stretches between us. Her eyes search mine, conflict shifting behind them as she tries to reconcile the demon before her with the man who just held her steady through panic.
“You can’t solve everything with fire,” she says finally.
“No.”
The admission surprises her.
“But tonight,” I continue quietly, “it was appropriate.”
She exhales slowly, clearly deciding that argument will accomplish nothing. Then she studies me again.
“You look different.”
I glance briefly toward the faint reflection in the shattered glass scattered across the floor.
The infernal form has manifested fully without conscious decision. My wings stretch slightly against the small space of the cottage, black flame curling along the edges of their vast span.
“Happens when I am angry.”
“You burned someone and you’re still angry?”
“Yes.”
Her expression softens slightly.
“Because of me?”
“Because someone believed they could threaten what belongs to me.”
The bond pulses sharply between us. Elowen’s gaze drops briefly to my chest where the invisible connection hums with shared heat.
“I’m not something you own,” she says quietly.
“No,” I agree easily.
Her eyes lift slightly at the lack of argument, as though she had expected one.
I look at her for a moment, then add with mild amusement, “Ownership is inefficient.”
Her brow furrows. “That sounds like something a demon would say.”
“It is.”
I tilt my head slightly, watching the way the moonlight catches in her hair. Gods she is beautiful.
“You are something I protect,” I continue.
The bond hums softly between us, warm and relaxed now instead of volatile. She exhales slowly, clearly deciding she dislikes how reassuring that sounds.
“And the bond will always react like that?” she asks.
“It does not have to.”
Her eyes narrow with interest.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” I reply, folding my wings slightly to avoid knocking over the small table beside us, “that the bond has been listening to the wrong signal.”
“Which is?”
“Your fear.”
She folds her arms.
“That seems like a design flaw.”
“It is a feature,” I correct lightly. “Just not the most useful one.”
Her brow furrows deeper.
“So what are you suggesting?”
I step a little closer, lowering my voice.
“That from now on, I will not answer only your fear.”
Her attention sharpens instantly.
“What else would you answer?”
“You.”
She blinks.
“My voice?” she asks carefully.
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a terrible idea.”
I cannot help the faint curve of a smile.
“Only if you plan to abuse the privilege.”
“And if I told you to stop burning people?”
“I would consider it.”
She gives me a look.
“You already said you would.”
“Yes.”
“And you meant it?”
“I did.”
She studies my face carefully, clearly searching for the trick hidden in the offer.
“You’re a wrath demon,” she says slowly.
“I am.”
“And you’re offering to obey me.”
“Not everyone,” I clarify.
Her head tilts slightly.
“Just me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question lingers between us longer than the others. I meet her gaze steadily.
“Because you are my mate.”
Her breath catches almost imperceptibly.
“And that means you listen to me?” she asks.
“It means,” I reply calmly, “that if you tell me to stop, I will.”
She considers that for a moment.
“That seems dangerous.”
“For who?” I ask.
Her lips twitch faintly.
“For everyone else.”
The bond warms between us at the quiet humor in her voice. And since the window shattered, the tension in the cottage dissolves into something far softer than fear.