Chapter 3 The Demon’s Devotion
The Demon's Devotion
The ledger room called to me like a siren song.
Three days. That's how long I'd been in this manor—long enough to learn the rhythms of the household, the creaks of the floorboards, the hours when certain residents were occupied elsewhere.
Long enough to grow restless and curious and dangerously bored.
Long enough to notice that the door at the end of the east corridor, the one with the tarnished brass plaque reading Ledgers I... amplify them.
I can make someone feel pleasure so intense they forget their own name.
I can make them crave things they didn't know they wanted. "
My mouth went dry. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is." He stepped closer, and the air around us thickened, charged with something electric and intoxicating. "But I don't use my abilities to control. I use them to... enhance. To show people what they truly desire, and help them reach it."
"Is that what you're doing now?" My voice came out breathier than I intended. "Enhancing?"
"No." His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. "Right now, I'm simply standing here. Whatever you're feeling is entirely your own."
I was feeling a lot of things. Heat, pooling low in my belly. Awareness, prickling across my skin. A dangerous, reckless curiosity about what it would feel like if he did use his abilities on me.
"Show me," I whispered.
His eyes widened fractionally. "Lizzie—"
"Not to control me. Just... show me what you can do. I want to understand."
He was silent for a long moment, searching my face. Then he said, very quietly, "If I do this, you must tell me to stop if it becomes too much. I will not—cannot—harm you. Do you understand?"
I nodded, my heart hammering. "I understand."
He moved behind me, and I felt the shift in the air as his presence settled at my back. He didn't touch me—not yet—but I could feel him there, a wall of cool energy and ancient power. His breath stirred the hair at my nape.
"Close your eyes," he murmured.
I obeyed. The darkness behind my eyelids was immediate and absolute.
"Now," he said, his voice a velvet whisper against my ear, "I want you to focus on your breathing. In... and out. Feel the air moving through your lungs. Feel your heart beating. Feel the weight of your body, the texture of your clothes against your skin."
I did as he asked, and slowly, the world narrowed to those simple sensations. The rise and fall of my chest. The thud of my pulse. The soft brush of my sweater against my arms.
"Good," Azrael breathed. "You're very receptive. Now... let me show you."
The first touch was barely there—a whisper of sensation against my forearm, like a feather drawn across my skin. I gasped, my eyes flying open, but there was nothing there. No hand, no finger, no physical contact at all.
"What—" I started.
"Shh." His voice was in my ear, close and warm. "Eyes closed. Trust me."
I closed my eyes again. The feather-light touch returned, trailing up my arm to my shoulder, then down again.
It was impossibly soft, impossibly delicate, and it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
Then another touch joined it—on my other arm, mirroring the first. Then another, ghosting across my collarbone.
Then another, brushing the nape of my neck.
I whimpered. I couldn't help it. The sensations were everywhere and nowhere, a thousand invisible fingers tracing patterns on my skin, and I couldn't see them, couldn't predict them, couldn't do anything but feel.
"This is demon magic," Azrael said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm not touching you. I'm simply... suggesting to your nerves that they're being touched. Your brain does the rest."