Chapter 4
Isabelle
The Guardian’s backyard feels like an enchanted forest. Lush green grass softens my footfalls.
Rose bushes with blood-red buds line the back of his cottage, creating a cozy atmosphere.
Flowers in various shades of blues, pinks, and yellows line his flowerbeds.
White trellises with tangled green vines sit behind the beds, acting as a fence for his property.
It’s…cute.
But looking at the stone-colored man with horns, it feels out of place.
I keep pace with The Guardian and nearly run into his solid form from behind when he stops abruptly. “This portal is the only way for me to travel and transport you at the same time.” His deep timbre sends shivers down my spine, demanding obedience.
The Guardian waves his hand in front of an archway covered in flowers. A white shimmer appears, soft at first before blinking into existence. Despite myself, I gasp. It’s one thing knowing The Guardian is supernatural, and an entirely different thing seeing him be supernatural.
Better get used to it. This will be my new life.
“Come.” With his command, I follow The Guardian through the shimmery veil.
A deep chill overcomes my body, and I get a sense of floating.
The world changes in rapid succession around me.
It’s disorienting and confusing. A smoky haze.
But just as quickly as it comes, the world around me settles, even as my stomach churns, threatening to be sick.
“Are you well?” The Guardian’s voice grounds me, giving me something to focus on other than the nauseated feeling in my belly.
“Never been better.” My voice is laced with sarcasm. Either my companion doesn’t hear it or ignores it, because he gestures for me to follow.
My eyes dart around my surroundings, taking in my new home. The night sky is painted in darkening shades of blue and purple. A moon sits high in the sky, casting a glow around us, making visibility possible, albeit barely.
The wind nips at my bare arms, making me wish I remembered to grab a coat. Though I doubt it would have fit in my backpack. The air is heavy with the earthy smell of rain tainted by something foul…sulfur, maybe.
We follow a dark brick path up a hill. It’s too dark to see what awaits us when we reach the top.
Black, twisted trees bent in grotesque shapes with bare branches resembling bony fingers line the path.
Yellow and red eyes watch me in the darkness but don’t approach.
They lie in wait as if they’ve come here to see the spectacle of me meeting my husband.
Fear prickles in the back of my mind, but I push it away.
I doubt fear will serve me well here. It seems like the kind of place that feeds off it. Perhaps my husband does too.
Husband. Such a foul thought.
My breaths come in pants as we continue up the narrow, winding path. The demon king couldn’t spring for a damn ride? Already, I’m annoyed with him. “How much longer?” I pant, struggling to keep up with The Guardian.
“Nearly there,” he replies, not offering any more.
“Nearly there” was another fifteen minutes of hiking up this damn hill until lit torches replaced the trees, illuminating the castle ahead, surrounded by a moat of dark water.
The castle rises at the end of the path, its silhouette a jagged horror against the darkening sky.
The outer walls are made of obsidian, with veins of fiery red running through them, like magma caught in stone.
In a way, it reminds me of a volcano. Towers pierce the sky, twisted spires that bend in on themselves.
The castle feels alive, like a creature more than a structure.
The air around it hums with an unsettling energy.
The Guardian approaches the gate, and it opens automatically, revealing a courtyard. The ground is cobbled. The uneven stones are dark with age and slick with moisture from the shadows. Patches of moss sprout between the stones, soft and bright green against the gloom.
In the heart of the courtyard stands a large fountain. It’s dry and cracked, nearly eroded, but I make out the grand pillar in the middle. It was probably once beautiful and spouted water but is now overrun with ivy and moss.
What is most unnerving and uninviting, though, are the statues.
Not just a few, but many. I lose count after twenty.
They range in size and shape but are all people.
Some of them have horns while others have tails.
Their expressions range from fear, to confusion, to anger.
They aren’t placed in any particular order, simply scattered about as if someone placed them hastily.
Unlike the rest of the courtyard, they aren’t covered in moss or vines.
None of them have cracks or erosion, so they are a fairly new feature.
The statues’ eyes seem to follow my every move, judging each step. I mentally shake myself for getting caught up in the gothic, gloomy feeling of the courtyard. Of course, the statues aren’t watching me. They are simply stone.
“What is this place?” My voice echoes around me, disturbing the eerie quiet.
“Demon’s Clan. I imagine it’s quite different from what you are used to.”
I try not to snort at The Guardian’s comment. This is a far cry from the one-bedroom apartment I lived in for the last year. “This damn castle feels like I’m walking into Dracula’s lair.”
“Dracula is not real,” he says unhelpfully. “But King Oziel is very real. He’s also not a vampire; he’s a—”
“Demon, yeah, you’ve mentioned that,” I mumble. “Where is he? Does he know I’m coming?”
“I’m very aware my human bride is here,” a deep voice says from behind us, startling me.
I whirl around in time to see two figures seemingly walking out of the shadows. “King Oziel,” The Guardian says in greeting.
“Ender,” the voice—rich and deep in pitch—says. I guess The Guardian has a name. Should have asked but didn’t care enough to.
The shadows part for him, revealing the most terrifyingly beautiful man I have ever encountered.
The demon king stands tall and regal, an imposing figure clad fully in black.
Pants hug his muscular thighs, and despite myself, I can’t help but let my eyes linger before roaming back up his body.
Like Ender, this king has two sharp horns protruding from his head.
They’re black as if dipped in ink and set out to dry.
A crown of thorns rests snugly atop his head.
“You must be my human,” he purrs, churning something low in my belly. I don’t like his possessive nature already. I belong to no one.
Before The Guardian—or rather, Ender—can properly introduce us, I stalk toward the demon king, simmering in my own anger. How presumptuous does one have to be to stake claim to a person as if I were nothing but a shiny new toy? After the last couple of days, my heightened emotions need an outlet.
The man doesn’t back up when I approach him.
In fact, he appears amused by my action.
This close, I can make out every feature of his stupidly handsome face.
It’s chiseled to perfection—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and full, dark lips that curl into a knowing, predatory smirk.
His molten-gold eyes gleam with both intelligence and an undeniable primal hunger, as if they see every secret, every fear, every weakness, and every desire in the soul of anyone who dares meet them.
I decide I don’t like him.
“I don’t belong to you,” I say through my teeth. “I’m here because this”—I gesture to his haunting kingdom—“is better than dying in prison.” A decision I’m starting to regret. “I will be your wife in name only, and do what is absolutely necessary, but nothing more. Do you understand?”
The infuriating man ignores my question in favor of his own. “What’s your name?”
“Isabelle.”
“Isabelle what?”
I huff. “Isabelle Sinclair.”
“Why, Miss Sinclair,” his predatory smile grows, “I smell sin on you.”
That…was not what I was expecting him to say. I don’t even know what to make of that.
“Miss Sinclair has had a…challenging few days.” Ender comes up behind me. “She will need a hot meal and sleep before she is ready to speak with you about the contract.”
I don’t particularly like Ender speaking for me as if I’m not here. But he speaks no lies. I’m hungry and need to sleep for twenty-four hours before I have to come to terms with my new home and…husband-to-be.
“Then Garvan will see her safely to her rooms,” Oziel says.
The man who has been lingering next to Oziel silently takes a step forward. Unlike the king, this man is gangly—tall and skinny. His features are softer than Oziel’s, and his porcelain skin glows in the moonlight. He stands with poise but lacks the egotistical aura Oziel possesses.
Garvan dips his head in greeting, strands of blond hair falling into his eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair.”
“It’s Isabelle. Nice to meet you too.” It’s really not, but I’ll play nice. I like him more than Oziel right now.
“Make sure Miss Sinclair receives a proper meal. It would be unfortunate if she were to…perish.” On the last word, Oziel chuckles, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
What the hell did he mean by that?
Before I can ask, Ender is gently pushing me toward Garvan. Clearly, his job is complete, and he’s eager to leave this place. Lucky bastard.
“Please follow me, Miss Sinclair,” Garvan says before walking toward the castle. Unlike Ender, I don’t need to jog to keep stride with him.
The last thing I hear before we disappear into the castle is Oziel saying, “Ender, do you have a moment?”
I don’t hear The Guardian’s answer before I walk through the castle’s front doors, and they close with an ominous finality behind me.