Skyler

After dinner, I trudged toward the ladder to my attic room, ready to collapse into bed. Rayne, true to his word, had begrudgingly agreed to sleep on the couch. It felt like the only battle I'd won today.

As I passed him, his hand shot out, catching my wrist.

"A quick word, please," Rayne said, his tone even, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his grey eyes.

I stopped, glancing down at his hand encircling mine. His fingers were long, strong, and cool against my skin—capable of snapping my wrist with ease, yet his grip was oddly gentle.

"What?" I asked, keeping my voice wary.

"As I am your..." he paused, his jaw tightening, the words sticking in his throat like a bitter pill, "your familiar." He said the word as though it physically pained him.

I raised an eyebrow.

He inhaled sharply, his muscles taut with barely concealed frustration. "I am reliant on your energy for sustenance."

I furrowed my brows, confused. In the old tales, a witch fed her familiar, sure—but I'd assumed that meant food, not energy.

"I'll need the occasional, brief moment of contact with you," he continued, his voice steady but clipped. "To... replenish myself."

Replenish?

I stared down at him, at his hand still wrapped around my wrist. "So you're like a parasite? Leeching off my aura?"

His expression flattened, the faintest twitch of irritation crossing his face. "No, not like a parasite. Like a..." He paused again, visibly struggling with the word. "Like a familiar. This is the bond we agreed to—your energy, in exchange for my power."

"I didn't agree to this bond," I snapped, yanking my hand free. "I was tricked."

"Perhaps," he said coolly, though a flicker of something—was it guilt?—flashed in his eyes. "But the bond has been forged. And I need to eat."

"Then you'll have to starve," I said, crossing my arms. "I'm not giving you a drop of my energy."

His eyes darkened, the stormy grey swirling with something almost vulnerable.

"I saved you," he said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet. "I used my magic to help you, and you can't even spare me a crumb of energy."

A knot twisted deep in my gut, guilt and mistrust waging war within me. He had saved me—that much was true—but he was still a demon. Demons didn't help without wanting something in return, and I had no idea what Rayne truly wanted.

His gaze softened, the hard edges melting into something that felt dangerously close to pleading. His grey eyes met mine, unflinching, making me doubt myself.

But I couldn't let him get to me. Not like this.

I shook my head and stepped back, pulling away from his outstretched hand. "Goodnight, Rayne. Enjoy sleeping on the couch," I said, my voice quiet but firm.

"A hungry demon is not a happy demon, little witch," he called after me, his tone carrying a hint of warning, a promise of what might happen if I denied him.

I didn't reply. I climbed the ladder to my attic room, pulling the trapdoor shut behind me with more force than necessary. In the silence that followed, my pulse thundered in my ears, loud and erratic.

What was I going to do?

I leaned against the closed trapdoor, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. The idea of being tied to a demon made my skin crawl, and every instinct I had screamed that I needed to break this bond—soon.

I paced the small space, my steps echoing as the wooden boards creaked underfoot. My fingers itched to flip through the pages of every grimoire and spellbook we owned, but I already knew they wouldn't hold the answers I needed. My only hope was the books I'd ordered. Books on exorcisms and dark magic.

I needed them to arrive now.

What did it mean to be bonded to a demon? Would it corrupt me? Drag me into Hell when I died? Or was there something worse—something Rayne hadn't told me?

I paused, my breath catching. What if the bond wasn't just for his survival in this realm? What if he had darker intentions?

The memory of the diamond necklace he'd conjured flashed in my mind. It glittered with impossible beauty, and yet, it had felt like a bribe. A way to lower my defenses, to manipulate me into trusting him.

I couldn't trust him.

He'd said he needed the bond to stay in this realm, but he hadn't explained why. What was he doing here? Was he collecting souls for the Devil? Carrying out Hell's work?

My stomach churned as my thoughts spiraled. I dropped onto the edge of my bed, curling my hands into fists against the mattress.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, tossing and turning as unease gnawed at me. Sleep didn't come easily, and when it did, it was broken and haunted by nightmares.

In one, I stood in the alleyway again, the shadows swirling around me. Rayne emerged, his eyes glowing like embers, the diamond necklace draped across his palm like a noose. "Take it," he whispered, his voice smooth as silk.

I woke with a start, sweat clinging to my skin and my breath coming in short gasps. The early light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the window shutters, and I groaned, aching and exhausted.

I trudged downstairs, the scent of breakfast filled the air. My stomach growled, but my mood soured instantly at the sight before me.

Grandma was at the stove, cheerfully humming as she flipped pancakes. And Rayne? Rayne was lingering near the mirror by the front door, fussing with his hair like some vain aristocrat.

He looked utterly out of place in our little cabin, his sharp, tailored aesthetic clashing with the rustic warmth of the wooden walls and hand-sewn curtains.

He'd swapped his suit jacket for a sleek shirt and waistcoat, the dark fabric fitting him so perfectly it looked custom-made. His hair, a silvery cascade, glinted under the morning light as he adjusted the strands with meticulous care.

When he noticed me standing there, his movements paused. His eyes flicked over me, taking in my rumpled hair and tired expression.

"You look terrible, my pet," he said, his tone deceptively pleasant. "Did you have trouble sleeping?"

I glared at him, feeling his question dig under my skin. He knew I hadn't slept well.

"Never mind," he continued, waving a hand dismissively. "Aggy is making us breakfast. You'll feel better after a few pancakes and perhaps... two cups of coffee."

"Great," I muttered. "You're on a first-name basis with my grandmother now?"

"She's delightful," Rayne said with a grin that was both charming and infuriating. "I can see where you get it from."

Before I could retort, Grandma called out that breakfast was ready.

Rayne was at my side in an instant, his hand brushing lightly against the small of my back. "Shall we?" he asked smoothly, guiding me toward the kitchen.

The casual touch sent a spark of annoyance—and something else I didn't want to acknowledge—skittering through me.

Grandma had gone overboard, as usual. The table was covered in pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, and enough hash browns to feed an army.

Rayne pulled out my chair with the same practiced grace he applied to everything.

"Such good manners," Grandma said approvingly as I begrudgingly sat down.

Rayne settled into the chair beside me, moving with a deliberate grace that set my teeth on edge. He draped his arm over the back of my chair, the casual gesture far too intimate for my liking.

"My father always believed in excellent manners," he said smoothly, his voice as rich as dark velvet. "He said it was what separated us from the beasts."

I nearly spat out my coffee.

Grandma, ever oblivious, smiled warmly. "He sounds like a wise man, your father."

I swallowed hard, trying to avoid choking. She had no idea Rayne was probably referring to the Devil.

As I coughed, clearing my throat, I felt it—a faint, feather-light touch brushing across the nape of my neck.

"Careful, my pet," Rayne murmured, his voice low and dark, the words sinking into the air between us like smoke.

The room seemed to tilt for a moment. My breath hitched, and something coiled tight inside me, an electric charge sparking in my veins. His thumb lingered, trailing just enough to send my nerves into overdrive.

I froze, caught in his gaze. Those stormy grey eyes pinned me in place, sharp and unrelenting, as though they saw far too much.

Heat curled low in my stomach, a sensation I couldn't quite name or explain. Panic flared as my pulse quickened. What the hell was this?

I shot to my feet, nearly knocking the chair over in my haste. Rayne's arm dropped, his smirk growing ever so slightly as he leaned back, watching me like a cat amused by a frantic bird.

"I've just remembered," I said quickly, the words tumbling out as I grabbed a slice of toast and shoved it into my mouth. "I need to... do something. Out in the forest."

Grandma frowned, clearly annoyed by the abruptness, but I didn't wait for her to protest.

Instead, I bolted for the front door, my boots thudding against the floor as I pulled them on with clumsy urgency. The toast dangled from my mouth as I yanked the door open, letting the crisp morning air bite at my overheated skin.

I needed space. I needed air.

Most of all, I needed to think.