Skyler

Marge's small store was tucked away in a quiet side alley, a hidden corner of the town where the air smelled faintly of dried herbs and candle wax. It was a strange little place, cluttered and mysterious, its shelves lined with jars of powders, bundles of dried plants, and crystals of every imaginable colour. Marge mostly dealt with online orders, but occasionally, local witches—hedge witches like us—would stop by for supplies or drop off the odd poultice order.

I pushed the door open, a small bell announcing my arrival, and stepped inside. The warmth of the store wrapped around me like a blanket, a sharp contrast to the brisk air outside. Marge sat behind the counter, her wiry grey hair barely visible over the top of her book, which was tilted up to her face.

"Hello, dear," she croaked without looking up.

I dropped the tray of herbs and tinctures onto the counter. "Here's your order."

Marge lowered her book just enough for me to see the cover: Horns of Desire. A minotaur, shirtless and flexing, loomed large in the embrace of a swooning woman. My lips twitched in disbelief.

"Your Grandma recommended this to me," Marge said, catching my look. "Apparently, the Internet's gone crazy for minotaur smut."

Oh. Grandma.

"Right," I muttered, shifting awkwardly as Marge opened the till and handed me a wad of notes.

"Here you go, dear."

"Thanks," I said, turning toward the door, but I hesitated before leaving. Something about Marge's easy demeanor made me feel like I could ask her questions I couldn't ask Grandma—not without receiving another dose of eccentric wisdom about trolls or Mardi Gras.

I turned back to her, fidgeting with the strap of my bag. "Marge, can I ask you something?"

Marge raised an eyebrow over her book. "Go on, then."

"What do you know about demons?"

Her book lowered an inch further, and her sharp eyes fixed on me. "Demons, eh? Well, they're a tricky lot. Dangerous. Powerful. They tend to take more than they give. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I said quickly, too quickly, but Marge didn't press.

She set the book down entirely now, her expression thoughtful. "If you're dealing with one, Skyler, you'd best be careful. Demons are all smoke and mirrors, and they're good at convincing you they're something they're not. They'll twist your feelings if it suits them."

Twist my feelings. The words rattled in my head as I left the shop, clutching the notes in my hand.

The street was eerily empty, the air unnaturally still. My boots echoed faintly against the cobblestones as I walked down the alley, lost in thought.

Then, a deep, guttural growl ripped through the silence.

I froze, the sound reverberating in my chest. Slowly, I turned.

A creature emerged from the shadows, its hunched form grotesque and glistening with what looked like weeping sores and filth. Its skin was mottled and stretched too tight over bones that jutted at odd angles. In one clawed hand, it gripped a rusted meat cleaver, the blade crusted with something dark and unidentifiable.

"You," it snarled, its voice wet and venomous. "You have stolen our lord from us... and now, you must pay."

My breath hitched. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be real.

But the creature lumbered forward, the stench of decay rolling off it in waves. My feet felt like lead, my body frozen in place.

The demon raised its cleaver high, the jagged edge glinting in the dim light.

"Skyler!" Rayne's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

In a blur of movement, he was there, yanking me back against his chest just as the cleaver came down with a resounding clang against the pavement where I had stood.

Rayne stepped in front of me, his body a shield. His presence was a wall of safety and fury, his every muscle coiled and ready to strike.

"How dare you touch her," he growled, his voice low and deadly, his gray eyes burning with a light I'd never seen before. "I will send you straight back to Hell."

The demon's twisted mouth stretched into a leer. It lunged, swinging its cleaver in a wide arc.

Rayne dodged, moving with impossible grace. He grabbed a metal trash can lid, using it as a makeshift shield. The cleaver met the lid with a deafening clang, the force reverberating down the alley.

"Stay back!" Rayne snapped over his shoulder, his voice sharp and unwavering.

The demon struck again, its blade slashing through the air. Rayne blocked the blow with a savage shove of the trash can lid, sending the demon staggering back.

But it wasn't enough. The demon recovered quickly, its cleaver glinting as it swung with renewed fury.

This time, the blade found its mark.

The sharp, wet sound of steel meeting flesh pierced the air. Rayne staggered, clutching his side as black blood blossomed across his pristine shirt.

"Rayne!" I screamed, panic clawing at my throat.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he straightened. "I won't let him touch you," he spat, his voice rough and unwavering.

The demon came at him again, cleaver raised for another strike.

With a roar, Rayne thrust his hand forward, his fingers curling into claws. A surge of power erupted from him, bright and searing. The air crackled with energy as flames engulfed the demon, consuming it in an instant.

The creature howled in agony, its twisted form writhing as the fire devoured it. Then, with a burst of blinding white light, it vanished, leaving only the acrid scent of smoke behind.

The alley fell silent, the echoes of the fight fading into nothingness.

Rayne turned toward me, his face pale, his breaths shallow. His hand was pressed against his side, black blood seeping between his fingers. He took one unsteady step before his legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground.

"No!" I cried, rushing to his side. I dropped to my knees, my hands flying to his wound. The black blood oozing from his side was warm and sticky, staining my fingers as I pressed against it, desperate to stop the unending flow.

Rayne's eyes fluttered open, dim but still arresting. His face was pale, his breathing shallow, and for the first time, I saw genuine vulnerability in him.

I didn't know what to do. "Are you okay? Tell me how to help!"

His voice came out low, rough, almost fragile. "Forget me... what about you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine!" I snapped, my voice trembling. "You're the one bleeding out!"

He gave a weak chuckle, then winced. "I'm too weak to heal." He paused, his gray eyes locking on mine. "I need energy... your energy."

I blinked, the words hanging between us, heavy and impossible. "My energy? How does that work?"

His voice softened, soothing and coaxing, though there was an undeniable weariness to it. "Put your arms around me, hold me. I can draw from your aura."

My instincts screamed to hesitate, to question, to flee. The idea of willingly giving a demon anything, especially something so intimate, made my skin prickle with unease. But the sight of him, his face pale and drawn, the labored rise and fall of his chest—it silenced the objections before they could fully form.

"Okay," I murmured, my voice trembling as I knelt beside him.

I slid my arms around his neck, the gesture tentative, my fingers brushing against the nape of his neck where his hair met his feverishly hot skin. He felt solid, unyielding, and yet there was a fragility to him in this moment that was impossible to ignore. As my arms encircled him, his response was immediate.

His hands found their way to my back, pulling me against him with surprising strength for someone who had just been on the brink of collapse. My body pressed flush to his, the heat of his skin radiating through the thin barrier of fabric between us. He exhaled a shuddering breath, the sound low and guttural, as if it were both a release and a tether.

His hands tightened their hold on me, not forceful but firm, wrapping around me as though I were the lifeline keeping him anchored. His fingers brushed down my spine, tracing a slow, deliberate path that sent a shiver rippling through me. The touch wasn't invasive, but it was undeniably intimate.

Then it hit me—a pulse, electric and searing, shooting through my veins and humming beneath my skin. It was as though a dormant thread within me had awakened, connecting us in a way I didn't fully understand but couldn't deny. My magic flowed into him, the bond between us thrumming to life with each beat of my heart.

Rayne let out a low groan, his head dipping to rest in the crook of my neck. His breath, hot and unsteady, ghosted over my skin in waves that sent shivers spiraling through me. "Keep still," he murmured, his voice strained but impossibly soft, the words brushing against my collarbone like a caress. "I just need... a little more."

My heart thundered against my ribs as his grip tightened, his fingers spreading wide across my back. His touch wasn't just firm—it was consuming, drawing me into his orbit like a moth to a flame. A warmth, unfamiliar and searing, radiated from where his hands held me, spreading through my chest and tangling my senses.

His strength grew, and with it, his movements became more deliberate. He shifted, pulling me closer, until I was fully seated in his lap. His arms encircled me, holding me as though I belonged there, and the thought sent an ache through my chest that I didn't understand.

His face pressed into my hair, the steady inhale and exhale of his breath tickling my temple. His hand glided down my back, the faint brush of his fingertips against my waist eliciting a tremor I couldn't suppress. My senses were on fire, my thoughts drowning beneath the sheer force of his presence.

The bond between us throbbed, alive and insistent, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. I clung to him, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, my nails digging into his chest as though he were the only solid thing in a world suddenly spinning out of control.

When he finally lifted his head, his stormy gray eyes found mine. They burned with something raw, something unguarded, that made the air catch in my lungs. His strength had returned, his pallor gone, but there was no arrogance in his gaze now. Only intensity.

Our faces were so close, our breaths mingling in the charged silence. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, to put distance between us, but I couldn't move. His eyes dropped, lingering on my lips, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

Heat coiled in my stomach, spreading like wildfire through my veins. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out reason and replacing it with a single thought—a single desire.

I didn't think.

I leaned in, my lips brushing over his in a fleeting, tentative kiss. The moment our mouths met, the connection between us surged, electric and unrelenting, sending a shiver down my spine.

Rayne froze, his body taut beneath me. For a heartbeat, I feared I'd made a mistake. But then his hand fisted in my hair, pulling me back to him with an urgency that stole my breath.

His mouth claimed mine, and the world seemed to shatter and rebuild all at once. The kiss was deep, consuming, and utterly inescapable, a rush of heat surging through me like wildfire. His fingers threaded into my hair, his grip both firm and reverent, pulling me closer as though I might vanish if he let go. His other hand pressed against my back, his touch grounding me in this moment, yet every inch of me felt weightless, untethered.

It was nothing like I imagined a kiss would be—nothing like the stolen glances and shy touches I'd read about in books. It was raw, all-consuming, and overwhelming, leaving no room for thought, only feeling. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that left me breathless, a fierce rhythm that made my pulse race and my skin burn.

The warmth of his breath ghosted against my cheek, his scent—a dark blend of spice and fire—filling my senses. My hands clung to him instinctively, one curling into the fabric of his shirt, the other resting against his chest, feeling the solid strength of him beneath my trembling fingers.

My heart pounded so fiercely I thought it might burst. I had never been kissed before, never been touched like this, and it was more than I could comprehend. It wasn't soft or hesitant; it was commanding and full of contradictions—both tender and unyielding, consuming yet careful. My thoughts were a blur, my body caught in the pull of something primal and electric that thrummed between us.

His teeth grazed my bottom lip, a deliberate, teasing pressure that sent a shiver down my spine. My stomach coiled, my senses spiraling, and I was sure I would drown in the sensation of him, the way he seemed to fill every part of me. This was new, foreign, and terrifying, and yet I didn't pull away. Couldn't. The bond between us flared brighter, a living thing binding us closer.

When he finally pulled back, I was left gasping, my chest heaving as though I'd been dragged from the depths of the ocean. His forehead rested lightly against mine, his breath mingling with my own in the narrow space between us. My skin was on fire, my thoughts a jumbled mess, and I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes.

Rayne's hand remained in my hair, his thumb brushing against my temple in a gesture so gentle it felt at odds with the storm he had just unleashed. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, intense and unrelenting, as though he could see through every layer of me.

"What the hell was that?" I whispered, my voice shaking, barely audible.

I didn't know if I was asking him—or myself.

My first kiss had been nothing like I'd expected.