Chapter Three

Aamon

The weight presses down on me, a constant reminder of the souls I command beyond these walls. Every corner of my mansion reminds me of the mortals who have sought power from me. I've seen souls break under the strain, completely consumed by their ambitions. But Thorne is different.

As I lay him down among the crisp satin sheets of the guest room, his frail arm covers the eyes in which I've seen such love sparkle. My heart aches, a heart that, for millennia, has felt nothing but numb.

Thorne's pact is interesting to me. He has a spirit that's fierce, with unwavering determination. The love for his grandmother and the desire to save those he loves, even if hungry for his own power, come from a righteous place.

Most mortals are driven by greed or vengeance, their desires twisted by the darkness within them. Thorne's motivations are pure. Love is such a powerful force, but it's also the most dangerous one. It can consume you entirely if you allow it. I should know.

I watch silently, feeling as if I'm his guardian and tormentor. I tortured him purposefully, although he has no understanding that it was for his benefit. The shame and remorse I feel is no shock to me. I'm not one for needless violence regardless of my station.

Thorne's presence here will be dangerous, and I'll likely regret it. It's why I play the terror he expects. It's why I must make him break the pact he's made. It's for his soul. I'll do whatever it takes. He deserves more than the life he's set on creating.

As I close the door to the room, I glance down at the shimmering shackles that ensconce my wrists. Our pact burns at my skin, demanding I fulfill my end of the bargain. I can easily bring his grandmother back to the mortal world, though she wouldn't be the woman he knew. Her mind will be broken, a walking shell of who she once was. Her body has already begun to decompose, so there is no place for her soul to rest without it disintegrating. The power he seeks would take his soul from him entirely, and he would be doomed to walk below with the mindless ilk who search for their desires like addicts. Someone so pure shouldn't live here.

Every moment without us exchanging mana, he'll succumb to remaining here with no way to return to his realm. I'll be his worst nightmare. I'll force him to see the reality of the bargain he's made, the price he will pay.

His soul depends on it.

"Sir?" a familiar voice calls from the corner of the hall.

Berkley slowly moves beyond the shadow, his bent tail wrapped around his scar-covered leg. He stands three feet in height, with broken horns that, at one time, curled like a ram's. He's been my servant for ages, a rescued kitten at best.

"What is it?" I sigh at the weight of what I've just done.

I can feel his body hovering nearby as we pass through the darkened halls. We walk past ancient statuettes and holograms that show a continuous play-by-play of any sin I wish.

"Well, why did you bring that thing here?" The way Berkley says the word "thing" shouldn't wriggle underneath my skin the way it does. Humans have rarely been of any importance to me. He notices the way my eyes cut toward him to cease his ridicule, as well as his needless questioning, and stops walking.

I sink into the white leather couch, immediately throwing my feet up onto the coffee table. "If I require your interference, Berkley, I'll tell you." It's not a threat, but a warning for him to mind his manners.

I can sense his eyes burning into my skull. "Sir, his life will needlessly end if he remains here…"

Fear rises, burning inside my chest, but I maintain my calm fa?ade. Berkley means well; all he intends to do is gently remind me that this is not the typical arrangement between myself and a mortal. At least, it hasn't been since Sinead.

Inhaling a steadying breath, I close my eyes for a brief moment, allowing all the anxiety to melt into the bottom of my stomach. "I understand the risks very well. He won't be here long enough for there to be cause for concern," I say through gritted teeth.

"I only wish to be certain that the boy is free from harm. You know how they will behave once they know he's here." That's when I feel him cross around the back of the sofa so he can have a look at me. His gaze softens, and he sits beside me, placing a hand on my thigh. "You must be careful, Aamon."

That's when my rage boils, bubbling up from the settled calm of my gut and through my veins, igniting my body into fire. I slam my legs roughly on the coffee table so hard, the thunderous sound echoes through the empty halls. "Enough!"

"Fine, throw your tantrum. We both know this will not end the way you desire it to. That boy is too soft for the likes of Hell and will not last."

There's a sharp crackling sound signaling Berkley's exit from the room, teleporting away and leaving me simmering with frustration. I feel an uneasy itch crawling along my skin, aware that Thorne's presence won't be hidden for very long. When they discover he's here and my infatuation with him—he won't stay safe.

My mind is a storm of thoughts with no direction. I worry about his safety, but I also marvel at how he forged our contract at all when he barely has an ounce of magical skill. I can't seem to shake either the memory of his body pressed against mine or the way I scented his desire in the air. It was a potent feeling. Thorne possessed no inkling of fear, even as my hands were around his throat.

The image of how his eyes darkened with greedy hunger, and how his cheeks grew rosy on his pale flesh linger in my mind. There wasn't a trace of hesitation as I teased him. Instead, his desire grew stronger.

I'm hungry thinking about chaining his pretty little throat to my wall and him on his knees before me, worshiping me as the formidable lord of hell I am. His world is so primitive in comparison to ours that I wonder what sounds I could elicit from his beautiful, fuckable mouth if I used a toy or two.

My cock twitches, longing to retract from my sheath as the images dance beneath my closed eyelids. I clear my throat to dispel the lingering visions from my mind, hoping to suppress the urge to turn those tantalizing dreams into a very real reality.

"Heaven help me," I whisper aloud. "This mortal will be the end of me."