Fated to the Demon Queen (Book Two of the Demonic Angels Trilogy)

Chapter 3-Damon

I watch her as she practically claws her way out of the room, yet she manages to do it with such grace I'm left in stunned awe. Once she's out of my sight, my feet follow her, a mind of their own, like an invisible string connecting us. I growl as a guard puts his hand on my shoulder and rips me back before someone speaks, the King of the Underworld-her father.

"It's fine; let him go. She's more dangerous to him than he is to her anyways," he tells the guard, who reluctantly undoes my chains.

Fuck, I would get defensive if his statement wasn't entirely true. When I opened my big mouth during that meeting, she looked like she wanted to rip me to shreds with her own two hands and that she would actually enjoy herself while doing it. My own basic sense of self-preservation said it would be a mercy and by far the least painful way to die at her hands.

As soon as I'm free again, I go to her, needing her near. Does she even feel the bond? How can she stand to walk away? I couldn't even do something as basic as taking my eyes off of her during that meeting. I wanted to memorize every single part of her and take my time while doing so.

I pause right before the door; I actually have no idea where I'm going; I'm just following her scent. She smells like freshly roasted coffee and vanilla. I inhale deeply for a minute, collecting my thoughts as I think back.

It was no secret amongst Silas' men how Horace and his brothers raped her. Even though she killed his two brothers, Horace boasted about it until he was recently captured. I never understood why it made me so profoundly and irrationally angry. Sure, there was always a level of rage when they talked about what they did to women. Still, I had killed several soldiers for just talking about Queen Aylin specifically. I often dreamt of killing Horace myself for it. Now, it makes sense, and I want to bring all three men back to life so I can skin them alive and burn the entire army forever discussing it.

With all that being said, I had no clue where she was in her recovery, she certainly was doing better than some of the women in the Haven, but that doesn't mean anything. If her initial outburst was any hint, at best, she hated my kind; at worst, she would reject me and cut my dick off. I would have to do the very opposite of what my instincts were screaming at me to do, which was take her where she stands and mark her as mine. No, I can't even begin to think about that; I can't go down that road.

I take a breath, exit the house, and walk to her. The low growl she lets out as she senses me near doesn't go unnoticed. Fuck, I can't stand back like she's a feral and wounded animal; that would make this worse. I decide if I have to die right here, I wouldn't mind it so much if it was by her hand, and I walk up to her. My stomach plummets as she steps back; all I want to do is hold her tight enough that she turns into an extension of me; does she really not feel it?

"What can I do to convince you I'm not like them?" I ask her

She doesn't look at me, and I finally take her all in. She stole the air from my lungs when I saw her that first time before I even knew who she was, and then again when she walked into the room, but here? Up close? She's ethereal, a Goddess in every right. I finally take her all in, the pale, creamy skin of her face, the hair she has delicately braided, her hourglass figure shown off by the dress she's wearing, also leaving her muscular yet delicate looking back bare.

"Nothing. It wouldn't make a difference," she says curtly

Her voice is a song sung by the Muses themselves, a song sung to dying soldiers in their final moments to ease their pain-beautiful, devastating.

I can practically hear her screaming at me to go away in her head. I take my chances and step closer to her, unable to help myself. I can see her shoulders tense, and her jaw clench, but...she doesn't step away.