Foster family
Erotica 1.
The grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight, the heavy tolls vibrating right through the soles of my bare feet. Every strike felt like a countdown to my own ruin.
On the hardwood floor of my living room, the chalk lines of the summoning circle looked stark, almost ridiculous, under the dim amber glow of twelve black candles. I had spent the last three hours scrubbing away the expensive Persian rug, sweeping up the dust, and meticulously drawing the geometric sigil I’d found in the leather-bound journal my father left behind.
If anyone from the board of directors could see me right now—Valerie Vance, the sharp-suited, no-nonsense heir to Vance Enterprises—they’d have me committed. But desperation does strange things to a person. When the bank threatens to foreclose on a century-old family legacy because your late father’s business partner bled it dry, you don’t call a therapist. You find a solution. Even if that solution is a myth.
I knelt outside the perimeter, the salt line scratching against my knees. My hands were shaking, but I forced my voice to remain steady as I read the final Latin incantation from the crumpled piece of paper.
“By the blood of the line, by the key of the abyss, open the gate. Malphas, I call you forth.”
The moment the last syllable left my lips, the air in the room plummeted. The warmth evaporated, replaced by a sudden, biting cold that made my breath bloom in white plumes. The flames on the candles didn’t flicker; they turned a deep, bruised violet and froze solid, casting long, twisted shadows against the walls.
A suffocating pressure hit my chest, making it hard to draw oxygen. I gripped the edges of my thighs, forcing myself not to back away.
Then, the shadows in the center of the circle didn’t just move—they pooled together, rising from the floor like liquid obsidian. The darkness stretched, hardening into a tall, silhouetted form. When the shadow cleared, there was no cloven-hoofed monster or horned beast.
Standing in the center of my living room was a man. Or at least, the flawless imitation of one.
He wore a bespoke, charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His silk tie was perfectly knotted, his silver cufflinks gleaming under the violet candlelight. His dark hair was styled back, short and sharp. But it was his face that made my heart slam against my ribs. He was terrifyingly beautiful—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a mouth curved into a faint, mocking smile.
And then there were his eyes. They weren’t human. They were the color of liquid gold, burning with a predatory brilliance that pinned me to the spot.
Malphas.
He took a slow breath, his chest expanding as he looked around my apartment, completely ignoring me for a brief second. His gaze lingered on the peeling paint near the ceiling, then down to the chalk circle at his feet.
“Chalk? Really?” His voice was a rich, dark baritone that felt like velvet scraping over flint. It resonated in my bones. “And here I thought the modern era had completely abandoned the classics. Though, I usually get a bit more theatricality than a drafty apartment and cheap candles.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” My voice sounded braver than I felt.
Malphas tilted his head, his golden eyes snapping directly to mine. The sheer weight of his attention made my throat go dry. He stepped forward, stopping right at the edge of the chalk line. He looked down at me, his smile widening just a fraction, revealing teeth that were just a little too sharp.
“Valerie Vance,” he murmured, tasting my name like an expensive wine. “The girl who inherited a kingdom of ash. I know why you called, little mortal. You want the millions required to erase your father’s debts. You want the board to grovel at your feet. You want your precious legacy secured.”
“I do.”
“Then you know the price,” he said, spreading his hands slightly. The fabric of his suit shifted flawlessly. “A simple contract. I give you the wealth and the power to crush your enemies. In return, when your mortal clock runs out, your soul belongs to me. A standard transaction. Painless, really.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stood up. I refused to look up at him from my knees. Even in bare feet, standing a full head shorter than him, I squared my shoulders.
“No,” I said clearly.
Malphas blinked. The amused smile vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, dangerous neutrality. The temperature in the room dropped another five degrees. “No?”
“I’m not selling my soul to you, Malphas. I’m not a cliché, and I don’t do standard contracts.”
He let out a low, dark laugh that sent shivers straight down my spine. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate, Valerie? Look at you. You’re drowning. If I leave right now, by noon tomorrow, your family name will be a punchline in the financial press.”
“Which is exactly why you aren’t going to leave,” I countered, stepping closer to the line, my eyes locked onto his burning gold ones. “Because you’re bored. You’ve spent centuries collecting souls from pathetic, desperate people who drop to their knees and sign on the dotted line. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the challenge?”
A spark of genuine interest flickered in his eyes. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to mine, separated only by the invisible barrier of the circle. I could smell him now—cedarwood, expensive leather, and a hint of ozone, like a thunderstorm brewing.
“Go on,” he whispered.
“I dare you to a wager,” I said, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “A game of wits and endurance. Multi-round challenges, designed by both of us. If I win, I get the money and the security for Vance Enterprises completely free. No strings attached, no soul required.”
“And if you lose?”
“If I lose, you don’t have to wait until my clock runs out,” I said, the words heavy and terrifying in my mouth. “You claim me completely. Body, mind, and soul. Right then and there.”
Malphas stared at me. The silence in the room stretched so tight it felt like a wire about to snap. For a second, I thought he was going to snap his fingers, turn into smoke, and leave me to my ruin.
Instead, a slow, wicked grin spread across his handsome face. It was a look of pure, unadulterated hunger.
“A wager,” he purred, stepping back and slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “An actual challenge from a fragile little thing who thinks she can outsmart a prince of the underworld. It’s been at least two hundred years since someone had the sheer audacity to offer me a game.”
“Do we have a deal?” I asked, keeping my face a mask of corporate stoicism.
“We have a deal, Valerie. But if we are playing a game, I get to set the parameters of the contract.” He raised a finger, and the violet flames on the candles flared wildly. “I accept your multi-round game of wits. But let’s add a twist. A mind is a boring thing to test on its own. The challenges will test your body just as much as your intellect. Your physical limits, your endurance, your composure under pressure.”
He looked me up and down, his golden eyes lingering on the exposed skin of my neck, then tracing the curve of my waist underneath my oversized sweater. The look felt tangible, like a warm hand sliding over my skin.
“I want to see how well you play when your blood is hot and your breath is short,” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. “I want to see if that sharp little brain of yours can still think when your body is begging for mercy.”
A heat flushed through my chest, completely at odds with the freezing room. He wasn’t just talking about physical labor; he was talking about something far more intimate. He was trying to rattle me before the first round even began.
“Fine,” I said, refusing to back down. “Body and mind. I accept.”
“Excellent.” Malphas stepped directly forward—and right through the chalk line.
I gasped, stumbling back a step as the boundary I had spent hours drawing shattered instantly, the chalk smudging into nothing under the sole of his polished leather shoe.
“You think a little dust keeps me in?” he asked, his voice suddenly right in front of me. Before I could move, his hand shot out, his long, pale fingers wrapping firmly around the back of my neck.
His palm was freezing against my skin, but the shock of his touch sent a jolt of pure electric heat straight down my spine. He pulled me slightly forward, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him. His thumb rested right against my pulse point, feeling the frantic, terrified thumping of my heart.
“The contract is struck, Valerie,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. “Tomorrow night, the first round begins. Rest well. You’re going to need your strength.”
Before I could reply, the violet candles blew out all at once, plunging the room into absolute darkness.
The freezing air vanished. The heavy pressure on my chest lifted. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight filtering through the window.
The living room was empty. The scent of cedarwood and ozone still hung faintly in the air, and the back of my neck was still tingling where his fingers had burned into my skin.
