The Demon’s Debtor

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, wishing the physical pressure could force his voice to be kinder. It didn't.

"You’re embarrassing yourself, Renny."

My name sounded filthy coming from him. He wasn’t even angry, just bored, treating the last five minutes of my begging like a yawn he’d politely endured.

"You think I owe you something because we slept together once and played house for three years?"

"Because you stole from me," I whispered, my voice cutting through the steady downpour. "Because she’s my sister. Because I’m asking."

The rain got heavier, freezing as it ran down my neck. My shoes were soaked through, and a dull ache settled into my knees from standing on the concrete for too long.

"Not my problem," he said, and hung up.

The line cut out. The red bar on my screen marked the end of three years, gone instantly. I stood on the corner with my head down, gripping the phone, waiting for a burst of guilt to make him call back. Nothing. I looked up at the flickering streetlight, my throat tight.

Please, I thought, looking at the empty street. Just once. For someone. Anyone.

Then the air changed.

The street went unnaturally quiet, the sound of the rain suddenly muffled. A chill hit my shoulders that had nothing to do with the weather.

Footsteps approached, slow, steady, unhurried. I turned.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and held an umbrella. His long, pitch-black hair brushed his collarbones, the ends wet, but he looked completely unaffected by the storm. His face was striking, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, and heavy-lidded, intense eyes that locked onto mine. When he looked at me, it felt like he was stripping away every defense I had left.

He smiled, showing canines that were slightly longer than normal.

"Why beg the faithless," he said, his voice low, smooth, and gravelly, "when you could offer yourself to something far more loyal?"

I couldn't answer. He stepped closer, tilting his umbrella over me.

"You’re trembling," he noted quietly. "How long has it been since someone looked at you and saw something worth keeping?"

The freezing wind whipped my wet hoodie against my back. He reached out, his long fingers covered in heavy black rings. His hand stopped just short of my cheek. Dark, intricate tattoos ran down his palm and disappeared under his sleeve.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

His smile widened. "Someone who never says no."

"To what?"

"To pretty things that beg so sweetly in the rain."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Part of me knew I should run, but the rest of me wanted him to pull me out of this misery, I felt as if I was entranced by a spell. He stepped closer, bringing the umbrella down so we were trapped together in the small circle of dry concrete.

"Come with me," he murmured, leaning down near my ear. "Let me give your pain a purpose."

I swallowed hard. The world felt entirely still.

"Okay," I said.

He kept his hand out, waiting. I hesitated for a second before sliding my fingers into his palm. His skin was warm and smooth. He closed his hand around mine with a controlled gentleness.

He led me to a sleek, pitch-black car idling at the curb. The windows were heavily tinted. He opened the passenger door.

"After you."

I paused, looking at the dark interior. "I meant I’d listen. Not that I’d go somewhere with you."

"Listening requires a seat," he replied, his gaze dropping to my soaked clothes. "You’re freezing. I’m less inclined to make deals with shivering things."

"You’re insane."

"And you’re still standing here."

I bit my lip, felt the freezing rain hit my back again, and climbed inside. The car was warm, lined in dark velvet, smelling faintly of smoke and honey. He got in the driver's side, and the moment the door clicked shut, the sound of the storm died completely.

He shifted into drive with one hand, completely relaxed. He didn't check his mirrors or fidget. He just drove with an unsettling, absolute stillness.

"What are you?" I asked, staring at his profile. His features were perfect, but his lack of normal human movement was jarring.

"A man with an offer."

"You have serious kidnapper vibes," I muttered.

He let out a low, dark laugh. "Then you’re a terrible hostage. Most don’t walk into the trap willingly."

The car turned, leaving my broken-down neighborhood behind. The streets grew cleaner, lit by expensive gold lamps. We pulled up to a massive, upscale restaurant. He got out, opened my door, and immediately draped his heavy wool coat over my shoulders. It was warm and smelled like him.

"Do I look like I belong here?" I muttered, looking at my wet shoes.

"You do now."

Inside, the place was quiet, filled with soft lighting and low music. The staff didn't ask for a reservation; they just bowed their heads and let him lead me to a secluded corner booth.

We sat down, and before I could speak, he pulled a heavy velvet pouch from his jacket and dropped it on the table. It spilled open, revealing thick stacks of cash.

"A hundred thousand today," he said evenly. "Five hundred thousand every day after. For six months."

My jaw dropped. "Six... what?"

"You move into my house. You follow my rules. You belong to me."

"What kind of rich pervert game is this?" I whispered, leaning over the table.

He amusedly shook his head. "No mafia. No trafficking. No cults."

"Then what?"

"I’m a man who sees what you want and can give it to you. You want to be kept. You want someone who won't discard you."

His words hit a raw nerve. "This is crazy."

"Say yes. Kiss me, and the deal is sealed."

I recoiled slightly. "I’m not kissing you. I don't even know you."

"Afraid of a kiss?"

"Afraid of you."

He leaned forward, his eyes darkening. "Good. You should be. But you should be more afraid of going back to that rain."

He slid out of his side of the booth and walked over to mine, towering over me. His damp hair fell around his face.

"You're overthinking it," he murmured, lifting my chin with his fingers. "A kiss isn't only for pleasure. It's a seal. A promise."

His thumb brushed my lower lip, and then his mouth crashed down on mine.

It wasn't gentle. He caught my jaw, forcing my mouth open, his tongue hot and demanding. He tasted like smoke and something metallic.

There was no hesitation, no waiting for me to adjust—he just took what he wanted, his grip tightening to hold me still while my chest locked up. I gripped the leather seat, my mind completely blanking as he bit my lower lip just hard enough to make me gasp. He groaned against my mouth at the sound.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was shallow, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

I stared at him, my lips throbbing, completely dazed. "You... you can't just do that."

"Too late." He ran his thumb over my bruised lip, his gaze heavy and possessive. "You let me. You wanted it. Don't worry, little thing—you'll get better at asking."