A Demon's Child - Book 1

She was dying. In that dismal hospital bed. Surrounded by that sterile clinical white, and those harsh fluorescent lights, and that stupid crooked painting of a tropical fish from above her. She was dying and she wasn’t able to do a damn thing anything about it.

She lay motionless, all tangled in wires and tubes, dwarfed by machines that blinked and beeped with mechanical precision.

Her face was soft, delicate, heartbreakingly still, turned toward the rain-speckled window as though searching for something beyond the hospital walls. Freedom, maybe. Or just a moment that didn’t feel like this.

The door slammed open.

And a man stormed in, sharp-jawed and dark-haired, the scent of pine, citrus, and smoke trailing behind him like a forest set on fire. His white coat flared as he moved. He didn’t look at her.

He ripped the clipboard from its wall pocket, the pen clattering against the tile, shattering the silence by force and making her flinch.

Without a word, he sat on the edge of her bed like he owned it, like he owned her and even the whole damn hospital. The mattress dipped under his weight as he flipped open her file, humming off-key, utterly absorbed.

“Hello,” she said softly, managing a polite smile despite the intrusion.

He didn’t respond. Just grunted, eyes locked on the page.

She glanced around the room, suddenly aware of how bleak it all looked. A half-eaten cup of applesauce sat abandoned on the nightstand beside a battered water bottle. Her folded belongings lay untouched on the visitor’s cot.

That visitor’s cot that no one had sat in. No one had visited in…she couldn’t remember. Only nurses. Doctors. People paid to care.

And this dude. Was he one of the caring ones? She studied him. His hair was slick, dark as ink, styled with casual perfection. He was tall, too tall, and built like a man carved from precision.

Under the white lab coat, a midnight black suit clung to broad shoulders, a dark tie knotted cleanly at his throat. He looked like he belonged on a runway, not rifling through her medical chart.

But it wasn’t the cheekbones or the jawline that caught her breath.

It was his eyes. Dark, unreadable, like smoke curling around a secret. She’d never seen him before. She was sure of that. And yet… she knew him. Or maybe just felt like she did.

Doctor. He must be a doctor. That was the only thing that made sense.

Wasn’t it?

Then he finally looked up, flipping to the first page. “Yep. You’re dying.” He said it like he was reading the weather—breezy, blunt, with just a touch of enjoyment.

“Lily, was it?” He dragged out the last syllable of her name like it tasted good in his mouth. His eyes flicked back down to the chart, double-checking, then returned to her face, studying her like she was the most interesting thing he’d seen all day.

Her light blonde hair was a mess, tangled from too many restless nights and unforgiving pillows. Her cheeks had lost their color, skin pale and almost translucent under the sterile lights.

Her hands lay limp at her sides, bruised and tender from all the needles. Shadows clung beneath her eyes, and her frame had withered with sickness, but even through all that, something soft still lingered. Fragile. Beautiful.

“It’s true, Doctor. I feel like I’m dying,” she whispered.

He wagged a finger at her, playful in the most unsettling way. “Ah-ah. I’m not a doctor.”

Her eyes widened.

Wait—what?

She blinked, confusion quickening into alarm. If he wasn’t a doctor... then who was he? And what was he doing here, sitting on her bed, flipping through her file like it belonged to him?

Her gaze slid to the nurse call button at her side. Maybe she should press it.

“I’m a demon,” he said, as casually as someone introducing himself at a party. “And I’m here to offer you a deal.”

She stared at him.

He smiled like this happened all the time. “You’re dying. That part’s very real. A couple more days, maybe less. And when you go, you won’t be heading to heaven or hell.”

He flipped a page lazily. “Your soul’s still young. Still full of life. So it gets recycled, reincarnated into some random living thing. Heaven’s rules. Bureaucracy. I didn’t make them, and I don’t enforce them. But I can help you break them.”

He let that hang in the air.

She didn’t move.

“Could be anything,” he added, clicking his tongue. “You might come back as a bird. A dog. Or, if your luck’s bad—and let’s be honest, it kind of is—you could end up as another sickly girl. One who spends her whole life in a room just like this one.”

He leaned in. “Do you really want that?”

Her fingers twitched toward the nurse call button. But something stopped her. It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. There was something in the way he looked at her: too calm, too certain.

And deep down, she already knew he was right. She was dying. She’d felt it gnawing at her for days. The nausea that never let up. The weight in her bones. She hadn’t needed a clipboard full of charts to tell her that.

As for what came after... she had no idea. So she didn’t push the button. Didn’t scream. Didn’t panic. Couldn’t, somehow. Maybe she was just too tired. Or maybe—God help her—she wanted to believe him.

With nothing else to do, and not much left to lose, she decided to play along. “So... a demon, huh?”

He nodded and gave her a half-smile.

She let her head sink back against the pillow, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “I read the Bible once. Twice, actually. The whole thing.” She didn’t mention she’d done it out of boredom. Or desperation. “It says demons lie. So how do I know this isn’t just some trick?”

“You don’t,” he said. “But let’s be real—you’re not exactly swimming in options.”

Fair enough. She paused, trying to find a silver lining. “Well... if it’s all up to chance, after I die maybe next time I’ll come back lucky. Maybe I’ll be some rich girl in a fancy mansion, with a loving family and a dozen best friends.”

“Sure. Sure. Could happen.” He said “Or you could come back as a worm. Or a fern.”

“But…but why am I not going to heaven?” she said. “I lived a good life. I was good.” Her hands rose to her face, shielding her eyes. “I think.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Nope. My information shows you don’t have enough life experience to qualify for judgment. Not yet.” He leaned back, casual as ever. “You’re going to be a recycled soul. Totally green. Starting fresh.”

She pulled her hands away, eyes sharp. “That’s not fair,” she snapped.

His hand slid into hers, gently, reverently, and she froze. He held her so tight. His hand so warm.

“Exactly,” he said tenderly. “It’s not fair. You’ve lived your whole life in hospitals. In and out. Tubes. Meds. Machines. Pain. Loneliness. All of it. Just to end up here? Like this?” His voice dropped lower, more intimate.

“You deserve more. Don’t you?”

She couldn’t answer. Her chest ached with the truth of it.

“I, a powerful demon,” he said with no trace of irony, “can give you a better deal. Better than spinning the reincarnation wheel and praying you don’t come back as a mushroom.”

He paused.

“I can turn you into a demon. Right before you die. You’ll live forever. Do whatever you want. No sickness. No rules. No limits. No hospitals. Ever.”

He squeezed her hand again.

“And I’ll be your father. The one who gives you your new life, your new blood. All you’ll owe me is the occasional favor. A chore here and there. Nothing major. You’ll be free.”

She stared at him. Her mouth parted, but no sound came.

He watched her closely, pleased. Because she was listening now. Really listening.

“I... I don’t know,” she finally said. “This is a lot.”

It was a lot. She hadn’t even fully accepted that she was dying and now this man—no this demon—was offering her eternity. Power. Freedom. A way out. A second chance.

Her heart thudded, hollow and confused. Was this real? Was he real? Could she believe any of it?

He leaned in closer, his voice silk wrapping around her throat.

“Say yes, and you’ll become my child. A demon in your own right. You’ll get eternity. Adventure. Everything you ever wanted to do in this life, you’ll be able to.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

“But say no...” His smile returned, not as warm this time. “And I’ll disappear. You’ll die in this bed. And who knows? Maybe you’ll come back as a pretty flower.”

Still, she hesitated. But he could see it. She was close. On the edge. Not quite there... but nearly.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he said letting go of her hand and rising from the edge of her bed. “I’ll be back in a few days—closer to the end. That’s when I’ll need your answer.”

He brushed a stray hair from her forehead, almost tender.

“And Lily?” he added. “Choose carefully.”

His voice had returned to its usual calm detachment. The offer had been made. As far as he was concerned, he was done. But just as he moved to stand, she propped herself up on her elbows, slow and shaky.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For giving me a choice. For letting me choose a new life.”

That stopped him.

He turned, surprised. Now it was his turn to stare. Now he was the one caught off guard. He cleared his throat, straightening his suit jacket like he needed to reassemble himself.