The Devil's Lair

Ava's POV

"Strip," his harsh tone resounded in my ears.

My heart thumped erratically in my chest as the silence stretched between us.

My fear slowly morphed into a righteous anger at the order. 

Who the fuck did he think he was?

Where did he think he found me?

I was an actual princess before he basically forced my family into giving me away based on a betrothal made before I could even talk.  

He had no right to treat me that way. 

"I'm not a cheap whore, neither did you pick me up from a brothel." 

I wanted to say those words. I wanted to show him that it was going to take more than a little intimidation to make me cower. I've done enough of that in my past life.

Then, I looked into those cold eyes. Black and silver stared at me, studied me. Like I was prey. 

My defiance died down as quick as it came.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my chest so hard that I could hear it.

This was the Demon Alpha. 

The actual devil. 

I came here to avoid being beheaded. 

Speaking out of turn would only lead me to a much more gruesome death. 

"Well?" he said, his calm voice resounding. "You don't have all day."

I couldn't help but curse myself silently. 

What was I thinking running off? 

In my bid to get away from him, I ran right into his arms. 

Now, here I am. 

In his room. 

His space. 

I was nothing more than a cornered mouse. A feast for his pleasure.

He sighed, his expression turning stern as he neared me.

I swallowed.

Say something, Ava. Say anything.

"I wasn't... I didn't mean to come here," I muttered, inching back towards the door without turning my back to him. One thing I knew about his kind was the fact that turning your back to them was usually more dangerous than facing them head-on. "I was running from the maid. They said... they said something about a ritual."

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Not quite. Something closer to muted amusement, maybe. 

Dangerous.

"They told you about the bath, didn't they?"

I nodded cautiously.

He took a single step forward, and I instinctively took one back.

Another step forward and I took an equal step backwards. 

His eyes stared into mine as he took one more step forward and I in turn retreated one step. My back bumped into the cold wooden door and apprehension flooded my being for a second. 

I was trapped.

"Got no more room for retreat, do you?" he asked, his voice sounded almost amused. It was still cold, though. 

"Please don't kill me. I can leave, never to show my face again," I whispered, hating how my voice trembled. "Don't kill me like the others."

His gaze darkened. "And you ran. Straight into the devil's lair."

I should've stayed silent.

I really should have. 

But it seems a bit of Elora's personality was seeping into me. 

I was speaking before I could stop myself. 

"Well, I figured if I was going to die, I might as well meet the monster before he took my head."

Those sliver and black eyes gleamed with something unreadable. 

His boot clicked on the tiles as he closed the distance between us, slow and unhurried like a predator approaching his cornered prey, daring me to run away. 

He stopped a breath away.

I could smell him. Not the decay or brimstone I had imagined. But something colder. Cedar. Magic. It clung to him like a cloak.

A small smirk formed on his face, a gesture that could have gone unnoticed but not by me.

I developed a talent for observing every little detail about a person's face. They always showed me disgust though. 

"You're not what I expected," he said, lowering his heterochromatic eyes on me. Both were unnerving to stare into. 

They felt like they were staring through me, not at me. 

His gaze trailed down my face—no, my scar.

Though his room was mostly dark and freezing cold, I could feel the intensity of his look burning me up.

I clenched my jaw as I spoke, breaking the nervous silence. 

"Ugly?"

"No," he said, his voice lower and somewhat puzzled. "Familiar."

That made me freeze.

I dared to look at him. 

Not through my lashes. Not timid. 

I met his eyes. Those unnerving eyes.

His expression didn't change, but something flickered—like memory brushing against the surface of recognition.

He reached up slowly. I flinched, but he didn't stop.

His fingers brushed my cheek—right over the scar.

I stood there, doing my best to breathe.  

Frozen in place, as if his touch had turned me into stone.

His touch wasn't cruel. It wasn't soft, either. But it was... reverent. 

Like he was touching a wound he'd seen before.

Something he'd felt before. 

It felt like he was feeling the vestige of the past. A ghost.

My throat tightened. I didn't know whether to flinch or lean in.

Just as his touch began to feel somewhat comfortable, he wrenched me out of my thought, ripping a piece of my clothing.

I flinched, pushing back into the door as much as I could. 

He grabbed me by my neck this time, drawing me closer to him. 

"I will pardon you this time. Never make me repeat myself again," he said, pushing me onto the cold floor.

Here it was again. That familiar feeling. How could I have forgotten it so soon? My butt kissing the ground. This time though, it was marble and not stone.

The jolt of pain made my palms sting as they caught my fall. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn't cry out. Not this time.

I watched as he returned to the bed, his hands crossed behind his head, legs sprawled.

"Give me a show, Scarface," he added.

My nails dug into my palms as I squeezed them into a fist, but I pressed my lips together to keep from shouting at him.

"I have been with many princesses, Elora," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "I know your type. Pretending to be all innocent and meek, but within a few days, they turn into whôres, ready to take up any côck that comes their way." 

I picked my heavy body from the ground, which was now a burden to me. Every time I remembered my new body, I couldn't help but silently curse the Moon Goddess.

The softness of my limbs, the roundness I wasn't used to—every step felt like walking inside a stranger's skin. The weight of unfamiliar curves made me clumsy. I wasn't Ava. Not the Ava I remembered.

My farewell dress from StormClaw was now missing a sleeve.

I didn't get reborn to cower like a prisoner.

If he wanted a show, then I'd give him one.

I walked slowly towards him, in a few not-so-seductive steps, all thanks to this new, awkward body.

I could hear him snicker on the bed. He was making fun of me.

Soon, I was on the bed with him, my hands trailing down his abs. I didn't know if I was doing the right thing but I was sure this was what Vera would do. 

Unfortunately, I had seen her a few times with her numerous men.

I was now at his lower region... and stopped when his hand caught mine.

His smile was a thin, unamused line now. 

When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse, his gaze bore into mine with pure disgust.

"Thanks for proving to me that you are indeed a whôre." 

This time something about the way he said it wasn't mocking—it was laced with hurt. Like I had confirmed something he hated believing.

"Well, people always believe whatever they want to," I retorted, locking eyes with him. "Pretty bold of you to call me a whôre for doing exactly what you ordered me to. I'm just doing what I can to survive. And if being a whôre to you would keep me alive, then so be it. I will gladly be your plaything."

He shook his head, like he was physically refusing to hear my words.

"I should throw you out," he said, stepping down from the bed.

"But you won't," I said quietly.

He froze.

I didn't know where the courage came from. Once again, I blame the original Elora, but I held on to it this time. "Because something about me puzzles you. You're curious about me."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Be careful what strings you pull, Scarface. Some of them are tangled around things best left buried."

I gave a bitter laugh at that. 

"You have no idea the kind of things I want buried."

He didn't reply to that.

After a few seconds, he stood up, then walked past me to the door. He opened it, then looked back at me with something like a warning.

"You will bathe. You will dress. You will attend the claiming ritual tomorrow. No more running or jumping off cliffs," he said with a tone of finality.

"And if I don't?" I challenged.

His lips curved into a devilish smile. "Then I will show you the face of the devil you fear.”