5. Seal this contract with a kiss

“Yeah,” I whispered, barely a sound. “I agree.”

A satisfied smile spread on his lips—not some cheap victory grin, but like a king finally seeing his kingdom bow at his feet.

“Just as I thought,” he muttered.

He then grabbed my hand, flipped it over, and kissed the wrist where I once cut myself. The scars were gone, but the pain inside wasn’t.

“Now,” he said softly, pulling me up to follow him. His movements were graceful, but there was strength in them, the kind that made the air shift. “We begin.”

He closed his eyes, and in a blink, the room changed. The light dimmed. A scent of incense I hadn’t noticed before crept through the air like invisible fog. A glowing blood-red circle appeared under our feet.

His body started to shimmer faintly. He raised his hand and began chanting something in a language I didn’t know—something that made the hair on my neck stand up.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. His gaze locked onto me.

He stepped closer, the light around him flickering unstable. His face tensed—not angry, but unsatisfied. “Ruby Emerson,” he said flatly.

I held my breath.

“That’s not your real name.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Ash sighed, then with a wave of his hand, the remaining light in the room vanished. Ritual over.

His eyes never left me. “I can deal with a lot of things,” he said quietly, “but I hate cheap lies.”

“Sorry,” I stammered, nervous. “I don’t … know why I—”

He raised his hand, telling me to be quiet. No anger exploded—just judgment.

“Now,” he said quietly, “tell me your real name.”

I sighed. “Lena.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Full name?”

I swallowed hard. “Lena Mary Gray.”

Ash stared at me for two seconds, then—“Pffftt.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you laughing?”

He tilted his head, that devilish smirk curling back up. “Sounds like a church hymn from the 1800s. I was expecting something more … explosive.”

I rolled my eyes, folding my arms. “Sorry if my name isn’t infernal enough for your taste.”

His lips twitched, barely holding back a laugh, which honestly, annoyed me. “Lena Mary Gray,” he repeated softly but firmly, like he was calling some hidden part of me to life.

The light in the room pulsed again, circling in the glowing red symbol fused with the floor. Whispered voices filled the air, faint and echoing, too strange to understand but enough to send chills down my spine.

Ash lifted his hand. His nails darkened, lengthened, curved—like demonic blades born from darkness itself.

“Don’t move,” he ordered quietly.

His hand took mine. He didn’t rush it, like this moment had to be felt fully. His fingers were cold but steady as he opened my palm and gently pressed it down on the glowing symbol beneath us.

With a quick, sharp motion, his demonic nail sliced my skin. The sting spread immediately, but somehow it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. My blood trickled out slow, warm and red, dripping onto the floor before Ash bent down.

He brought my hand to his lips.

I reflexively pulled back, but his grip was tighter.

My breath caught in my throat. His mouth pressed to my palm, drinking slowly, like my blood was some kind of vintage wine. His red eyes fluttered shut for a second—like he was savoring it.

When he looked back up, that dark smile was back. “You’re sweet,” he whispered, looking at me through lowered lashes. “Just like I imagined.”

I didn’t know which part of me didn’t run. Maybe it was fear. Or fascination. Or both. But I stood there, frozen, staring back at him—like we both knew a line had been crossed. And there was no turning back.

Ash rose, slow and graceful. My blood still stained the corner of his mouth. He reached up, touching my jaw, tilting my face to meet his. Our breaths merged, only one decision away from something irreversible.

His eyes glowed, and in a low voice, he whispered, “Let’s seal it. Seal this contract with a kiss.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His lips pressed against mine in a slow, deep, certain motion—like he was stamping a seal no time, god, or hell could ever break.

It wasn’t rough like I expected from a devil. It was soft. Addictive. The kind of kiss that makes you forget the blood, the rituals, the horror.

But then I felt something hot and sharp slide into my mouth. Thick, metallic, warm—blood. Not mine. His. Something alive. Otherworldly. He was feeding it to me through the kiss.

My body locked up. Reflexively, I tried to pull back—to reject it, spit it out. But his hand clamped around the back of my neck. His eyes opened mid-kiss, and when I tried to fight, his voice crashed in my head.

“Swallow.”

I couldn’t resist. I hated how he spoke in my mind like he was drilling straight into my sanity. His hand pressed against my neck, right over my pulse, like he knew exactly how to shut me down.

I felt like a puppet in his grip. A cursed, bleeding, trembling puppet.

Tears welled up from the sheer weirdness of it—his blood sliding down my throat. It felt like fire. Like ice. Like … nothing I’d ever known. My body trembled, unsure whether to fight or surrender.

“I know it feels strange,” he murmured, lips brushing mine, “but it’s mine. Just like you are now.”

And when the last drop passed my throat, something inside me changed. My heart beat faster. Twice as fast.

“Take a bath, I’ll prepare a meal for you.” Ash said, still watching me like an artist admiring his masterpiece. Then came that wicked grin. “Unless … you want me to bathe you. I’d love to.”

I threw a pillow at him.

He just laughed—and vanished behind the door.

***

What would you trade for revenge? Would you make a deal like Lena did?

250525, Anne Joyce