Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Devil you called: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Chapter 1 — Red Candle Nights The first time I saw him, it wasn’t even in the flesh. It was in the reflection of my cracked bedroom mirror, flickering in the glow of three blood-red candles from the botanica down the block. That night, the rain had a rhythm — tapping against my window like it knew my business. The streets outside were empty, neon lights bleeding through the blinds, turning everything inside my room into shades of sin. My heart was heavy from too many ghosted calls, another rent notice folded on the counter, and the echo of a breakup I swore I was over. I was tired — not just body-tired, but soul-tired. Mama always said, Don’t play with no spirits you can’t put back. But the little velvet bag that came with the candles had instructions folded so small it looked innocent. Just a prayer in Spanish, a few drops of my own blood, and his name. The problem was… I didn’t know his name yet. So I gave him one. “Malik.” I whispered it slow, like the word tasted too sw

Chapter 3 — The Taste of FearTwo months in, Malik’s world started bleeding into mine.Not just in dreams.Not just in shadows.In daylight.It started small—my reflection lagging a second behind in store windows. My eyes catching a red flash in the mirror that wasn’t from my phone camera. People crossing the street when I walked by, like I was giving off something they didn’t want to smell.Even my best friend Tasha noticed.“Girl, you ain’t been yourself lately,” she said, frowning as I sat across from her at our usual diner. “You look… sharper. Meaner. Like you could bite somebody.”I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine. Just tired.”She stared, uneasy. “You don’t blink as much anymore.”I laughed it off, but under the table Malik’s fingers slid over my thigh—invisible to her, ice-cold to me.“Don’t explain yourself to her,” he whispered in my ear, voice like smoke c

⸻Chapter 5 — The MarkThe morning after Aunt Dee’s dinner, I woke up drenched in sweat.My sheets clung to me like they were trying to keep me from leaving. The air was thick with the smell of cedar and smoke — Malik’s scent — even though I didn’t see him anywhere.For the first time in weeks, my room was quiet. Too quiet.I stumbled into the bathroom, flipped on the light — and froze.There, running from my collarbone down to my ribs, was a black mark. Not ink. Not bruise. It shimmered faintly under the light, twisting like smoke trapped beneath my skin.My hand trembled as I touched it. Heat pulsed under my fingertips — steady, rhythmic, alive.And when I whispered, “Malik?” the mirror fogged instantly.Letters carved themselves through the mist like invisible fingers writing on glass:I’m here.I backed away, heart pounding, but part of me — the part that missed the safety of his presen

Chapter 8 Morning hit like a warning. I woke up to the sound of Malik pacing the apartment, muttering in a language that scraped against my bones. Not English. Not anything human. Every few seconds the walls shuddered, like his voice was pushing the room off-balance. I sat up slowly. “Malik?” He froze. When he turned, his eyes weren’t red this time— They were black. Black like absence. Like something had left the lights on inside him but moved out. “You dreamed of him again,” he said. It wasn’t a question. My mouth went dry. I tried to swallow. “I… I don’t know who he is.” His jaw clenched. “Yes, you do.” He crossed the room in three slow steps, each one making the air thicken. He sat at the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the sheets like he was fighting the urge to crush something. “That… thing you saw in your sleep,” he said low. “He’s been circling you. Waiting.” I pulled my knees up to my chest. “Why?” Malik’s smile was cold. “Because you’re changing.

Chapter nine The storm outside had been growing all evening— wind clawing at the windows, distant thunder rolling like something alive. Malik had been pacing the apartment since sunset, jaw tight, wings half-visible like smoke drifting off his back. He wasn’t angry. He was worried. And that terrified me more than mirrors cracking or shadows whispering my name. When I stepped out of the shower, still shaken, still replaying the mark glowing beneath my skin, I found him standing by the window, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, staring out at the night like it was a battlefield only he could see. “Malik?” I whispered. He didn’t turn around right away. “You should sleep, Sarai.” “I can’t,” I admitted. He finally faced me. His eyes—usually a soft, taunting red—looked darker. Heavy. Like he was carrying something he didn’t know how to put down. “You’re afraid of me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. My throat tightened. “I’m afraid of everything. Him. The mark.