All Chapters of Spellbound by Obsession: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The Lilith’s Kiss was the same as always. Red lights, artificial smoke, the smell of alcohol and desire floating in the air. But something had changed.Me.I felt the stares even before I reached the dressing room. The customers turned their heads when I passed. The other dancers glanced at me, whispering among themselves. The doorman, a brute who had never said more than a grunt to me, held the door and said “good evening, Evelyn” in a much softer voice than usual.“What’s going on?” I asked Jess, who was doing her makeup in the dressing room.She turned and her eyes widened.“Holy shit, Eve.”“What?”“You’re… different.”“Different how?”“I don’t know.” She frowned, tilting her head as she examined me. “Prettier. Like, much prettier. Your hair is shinier. Your skin is… did you change foundation?”“No.”“New creams?”“No, Jess.”“Then you got laid.”I almost dropped the makeup brush.“What?”“You got laid.” She pointed the mascara wand at me like an accusation. “That glow is the glow

The Lilith’s Kiss was packed.I entered through the side door, giving only one look that made the security guard step back. My eyes were violet, shining, and something in them said do not challenge me.I went straight to the VIP booth. My booth. The place where I had seen her for the first time. She was on stage.The music was different, something slower, more sensual. An R&B with deep bass that vibrated against the walls. The lights were in shades of purple and gold, and for a moment I had the illusion that the entire club had been decorated to match the colors of the bond.Evelyn danced in the center of the stage. She was dazzling.She wore a black lace set that revealed almost everything. A corset that cinched her waist, her bare legs tightened with garters, connected to fishnet stockings that rose almost to her groin. The black mid-calf boots with stiletto heels were different from the first night.Her dark hair fell in waves over her bare shoulders, and her eyes…Her eyes were shi

My body was still shaking from the previous orgasms when Mortyss lifted me off the floor as if I weighed nothing. His hands were firm on my hips, his violet eyes still burning, his chest rising and falling with a breath as heavy as mine. His tail unwrapped from my wrists slowly, as if it regretted having to let me go.“Is it over already?” I teased, my voice hoarse from so much moaning.He laughed. A deep, dangerous laugh that vibrated in the air between us.“Over?” He repeated, tilting his head. The black horns gleamed under the dressing room light. “I said I was going to fuck you until you forgot your name. So far you still know who you are.”“Evelyn.” I replied, defiantly. “My name is Evelyn.”“For now.”He spun me around so my back was to him and pushed me against the dressing room counter.My hands automatically spread across the cold surface. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me—disheveled hair, swollen lips, smeared makeup, my bare breasts marked by his hands and mouth.

I woke up with the feeling of having been run over by a truck.No, that was too little. Run over by a truck, then dragged for several blocks, then thrown off a cliff.My entire body ached in a way I had never experienced — a deep pain, rooted in my muscles, in my bones, in places I didn’t even know could hurt.I tried to move and let out an involuntary moan.Every movement was a negotiation. My arms weighed tons. My legs felt like they had been detached from the rest of my body and put back in the wrong place. My head throbbed, although it wasn’t a hangover — it was pure exhaustion, the kind that goes beyond the physical and settles in the soul.I opened my eyes slowly.The ceiling wasn’t my ceiling.The water stain in the corner that I knew so well wasn’t there. The bare bulb I never changed wasn’t there either. Instead, there were dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling, a black crystal chandelier turned off hanging over the bed, and a purplish light dancing on the walls — a fireplac

The kitchen was my favorite part of the pocket dimension.I had shaped it inspired by an old memory — a countryside house in Tuscany, eighteenth century, where a widow fed me fresh bread and red wine before I fed on her.The wooden beams on the ceiling, the hand-painted tiles, the cast-iron stove that never cooled. The only concession to modernity was the Italian coffee maker I had insisted on installing, because even demons have limits to anachronism.On the solid oak table, I had laid out what could be described as a small banquet. Flaky croissants that melted at the touch. A basket of red berries — strawberries, raspberries, blueberries — that gleamed like jewels under the golden light. Creamy scrambled eggs, still steaming. Fan-arranged slices of smoked salmon. Cheeses I ordered directly from a producer in France. Fig jam. Honeycomb. Naturally leavened bread still warm. Freshly squeezed orange juice. And coffee. Lots of coffee.“You made all this?” Evelyn’s voice sounded behind me