story_by_bekky

story_by_bekky's Books(2)

The Demon Prince's Bride

Romance

5.0

The wind whispered secrets through the trees as twilight deepened across the land. Lantern moths blinked lazily in the dusky air, casting a faint shimmer over the undergrowth. Liora's boots sank into the damp forest floor as she pushed past a curtain of vines, her satchel bouncing lightly at her hip. She didn't know exactly when she had crossed the border. The human realm ended at the river Veil-yet somewhere along the way, her pursuit of the silver-leafed herb had carried her past it. She should have turned back the moment the air thickened, the light dimmed, and the silence grew unnaturally still. But curiosity was her weakness-and the forest beyond the Veil, they said, held magic unlike anything known to humans. Liora paused in a clearing where moonlight broke through the trees, illuminating the world in pale silver. She knelt beside a bed of dark moss, her fingers brushing over a glimmering silver fern. "There you are," she whispered. As she reached for her shears, a voice-low and rich like velvet soaked in wine-cut through the stillness. "You do not belong here, little human." Liora froze. She stood slowly, breath catching in her throat. Across the clearing, leaning against a blackened tree with ancient runes carved into its bark, stood a figure cloaked in shadow. The man-or rather, the being-was tall and lean, dressed in a high-collared black tunic embroidered with crimson thread that shimmered like fresh blood. His long hair, the color of midnight, fell around his shoulders in gentle waves. Twin horns curved from his temples, sharp and elegant, as though sculpted from obsidian. But it was his eyes that held her captive-deep red, glowing faintly like embers. Liora swallowed. "I didn't mean to cross over," she said carefully, voice trembling. "I was only looking for something to help a fevered child. I didn't realize I'd gone too far." The demon tilted his head. "And if I said the punishment for crossing into our realm... was death?" She met his gaze-nervous but defiant. "Then I suppose I'd ask you to make it swift." A long silence fell between them. The forest, impossibly quiet before, now held its breath. Then-he laughed. A slow, amused sound, low in his throat. "You're brave," he murmured. "Or foolish." "Both, maybe," she replied, her grip tightening around the satchel strap. "But I don't believe you'll kill me." "Why?" he asked, stepping forward. The shadows clung to him like silk, reluctant to let him go. Liora's heart thudded as he came closer. "Because... you're still talking." That seemed to surprise him. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes-something that almost looked like curiosity. Azrael, the Demon Prince of the Crimson Flame, regarded the girl standing barefoot among the glowing ferns, her cloak torn and her braid half-undone. She wore a simple dress-cream linen stained with soil and sweat, cinched at the waist with a leather belt. Not the garb of a warrior. Not the scent of a liar. "You're lucky," he said at last, voice cool. "Any other demon would have torn you apart by now." "Then it's a good thing I found you instead." She gave him a shaky smile. His lips curled faintly. "You don't even know who I am." "No," she said, honest. "But I know you didn't kill me when you could have." Another pause. Then, slowly, he extended a hand toward her. "Leave," he said. "And do not return. The next creature you meet here will not hesitate." She stared at his outstretched hand but didn't take it. "What's your name?" The glow of his eyes deepened. "Azrael." Her breath caught. She'd heard that name in whispered stories told to frighten children. The Crimson Flame. The merciless prince. The fireborn executioner of the Demon Court. Liora took a small step back-but then bowed slightly, her braid falling over her shoulder. "Thank you, Azrael," she said, voice soft. He watched her turn and disappear into the trees, her presence lingering like the faint scent of jasmine. For the first time in a century, Azrael stood alone in the forest with his heart not entirely still. The girl had looked at him-not with terror, but something else. Something dangerous. Something he knew he should forget. And yet... he couldn't.

Dark Desire; Vampire's Obsession

Horror

5.0

The Blood Oath The sky above the demon realm shimmered in pale shades of mauve and silver as the first light of false dawn touched the peaks of the obsidian mountains. The air was heavy with stillness, the kind that only came before a storm-or a reckoning. Liora stood at the edge of Azrael's throne chamber, her heart beating like a drum beneath her ribs. The chamber was immense, carved from black stone and veined with glowing crimson. Pillars rose high into darkness, and a circular mosaic of fireglass rippled faintly underfoot. Flames danced in hovering sconces above, casting moving shadows across the high murals that depicted long-forgotten wars and old gods with horned crowns and blade-like wings. Azrael stood at the center of the room. He wore ceremonial armor-dark silver lined with maroon etchings, the shoulders sculpted like coiled serpents, a crimson cloak trailing behind him. His hair was half-tied with obsidian pins, leaving silver strands falling around his sharp jaw. His presence was commanding-ancient, inhuman, and yet somehow... achingly familiar. Liora approached slowly. She wore a gown unlike anything she had ever touched in the mortal world-black silk that moved like shadow, with long sleeves that shimmered violet in the flame's glow. It cinched at her waist with an intricate belt made of silver branches, each tipped with a single glowing crystal. Her hair was down, loose and wild, cascading like a curtain of soft mahogany over her shoulders. Around her neck, Azrael's gift: a thin choker of woven demonsteel, holding a single blood-red gem. "You summoned me," she said quietly, voice echoing slightly. Azrael turned. His crimson eyes were bright, troubled. "I had no choice," he said. "They've come. The Elders." Her brow furrowed. "Who?" "The oldest among my kind. Keepers of blood oaths. They do not trust mortals who remain here long." He hesitated. "They believe you've... enchanted me." She gave a humorless laugh. "Is that what they think love is?" "To them, love is weakness. And weakness is treason." A sudden tremor shook the floor. A wind, though no doors were open, swept through the chamber, carrying with it the scent of old dust and sulfur. And then... three beings appeared from flame and shadow. They were tall, cloaked in red and silver, their faces hidden behind twisted masks of bone and gold. Their voices came as one, like a distant chorus: "You bring her into sacred ground, Azrael. The blood oath forbids the binding of a demon king to mortal flesh." Azrael stepped between them and Liora, hand at the hilt of his sword. "She is no mere mortal. She is mine by choice, not spell." "Then let her prove it." The flames around the room flared brighter. One of the Elders stepped forward and produced a black dagger, curved like a crescent moon. Its blade pulsed with a heartbeat of its own. "She will take the blood oath. If her love is true, the blade will burn her not. But if she lies... her soul will unravel." Liora stared at the weapon, throat dry. "And if I refuse?" "Then you return to your world. And you will never see him again." The silence that followed was sharp enough to slice skin. Azrael turned to her, gently cupping her face. "You don't have to do this. I will protect you, even if it means tearing down this realm stone by stone." But Liora's hand rose to cover his. "No," she said. "Let me choose. You didn't ask for a blood oath. You just gave me your heart." He searched her eyes, and something in him trembled. She stepped forward. The Elder extended the blade. Liora reached for it with steady fingers, wrapped her palm around the hilt, and pressed the flat edge to her chest. The chamber held its breath. For a moment-nothing. Then... the blade glowed bright red, searing hot-and went cold again. Liora stood untouched. A wind burst outward. The Elders recoiled slightly, their forms flickering. "She speaks truth." They bowed, ever so slightly. And vanished. --- Later, in the quiet of the citadel garden-a hidden terrace carved into the cliff-Liora stood beneath strange silver blossoms that bloomed only at night. Azrael joined her silently. "You weren't afraid," he murmured, brushing a petal from her shoulder. "I was terrified," she admitted. "But I'd rather die for something real than live in fear of the unknown." He turned her gently toward him. "You've burned your bridges, Liora. There is no going back now." She stepped into him, her hands sliding up his chest. "I don't want to go back. I want to see what's ahead. With you." His lips hovered just above hers, voice rough with emotion. "Then you are mine. Not by oath. Not by fate. But because we chose this." And when he kissed her, it was not the fire of conquest or possession-it was the slow burn of devotion, dangerous and tender all at once. And beneath a sky of a thousand living stars, the demon and the girl he loved defied a world built to keep them apart.