A Demon’s Kiss

~Aspen

My gaze drifts out the window, watching the rain glide down the glass in thin rivets.

I press my hand deeper into the cluster of ice in front of me, wincing. This time, Oliver chose a unique punishment. One that can be attributed to a domestic mishap, if anyone pries.

My eyes squeeze shut as images of me holding that hot poker with a tight grip while Oliver slowly counted to five flash through my mind.

The accompanying clatter of the hot iron as it hit the kitchen floor a moment later has haunted me all day.

"There's going to be a Noble joining us for this dinner here that you haven't met before."

I turn, looking toward Oliver. He leans against the kitchen counter, watching me swirl my swollen, red hand around the ice water.

"Who?" I mumble mindlessly.

"Kastriv."

I shudder. Just what I need. Another Noble.

Noble's used to frighten me. Unprecedented power flows through their veins, magic unrivalled by anyone else in this Territory. I've met a few now due to my husband's political position, and most have been kind and gentle. Nothing to be afraid of.

But meeting a new Noble is always frightening.

"The one who can summon spirits to life?" I ask in such a way that doesn't reveal my apprehension, or make it sound as though I'm privy to most of the rumours.

He doesn't like me knowing too much.

"It is only rumoured that he has done that. You have no reason to fear him,” he says.

I pull my hand from the ice, resting it on a towel next to it.

"I suppose..."

Oliver approaches as I drape each edge of the towel over my hand, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I don’t react as he braces his hands on the counter next to me, leaning down. "Don't so much as flinch in his presence. That level of disrespect will not be tolerated."

My head bows. "Of course."

His gaze assesses me for a long moment before he pulls away again. I release my held breath in a long, subtle exhale.

"He mostly communicates with them. He doesn't summon them,” he mutters.

I don’t care about Kastriv. My fear for him and his power does not amount to the fear I have for my husband. Noble’s are not known to be unnecessarily cruel.

Oliver points out the window. "Would you look at that, they have arrived."

Raising my head, I watch three figures emerge from their transportation, heads bowed against the onslaught of rain. Each are tall, with broad figures and an ease about them that you only have when your power rivals all others.

Grabbing my lace glove, I carefully slide my hand into it, biting down on my lower lip at the pang of pain.

We entertain political figures in this Pack often, and it’s my job to ensure their time here is beneficial for my husband.

Maintaining the ruse that Oliver and I are a happily married couple is essential to that goal.

Right as we enter the foyer, Oliver grabs my arm, yanking me to a stop.

"Remember our deal?" He murmurs into my ear.

I could recite this warning with no faults. He tells it to me each time someone important graces our home.

"Yes, Oliver,” I mumble, as knocks from the door echo through the foyer.

"It's more important than ever that you are agreeable, since we are meeting a new Noble." His grip tightens, and I swallow thickly.

"Of course."

"If one of them so much as suspects our relationship is anything other than perfect, the agreement will be over, and I will expect you to enact your wifely duties,” he hisses.

My stomach turns with disgust. "Yes, Oliver."

Were I anyone other than me, I believe Oliver would be a doting, kind husband.

I'm a Demon. Or at least, I have remnant's of Demon blood. And there is nothing more that Oliver despises more than Demon's.

He took me in to dominate me, to own me.

In some sick, twisted way, he enjoys inflicting pain upon me because of who I am. He genuinely believes I'm incapable of loving, of being loved, and that he is doing me a favour by making me his wife, keeping me safe from other men like him.

He lets me go, and I absently rub the spot where his grip seared me.

One day…one day I will watch him bleed out on this very floor, begging for mercy while I watch, holding the very knife that will end his life.

Shaking my head slightly, I watch the three Noble’s emerge through the door.

Oliver isn’t a bad looking man. He has a wide, charming smile and captivating blue eyes. But the coldness to them is unmistakable.

But each time I see a Noble, I become hyper-aware of how bland he appears.

Ellard walks in, clasping my husbands hand in greeting. "Oliver, it's wonderful to see you."

He bows his head, feigning honour. "You too, Ellard."

I stand silently by the wall, admiring Ellard’s warmth and grace. He’s the gentlest of the Noble’s that I have met, and I’ve allowed myself, for fleeting to moments, to wonder what kind of lover he is.

Another Noble removes his damp coat, slinging it on the hook next to the door. "Hello Oliver."

"Daxen, how are you?" Oliver greets. He likes Daxen. Mostly because Daxen is easygoing and attentive. But not attentive enough to look twice at me, to see the darkness simmering in Oliver and I’s relationship.

I don’t take it personally. I’m masterful at blending in.

His cool, deep brown eyes look toward me. "Hello Aspen."

I nod my head once, averting my eyes. But not because I’m being polite.

But because I’m looking at the Noble who walks through the door, shaking his head slightly, droplets of rain falling from his loose curls.

My husband wastes no time in catching the Noble’s attention. "Kastriv, it's so wonderful to meet you. I'm Oliver."

Kastriv.

I’m overwhelmed by how beautiful he is.

He sweeps his hand back through his hair, which is shockingly white, raining down over his ears and forehead. Those gentle curls are shaped perfectly, despite the rain, despite how often he appears to run this hands through them.

"Nice to meet you,” he murmurs , but doesn’t reach out to shake Oliver’s hand. He has a sense of wariness about him, a skepticism.

Oliver seems taken aback, almost stuttering as he sweeps his arm back to encompass me.

"This is my wife, Aspen."

I nearly collapse as Kastriv’s eyes sweep to mine. The shadows under his eyes accompany his pitch black irises, complimenting them.

He strides forward, a quiet confidence. Most Noble’s own their power outwardly, although it appears Kastriv enjoys his privately.

My eyes follow his gloved hand as he extends it to me in greeting.

Instinctively, I rear back, just as Dax’s hand shoots out, grabbing Kastriv’s arm, pulling it back.

They share opposing glares, Kastriv frowning while Dax’s eyes flare, a silent warning. He knows how it goes around here.