I released him only when he could no longer hold himself upright.
He hit the floor in a broken heap, alive but ruined, his agony a lesson that would be remembered far longer than his name.
“This is punishment for touching what is mine,” I told him after lowering enough to reach his ears over the sound of his own agony. Then I straightened, turning back to the room, my expression calm, controlled.My rule absolute.
“Let this stand as a warning,” I said evenly.
“To any who might be confused in future. Now, does anyone have any questions?”
No one spoke.
No one moved.
“No? Good.Then consider this fucking law!”Satisfied, I turned away, already done with them. The fear lingered behind me, thick and nourishing, and for the first time since leaving her, my demon was content.
But then my thoughts quickly shifted elsewhere.
Back to my office.
Back to her.
Which was no doubt why the walk back felt longer than it should have done. Not because the distance had changed, but because my awareness had narrowed to a single point ahead of me. One now fixed on the certainty that she would still be there when I returned.
Safe.
Protected.
My Captive.
Exactly where I had left her. The thought anchored me as I climbed the stairs, the lingering taste of fear and punishment fading beneath something far more urgent.
Mine.
I dismissed Torin at the door with a simple order.
“I am not to be disturbed.” The words were steady, yet beneath them something unfamiliar stirred. Anticipation tightened through me with an undeniable pull that bordered dangerously close to excitement. This, simply at the thought of seeing her again. I pushed the door open before it could deepen into something less contained, yet the room greeted me with stillness.
For half a breath, nothing registered as wrong. The space was intact. The lights still low. The air warm with the faint echo of her presence, a trace of something softer lingering like an afterimage. My office remained exactly as I had left it, save for one thing missing.
The most important piece at that.
Then my gaze dropped to the floor and the book that now lay there, the sight hitting me like time had just been fractured. I crossed the room in two strides, my senses flaring outward instinctively, power surging as I searched for her presence. The wards hummed in response, intact and unbroken, with their song unaltered.
“No,”I muttered quietly.
The word was not denial. It was more like a calculation.
I scanned the room again, slower this time, methodical. The chair untouched. The desk undisturbed. No sign of struggle. No scent of panic. No blood. No rupture in the wards that would suggest forced exit.
She had not been taken.
She had fucking left!
The realization settled cold and heavy in my chest, followed swiftly by something far more volatile. Anger, yes, but threaded through it was something sharper, more dangerous.
Concern.
I crouched, lifting the book from the floor with care that surprised even me. Her fingers had been on it. I could feel the faint imprint of her presence clinging to the pages, as though the object itself remembered her touch.
