An admission that still unsettled me, even now.
I did not find things endearing. I did not soften for sentiment. And yet something stirred within me when she had told me that story. When I saw for myself how, in that adolescent moment, it had shaped her, defining the line she walked between what was right and what was wrong. Between empathy and indifference.
All those small figurines I found in her room were like quiet reminders for a pure soul to remain that way. It was only one of many moments when I understood that I needed to know everything about her, and not for tactical advantage.
But personally.
Walking away from her the day she had given her presentation had required more restraint than I cared to acknowledge. I told her I would collect her in the morning. I told her to take the time I believed she needed. But what I actually wanted to do was to take her then and there. Not with violence, not with cruelty, and not to cage her in the way my enemies are caged. But to remove her from a world that did not fully comprehend the scale of what they had. To place her somewhere the chaos could not reach.
When she ran from the coffee shop, irritation flared first, followed closely by disappointment. If she believed that she could just slip away from me as though I didn’t know the city more intimately than its own infrastructure, then she was wrong. As if I hadn’t already memorized her address the moment I had learned of it. As though the taxi she entered could not be followed without effort or consequence.
Run, little rabbit.
The thought hadn’t been cruel.
It had been inevitable.
I had allowed her the illusion of distance because I wanted to see where she would go. Whether she would seek refuge with another or retreat to the familiarity of her own door. She had chosen home, and that had told me a lot. That she was thoughtful enough not to want to include others or potentially bring trouble to their doors. That she was selfless and put others before herself despite her desperation.
She was utter perfection.
Even when I appeared at her door, she didn’t scream or beg me to leave her be, despite her fear of me. Then she ran from me as though she truly believed she could outrun something far older than fear itself. But there was something other than justher fear I tasted in the air. Something primal. Something she, no doubt, didn’t yet understand.
Desire.
Fate.
One soul recognizing the other.
Yet when she faltered, breathless and furious in my arms, what stirred within me was not the hunger I was accustomed to.
It was protection.
The statue hall confirmed it beyond denial. When she froze, her hand gripped my jacket as though I was the only solid structure in that corridor of carved stone. My demon didn’t rise to feed upon her fear, but it recoiled from it. It rejected the taste of her distress entirely and sought instead to calm her, to steady her, to anchor her.
That was not how my demon was meant to function.
Many times before, I had drawn strength from terror, and without hesitation, I had extracted obedience from fear as easily as taking breath. And yet her discomfort tasted… wrong.
Destroying the hall filled with Hell’s Gods and Goddesses should have felt excessive. The statues had stood there for centuries, carved with methodical artistry. They were nothing more than an ornamental reminder of my royal heritage, nothing more.
Yet when she stood trembling before them, the decision had been easy to make. The way her fingers knotted in the front of my jacket, as though I were the only solid thing left in the world, made me feel like her hero rather than the villain she, no doubt, believed me to be.
Which was why I didn’t simply guide her through that hall.
I erased it.
One by one, the statues shattered beneath my will until nothing remained but fractured marble and drifting dust. When the final echo faded and the corridor fell silent again, I lifted herinto my arms and carried her through the ruin myself, because I would not allow her to face them again.
It should have felt like dominance or another demonstration of my authority within my own domain. Instead, it felt dangerously close to responsibility. A deeply rooted need to protect that I had never experienced before.
It should have unsettled me more than it did. But here I was, sitting upon my throne while Veneficus continued to exist around me. When the truth was, the entire room could have crumbled to dust the moment she finally appeared. Just the sight of her, and I felt my lungs fill with the sudden intake of breath.
She was a vision of both mortal and immortal perfection.
My Inanna.
The moment she stepped through the archway, the entire room shifted. Not dramatically. Not in a way she would ever recognize. But with subtle hints, like in the way conversations became focused on her. The rare mortal I had let infiltrate my club. The one I had claimed publicly that first night, something she knew nothing about.
