The Devil's Lair

Ava's POV

"Strip," his harsh tone resounded in my ears.

My heart dangled in my chest as silence stretched between us.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

And where did he think he found me?

"I'm not some sort of call girl, you know, and neither did you pick me up from a pup house," I wanted to say, but my defiance died down as quick as it came.

I stood frozen, my heart clenched at my side, pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. I mentally face-palmed myself.

Of course, what was I thinking running off? Now here I was in his room, his space, forced to stare into his sinfully beautiful face.

How could I have just stormed in here like a frightened rabbit seeking a hole? I should have known escape wouldn't be that easy here.

He sighed, his expression turning stern as he neared me.

I swallowed.

Say something, Ava. Say anything.

"I wasn't... I didn't mean to come here," I muttered, inching back towards the door without turning my back. "I was running from the maid. They said... they said something about a ritual."

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Not quite. Something closer. Amused, maybe. Dangerous.

"They told you about the bath, didn't they?"

I nodded cautiously.

He took a single step forward, and I instinctively took one back.

Another step—his eyes pinned mine—and I bumped into the cold wooden door. Trapped.

"Please don't kill me. I can leave, never to show my face again," I whispered, hating how my voice trembled. "Don't kill me like the others."

His gaze darkened. "And you ran. Straight into the devil's lair."

I should've stayed silent.

Instead, my mouth betrayed me. "Well, I figured if I was going to die, I might as well meet the monster before he took my head."

Those silvery eyes gleamed with something unreadable. His shoe clicked on the tiles as he closed the distance between us, slow and unhurried like a predator sizing up its prey.

He stopped a breath away.

I could smell him. Not the decay or brimstone I had imagined. But something colder. Cedar. Magic. It clung to him like a cloak.

A small smirk formed on his face, a gesture that could have gone unnoticed but not by me.

"You're not what I expected," he said, lowering his heterochromatic eyes on me. One silver. The other black. Both were unnerving.

His gaze flickered down my face—no, my scar.

Though his room was dark and freezing cold, I could feel the intensity of his look burning me up.

I clenched my jaw. "Ugly?"

"No." His voice dropped lower. "Familiar."

That made me freeze.

I dared to look at him. Not through my lashes. Not timid. I met his eyes.

His expression didn't change, but something flickered—like memory brushing against the surface of recognition.

He reached up slowly. I flinched, but he didn't stop.

His fingers brushed my cheek—right over the scar.

I stood there, breathing.  

Frozen in place, as if his touch had turned me into stone.

His touch wasn't cruel. It wasn't soft, either. But it was... reverent. Like he was touching a wound he'd seen before. A ghost.

My throat tightened. I didn't know whether to flinch or lean in.

And just then, he shattered my thoughts—ripping a piece of my clothing.

I flinched back, but he grabbed me by my neck, drawing me closer to him. "I will pardon you this time. Never make me repeat myself again," he said, pushing me into the hands of the cold floor.

Here it was again. That familiar feeling. How could I have forgotten it so soon? My butt kissing the ground. Just that this time, it was marble, and not stone.

The jolt of pain made my palms sting as they caught my fall. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn't cry out. Not this time.

I watched as he returned to the bed, his hands crossed behind his head, legs sprawled.

"Give me some show, Scarface," he added.

My hands instantly dug into my palms. The feeling of yanking his hair off surged through me.

I pressed my lips together to keep from shouting at him.

"I have been with many princesses, Elora. I know your type. Pretending to be all innocent and meek, but give it a few days—they turn into whôres, ready to take up any côck that comes their way." His venomous words spat out like acid.

I picked my heavy body from the ground, which was now a burden to me. Every time I remembered my new body, I couldn't help but silently curse the Moon Goddess.

The softness of my limbs, the roundness I wasn't used to—every step felt like walking inside a stranger's skin. The weight of unfamiliar curves made me clumsy. I wasn't Ava. Not the Ava I remembered.

My farewell dress from StormClaw was now missing a sleeve.

I didn't get reborn to cower in here like a prisoner.

If he wanted a show, then I'd give him one.

I walked slowly towards him, in a few not-so-seductive steps, all thanks to this new, awkward body.

I could hear him snicker on the bed. He was making fun of my moves.

Soon, I was on the bed with him, my hands trailing down his abs. I didn't know if I was acting on impulse or what.

I was now at his lower region... and stopped when his hand caught mine.

His smile flattened. "Thanks for proving to me that you are a whôre," his voice came out hoarse, his gaze settled into mine with pure disgust.

This time something about the way he said it wasn't mocking—it was laced with hurt. Like I had confirmed something he hated believing.

"Well, people always believe what they want to," I retorted, locking eyes with him. "FYI, not all women are whores. I'm just doing what I have to do to survive. And if whôring with you would keep me alive one more day, then so be it. I will gladly be your plaything."

He shook his head, like my words were some comic book to him.

"I should throw you out," he said, stepping down from the bed.

"But you won't," I said quietly.

He stilled.

I didn't know where the courage came from. But I held onto it with both hands. "Because something about me unsettles you."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Be careful what strings you pull, Scarface. Some of them are tangled around things best left buried."

"I'm already buried," I said with a bitter laugh. "In someone else's body. In someone else's story."

His back tensed. He didn't reply.

After a beat, he turned again, walking past me to the door. He opened it, then looked at me with something like a warning.

"You will bathe. You will dress. You will attend the claiming ritual tomorrow. No more running or jumping off cliffs," he grinned evilly.

"And if I don't?" I challenged.

His lips curved into something cold. "Then I will show you why I am rumored to be the devil."

He shut the door behind me, leaving me alone in his room, my heart racing, thoughts spiraling.