My heartbeat drums loud in my chest, it's own beat in sync with Kilian's. I hadn't even realized that demons had hearts— but there it was. That faint, rapid beating of a heart. My head splayed out on his chest, the only room we had to really stretch was taken up with dusty grimoires. Some of them smelled of mildew, and some smelled of lavender. I bite my lip as I watch Varla through the crack of the wooden closet, fearing that maybe she too, could hear my heart beating as fast as a hummingbirds wings.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Kilian's rough voice whispers in my ear as I watch, his minty breath caressing me. I squint my eyes as I look up at him, wrinkling my nose in disagreement.

"What is wrong with you?" I whisper back, sounding like a breath on the wind instead of a voice. I wonder if he'd heard me— but then I see it. The small curve of his lip, wicked in its own way. He loved taunting me. His glowing red eyes seem to focus on me, illuminating his face.

"Many things, Vi. You make a deal with the devil, and expect him to be the angel that was thrown out of heavens gates— foolish." He murmurs, tracing my jawline with his fingertips, as if I were something small; fragile. I grind my teeth together as I shove his hand away, ignoring the weird feeling it gives me to be touched by him. To be this close to him.

"We're going to get caught." I whisper frantically, eyeing the wooden bowl on the floor as Varla finally finds what she was rummaging around for. She holds up a vial of liquid, iridescent colors shine out of it. Magic, I soon realize. She had said she needed her 'meds', but I was certain that the vial she was holding wasn't prescribed by a physician.

"I hope we are. Maybe she'll think we just needed a quiet place to—" he says, humor in his tone as he touches my rib cage slightly. My breath quickens as I realize that Varla has spotted the bowl on the floor, and Kilian is busy toying with me. I bite my lip as her eyes flash to the wooden closet in curiosity, as if realizing that something wasn't right.

"Kilian." I breathe, as he hums in response. He was enjoying my panicking, like any other cruel demon would be. He didn't give a rats ass if we were caught— and definitely didn't care to be scared of a witches wrath.

"She's coming closer.. can't you get us out of here or something?" I ask, breath coming out in pants. I never did react well to small enclosed spaces— and definitely did not react well to getting caught doing something wrong.

"Is that a request? A favor, if you will." He inquires, the intensity in his eyes double as I realize what he means. I bite my lip harder, possibly drawing blood as I contemplate which situation is worse. Owing a demon, or facing a witch who has way more up her sleeve than she's letting on. I mean— she knows exactly how to get into Settrinos, the underworld. She's playing lamb, letting us think that were the wolves. I did not feel like being a lamb chop served up to her tonight. I look up to Kilian as he grasps my chin slightly.

"I'll do what you wish, just say it." He says lowly, eyes raking over my face as his white teeth glisten in the darkness. By now, Varla had stopped in front of the wooden closet we were in, picking up the bowl in the process with wariness. I shudder with goosebumps, realizing the pickle that I've gotten myself into— as I grab the grimoire holding the information that I want from Kilian's grasp.

"I'll owe you a favor." I whisper out as his lips go up in devilish satisfaction. My eyes narrow at him, hoping that he manages to get us out of there as quickly as possible.

"It's a deal." He purrs our in his deep voice, and grabs onto one of my hands.

"What are you—" I start to say as he raises my hand to his full lips, eyes never leaving mine. He places a kiss onto my hand, and I watch as black inky twirls make their way up to my neck; marking me. Now I had two devil marks— and I couldn't say that I was proud. I wonder what he put on me this time.

I see Varla reach for the handles of the wooden closet and my eyes widen just as Kilian scoops me up onto his lap. The grimoire in one hand, I wrap my free hand around his neck— hoping that it was enough.

Suddenly, as if all of my breath is shoved out of my lungs, we're submerged in inky blackness. Just like the portal from last time, whispers caress my face.

This time, I see a man.

The memory is quick and fleeting, but I'm able to see his face. The man is Kilian, I realize with a jolt. Bloodied and bruised, the demon looks up in anger as a large figure looms over him.

"Because it is our nature—you will take. Take from anyone and everyone, and enjoy watching the last tendrils of their well-being sink out of their faces. Don't deny me this boy. Next time, it'll be worse." The voice spits out as Kilian stares unblinkingly, blood running down his busted cheek.

"Don't fight what we are." The shadow says, handing Kilian a handkerchief. "Because you will lose, every time." The voice finishes growling out.

"Yes, father." Kilian bites out, snatching the handkerchief from him. "I won't."

As the memory fades out, I don't miss the murderous look he gives the shadow— his father. A look of promise, a death threat from a wild animal. My hand tightens on Kilians neck as were transported out of the portal, and onto a soft cushioned chair.

I'm still piled onto Kilians lap as I stare up at him, up at his face; so ashamed. So angry.

"Tell no one of what you saw. Do you understand?" He grinds out, eyes flickering to me brutally. I flinch at the look of pure hatred he gives me— but I soon realize that the look wasn't directed to me. It's directed to the memory, to the portal we had just gotten out of.

I nod silently, looking around to where he had brought us to.

It's an empty tent, closed off from the rest of the camp. A red and gold rug adorns the floor, and the chair we're sitting in is in the far corner; overlooking the large bed that sits in the middle of the tent.

"We're in your tent." I say, looking up at him for confirmation. He nods slowly, still holding my waist tightly.

"I didn't know where else to take you." He admits lowly, glancing away from me.

I know that he could've gotten us out of that situation without a deal— with a snap of his fingers. Why had he made that deal with me? Because he's a demon— and demons are sneaky bastards. Or at least trained to be; I frown thinking back to his memory and then shake the thought out of my mind, reminding myself that it's his memory. I was merely an intruder.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, pursing my lips in disapproval. His lips curve up as I question him.

"Why do you keep making deals with me? I know you don't need anything from me or my powers. Why do you keep helping me?" I question as he hisses at the word 'help'.

His fingers sink into my waist as I bite my lip in a small amount of discomfort from the pressure he was applying.

"I'm not helping you." He says quietly, dangerously.

"I thought you don't lie." I frown up at him as he scans my face. "I know that you can do things differently— worse. What are you getting out of this?" I say, eyes flickering back and forth to both of his red eyes. He grins at me as I peer up at him curiously.

We go minutes like this, in tense silence. Finally, he opens his mouth with an answer.

"Well," He says silkily. "When all of this is done and over with, I'll get what I want." He says darkly,raking his eyes over me huskily. I sink away from the attention he's giving me. Shyly.

"When this is over and done with—" he continues. "I'll get to taste something that should've never been in the possession of a demon."

"Someone that freed me." He says silently, eyes promising.

He laughs darkly, bitterly, as I squirm in his lap, in his hold.

"You don't even realize what you've done— you foolish beautiful girl." He says in crude humor.

"I gave you freedom from your trap." I say softly, touching his face as he flinches away. His eyes close as he breathes, trying to control himself. From what, I still don't have an idea. Demons are such complex creatures— at least that's what I used to hear.

After a moment of silence, my hand settles on his throat instead— wanting to touch at least a piece of him. Of his pain.

"Yes love." He says softly, opening his eyes— filled with bitter irony.

"You gave me freedom from a trap set ages ago. A trap, your dear old father made himself." He smiles as I snatch my hand away from him in a split second, not fully yet processing what he'd said.

"And then you made yourself mine." He finishes, eyes going black.

"All mine."

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