Accidentally Married To A Demon

by Mila Young

  The whole of Cloris Vineyard looked like it hadn't been cared for in this century. Beyond the aged stone fence that ran the length of the property, the vineyards were falling to pieces, with dusty, untilled earth matching the dilapidated stakes that dried vines were still clinging to.

  The large white house in the distance was similarly rundown, with what was once white paint peeling from the walls and too many holes in the rafters to count. It was a lost cause, and the place was a cross between a house and a Renaissance mansion. Slanted roof, towers on either side of the building with conical roofs. The lawn out front had patches of dried earth, and the few trees around the property were in bad need of trimming.

  "No wonder Aunt Moira didn't consider selling this place," I whispered, climbing out of the car. "Who the hell would buy it?"

  "I would say that it has its own appeal," said a heavily accented voice from behind me. "But one must look for the appeal of possibility instead of that which lies before one's eyes."

  I whipped around quickly enough to send my red hair flying all over my face, keeping me from fully seeing the man that was standing next to the sign for a few more seconds. I managed to pull myself back from attacking him out of reflex, clearing my throat and nodding. The man was taller than I was by about a head and most of his broad shoulders. His hair was a dark brown, hanging a little longer than might have been considered fashionable, but he certainly wasn't hurting for it, although I wondered if the unintentional bangs got in his eyes. His clothes were simple black pants and button up shirt, and once again not really fashionable, but fit his build well. The top was unbuttoned just enough to make it clear he was chiseled underneath. Looking away from him was definitely a challenge because finding such a handsome man out in the middle of nowhere was the last thing I expected.

  A hint of bristle on his chin had me a little distracted by his strong jawline, which brought my eyes straight up to his lips and dark eyes. Like the rest of the landscape, I could turn his picture into a goddamn essay.

  "I... sure." I cleared my throat and looked around, hoping he didn't realize that I had been staring. There was a lot to appreciate about this man. "Plenty of potential. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be insulting. It's just... well, this place is..."

  "She has seen better days, yes, and I believe she can again." That deep European accent was beyond entrancing.

  A quick look around only told me just how expensive that would be to fix. "Sure. I mean, hold on. I've heard of people referring to ships as 'she.' Cars, even the occasional firearm too, but I've never heard of a vineyard being referred to as a female."

  "Have you spent much time around vineyards?"

  "I... have not," I admitted.

  "Well then, allow me to show you around this one." He offered me his arm. "Am I correct in assuming that you are the niece of the former owner of Cloris Vineyards?"

  "Oh... yes. Nilsa Kane." I offered a hand instead of taking his arm.

  He took it, shaking firmly. I could feel my shoulders tensing as an unsettling heat traveled up my arm, hitting my spine and resulting in waves of goosebumps across my body.

  And it had nothing to do with the fact that a cloud of a heavy, sweet scent suddenly enveloped me the moment that he approached me.

  "Rogelio Dobre," he answered, still holding my hand in his, his eyes tracing down my body and back up, making no effort to hide it. "Your aunt did mention that you were a practitioner."

  I swallowed, trying not to stare at his strong jawline and those full lips again. "Not for a while, but I still remember what auras most mages give off. I can't really place yours, though."

  "Transmutation is not as pervasive in the Americas after the colonial massacres. Seeing as I specialize in herbology, I can understand why my form would be a little unfamiliar to you."

  "Most transmutationists specialize in smithy and metalworking. Lots of money in that." It was a little difficult to keep talking to him about stuff that I had only half-heartedly read about from the books that Mom gave me, especially considering how distracting the man was. I guessed he was one of the working hands at the farm, maybe the manager, though the intensity at which he studied me, left me a bit unsure of myself. It brought me back to my days at school when the most popular boy would look at me for a second, and I’d completely turn into a klutz and forget my own name. That was this man in front of me, affecting me that much.

  "Too much violence, especially after the discoveries on how uranium can be used. There was a time when being a smithy specialist was very dangerous in this part of the world."

  "Oh, right. I can see that." We started walking through the dust-covered road heading up to the house. Taking everything in was currently all that I could concentrate on. I would put it all together later on. "So... what do you do here?"

  "I was brought on to be a caretaker after the last one passed away," he replied. "It is a lot of work, and I am only just getting started, but again, I see a great deal of potential in this place."

  "Well then, Roge... Rogel..." I paused, trying to remember the name that he'd given me.

  "Your aunt called me Rog," he said, like he had been anticipating my difficulty.

  "Okay, Rog, I have to say that I have absolutely no idea how a vineyard should be run. I honestly don't even know what I'm doing here." I waved my hands around as we approached the house. "I'm a journalist by trade. I gave up on my heritage a while ago, so I don't know what exactly it is that you expect me to do around here."

  "You can look into the possibilities that this place gives off," Rog noted. "You see the surface, but I see the bones of this place. They are well-rooted, old and powerful. In the right hands, it could be a true beauty."

  "I can assure you that these"—I looked down at my hands—"are not the right hands."

  "No, but mine might be, but we have workers that come in casually from surrounding villages to work the land." He smirked. "Come, let me show you to the cellar."

  I still had a lot of questions, but I had a feeling that they would be met with more talk of the possibilities that this place had. He was right; I couldn't see past the surface. Maybe someone else would.

  "Would you like to buy this place from me?" I asked as he pulled the external cellar door open, turning the lights on as he descended into it. "You obviously care about it, and I... don't."

  "You feel like your time would be wasted here?" He turned back to look at me.

  In the dimmer light of the cellar, there was something considerably different about him. The heat radiating from him was almost visible, and the gleam in his eyes almost felt like it was a little too intense to be coming from the naked light bulbs illuminating the cellar.

  "In so many words," I managed to answer through the dryness of my throat.

  "We can discuss that." He pulled a couple of glasses out and started filling them with a bright ruby liquid from one of the nearby casks. "But it might involve discussing how you enjoy wasting your time. We all have our vices that have no point aside from bringing us personal satisfaction."

  "Sure." I took the glass that he offered me and sniffed the contents like I knew I was supposed to, while twirling the glass gently. It sure as hell smelled like red wine.

  I took a sip, and while the smell was consistent with wines that I'd tasted in the past, the taste was a little off. Something coppery that filled my tastebuds in a way that made me wince.

  "This place makes a strong brew, but I think you'll find that it agrees with you." Rog took a sip from his glass.

  The door to the cellar opened up again, and I turned to see a familiar face coming down.

  "Mr. Batten, wasn't it?" I asked, startled to see him. "What are you doing here?"

  "Just finishing the business that my firm has in the area," the lawyer answered. "I figured that since we are both here, we might as well get all the paperwork out of the way."

  "That's... coincidental," I noted, thankful at least for the distraction, which let me put the glass of wine down on a nearby ta
ble as Batten placed his papers on it as well.

  "Hardly," Batten replied. "Getting all of this out of the way is sort of the reason why I came here at the same time you did. Now, if you could just sign here?"

  He handed me a pen and pointed at the bottoms of the pages, all asking for my signature. I put it down where instructed, but I felt something biting into my finger as I moved toward the last page.

  "Ouch," I snapped, looking down to see something jutting from the pen had dug into my finger, drawing blood.

  "Are you all right?" Rog asked, taking my hand immediately to inspect the damage.

  "Yeah, just a... small cut." I narrowed my eyes as he squeezed my finger gently to the point where a droplet of blood hit the page.

  Rog immediately pulled out a small case with some bandages inside, cleaning the cut and wrapping it up. "Not to worry."

  "I'm just... some got on the page."

  "No need to worry about that." Batten pulled another pen out and handed it to me. "Just your signature should be fine."

  Almost without thinking, I put my name down on the final page.

  "Perfect." Batten snapped the pages up with a smile. "Now, Mr. Dobre, since our business is finished, I will remove myself."

  "Your... business with him?" My voice was slurring. There was no telling why, but suddenly the light bulbs felt like they were glowing just a little too brightly.

  "Quite," Rog answered, ignoring me. "Have a pleasant flight back to New York."

  I shook my head, but that only made the feeling worse, and I reached out to the table to regain my balance. It was only a momentary reprieve, as it felt like my knees turned to rubber.

  The world was spinning, and I started to drop, feeling the fall being stopped quickly by a pair of powerful arms.

  A look upwards told me, in a blurry fashion, that Rog had caught me.

  "You're... strong," I murmured, reaching up to run my fingers over the bristle on his chin.

  "You have no idea," he answered with a smile, making the perfectly white teeth the last thing I saw before the world turned black.

  Chapter 4

  I was dreaming.

  The fact that I knew that I was dreaming was an oddity on its own, but there was no way that anything that I was looking at was real. I stood in a large, white room, mostly empty of furniture except for the full body mirror in front of me. The iron chandelier overhead sparkled from the lights flickering every now and then.

  "It's annoying that the beautiful crystal mirror is the most realistic part of all this," I whispered, looking down at a brilliant-white, strapless dress that I wore. Lined with tiny diamonds, it glinted against the light, especially the line across my bust. My dark hair was curled, cascading down over my shoulders.

  Looking this good was really the dream of any bride-to-be, but being a bride had never really made it to my bucket list.

  "Being a bridesmaid, on the other hand, is," I was talking to myself. Still the least crazy thing happening in this place. "If only to see if everything that I've heard about those male strippers is true."

  "And what, pray tell, does Lady Kane hear about male strippers?"

  The voice came before any kind of visual origin to it. It was vaguely familiar, with the same thick, breathy Romanian accent that Rog had, but it felt like his voice was vibrating from the walls all around me, even making the mirror visibly shudder.

  I turned around, feeling a dryness fill my mouth as I met the eyes of the creature standing across the room from me amid shadows. Mostly because the eyes were about all that I could see of its body. Bright and red, contrasting the thick blackness that surrounded them, matching the gleaming teeth showing as the creature grinned at me.

  "Well... look who got their visual cues from the fucking Cheshire Cat," I growled, trying to take hold of my courage, which was trying to slink away.

  "In fairness, I was here before Lewis Carroll was a gleam in his father's eye," said the disembodied voice. "His nightmares showed him what his creations should be. I humbly credit my toying with him as a boy as inspiration."

  I cocked an eyebrow. "You have got to be kidding me. You're really saying that you inspired Lewis Carroll?"

  "What can I say? The 19th century was a dull time in the world."

  "So I guess that means that you're no transmutationist?"

  The smile felt like it was growing. No, the blackness was coming closer, making me take a step backwards. My mind whirled with everything that had happened since I arrived here. Rog. Batten appearing unexpectedly. Me bleeding on the contract. And now in this dream with this creature. It was no coincidence, was it?

  "I never lied about that," he whispered. "One finds that a great many talents develop over the centuries that I have prowled this boring ball of dirt and water."

  "Well, at least you admit to being a predator." Egging the creature on was probably a bad idea. "So what are you, exactly? Not a lot of creatures are capable of working a blood contract, and most wouldn't care about what happens to a rotten old vineyard in Transylvania. So... a blood demon?" I may have broken things off with my family, but I was forced to read a lot about the supernatural growing up to know I had been played.

  The darkness shimmered closer, the bright red eyes latching on to me. It felt like it was holding on to me physically.

  "Go on," he whispered.

  "I mean, what else is there to say?" I turned back around to look at myself in the mirror, feeling the eyes still on me even though there was no sign of a reflection of the monster behind me. "You tricked me into signing a contract with my blood. Let me guess, something to release you from whatever it is that's binding you to this fucking place? What I don't understand is... what the hell is up with the wedding dress?"

  "You don't understand a great deal." The voice was hissing, and I could feel the heat of it against my ear. "Why would I ever want to leave my home?"

  "So I... didn't release you?" Now my head hurt.

  "Quite the contrary."

  I scowled. "What the hell is the contrary of releasing you? If you were already bound, what the hell did I..."

  Even with it out of sight, it felt like he was laughing at me, and that burned through me. I turned back around, meeting his eyes once more.

  "What was the contract? What did you trick me into?"

  "It sounds like you should have read the fine print before signing stuff. You'd think your generation would learn that lesson, what with all the Terms and Conditions that you're putting your names on."

  I took a step forward, feeling blood rushing in my ears, reaching out for the power that seemed only too eager to jump to my fingertips.

  "What... did you do?"

  "I did nothing. My physical form is bound to this vineyard by my own devices. When your aunt appeared, I cared for her a great deal, even if she was never much good at caring for this place. I assume it was because her true intent was to study my presence. But it matters little. With your blood, by drinking mine, you have bound yourself to me, and in turn to this place, just as I have been. Until death parts us, as it were."

  The dress suddenly started to make a lot of sense, and a sinking feeling dropped through me. I looked down at it, eyes widening. There was something in me that refused to accept what he was saying.

  "We... are not getting married."

  The smile grew closer, the eyes gleaming more intensely.

  "Time to wake now."

  The world fell away from me, and it started to feel more like a dream. All the colors turned black, melding into the darkness of the creature until all I could see were the eyes and the fang-filled smile.

  And then it all disappeared. Light was pouring into a room through the cracks in the shutters. I blinked a few times, trying to get my bearings.

  Every second of the dream was burned into my memory, and yet despite that, I felt oddly rested. I couldn't remember the last time that I'd woken up feeling rested.

  "Fucking magic," I whispered. Nothing was ever how it seemed, and w
hen I was feeling rested like this, it usually meant that there was a reason for it.

  I really didn't want to go into any reasoning as to what might have allowed me to feel rested after the day I'd had.

  The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and aside from the slats on the windows, the whole room looked like it was reasonably modern. There were even outlets in the walls, and as I checked my phone, sure enough, there was Wi-Fi.

  "Bare necessities."

  I pulled the window open, regretting it immediately as the bright light made my eyes hurt until they adjusted to it.

  It was morning. I'd arrived at the vineyard sometime in the mid-afternoon, which I guessed was now the day before. Whatever had caused me to drop had kept me under for almost an entire day.

  My stomach knotted at what predicament I’d landed in.

  "Well, no reason to just sit around and wait for a demon contract to come through," I hissed sarcastically, collecting my backpack, annoyed that I so carelessly walked into his trap. Why hadn’t my auntie warned me when she visited my dream? Or had that been a normal dream after all? I didn’t know or care to find out for now.

  There were only a few changes of clothes in the carry-on, which was still in the car.

  Nope. I looked back in the room and realized that all my stuff had been brought up out of the car, preventing my hasty escape.

  "The car!" I shook my head, returning to the window, looking out for the entrance where I'd left the car. I wasn't sure why I was surprised that it was gone. Rog the blood demon had clearly already taken the keys to get my luggage into the room, so he’d either returned it to the rental agency or he'd hidden it somewhere on the grounds, and there would be no time for me to go hunting for it. Crap.

  Especially considering that I didn't know what he would be capable of if he discovered that I was trying to escape.

  I only took my backpack and my purse, making sure that nothing was missing from them before making for the door.

  It was slow moving out the door of the bedroom, looking out over a dimly lit hallway. The house was no real maze, and I could see the front door down on the next floor from where I was standing. The walls were white but the railing and wooden beams across the ceiling were a dark cherry red. It might be interesting to explore, if I wasn’t here tricked by some kind of demon.