by Jade Bones
I don’t want to hurt anyone.
The spirits' faces are growing more demonic by the second.
In the end, I do the only thing I can. The only thing I've always done. I lie and lie and lie.
"Oh shit!" I snatch up my gloves from the table and tug them on while Aeden is distracted. "Run!"
I grab Aeden's hand and drag him from the room, not even stopping to grab my amulet on the way out.
TWO
Aeden
She was hiding something tonight, I’m sure of it. But until I find proof, there’s nothing I can do but stand as her demon and protect her from harm.
It's one of my rules.
Protect our bond.
Look but don't touch.
Never trust her.
"What are you doing?" I snarl, tugging my hand free and jogging easily beside Mal as she bolts from the room. "Who were those people? Were they seriously from the painting?"
Mal darts a glance over her shoulder but keeps running. I can't quite help rolling my eyes, and when she doesn't answer me for the entire length of the corridor, I scoop a hand around her waist, swing her around, and hold her against the wall.
"They're not chasing us," I point out, glancing at the quiet, empty corridor. "It was an illusion. But I want to find out whose illusion it was."
There's a split second where Mal looks panicked, until she furrows her brow in deliberate confusion. It's small, but enough for me to know she's lying when she shakes her head and says, "No idea."
All right, little witch. We'll play it your way.
I release her and march back down the corridor, towards the classroom.
"No!" Mal's stricken cry makes my lips twitch.
I still my face as I turn around. "Don't you want to know whose magic it is? It could be dangerous if we leave it..."
Then her expression does something I don't expect: it falls. Not obviously, or even outwardly. It's in the shimmer of her eyes, the energy that courses along the bond that connects us. But visibly, she stands taller and squares off, ready to fight me.
I know Mal. She never fights, no matter how much rage builds inside her. It's like she's afraid of what would happen if her fist connected with another living thing.
What does it mean that she's willing to fight me now?
The thought sobers me, guilting me into remembering: I'm her demon. I'm meant to protect her. It's why I'm out here at night, patrolling the hallways as soon as I sensed her out of her dorm, following the scent of her magic because for years I've known something is looming, waiting to strike.
The only problem is, every sign tells me that the looming threat is Mal. Signs like the voice in my head that whispers about a future where Mal and all the power she possesses is turned on me.
Talk about conflicted.
"Forget it," I mutter. Forcing myself to appear gracious, even though I'm sure the baring of my teeth is nothing like a smile, I offer her my arm. "Let's get out of here."
She hesitates at first, but then her arm slips through mine, and I walk her back to her dorm. Mal unlocks the door quietly, and if I wasn't watching her so closely, I wouldn't have seen the crestfallen expression that crossed her face. I follow the line of her sight and find her staring at her bed. But I can't see what the problem is. It looks a little smaller, perhaps.
Before I can ask her, she shrugs me off and steps inside.
"Bye, Aeden."
Her expression is, as always, both the friendly glance between a witch and her demon, and a challenge cast in flame. That kind of challenge is against everything I should want, everything I should be. But I can't help it.
I fucking love it.
So I do what I always do. Look but don't touch. I wink at her and lean into the shadow of her open doorway—flirt just enough that I can pretend it's allowed... so I can pretend that picking her up and fucking her against the wall is something that could ever be possible.
And then I leave.
When Mal appears at my door at five am on Saturday morning, I should probably be more surprised. Instead, I stare at her for several seconds, my sleep-addled brain trying to process if this is a dream—wouldn't be the first time—and what I'm supposed to do.
She often comes here for us to practice magic, but never this early. Since witches aren't allowed in our dorm, the excuse she gives her friends is that she's seeing her boyfriend.
I swear, even if my predictions are wrong and Mal doesn’t outright kill me, she’s going to be the death of me.
"Sorry, Aeden," she murmurs, glancing behind her as she rushes inside and shuts the door with a slam. "I know it's early."
I grunt something in response. It might be words, I'm not really sure. The clock in the corner reads five past five; it's fucking early.
Adjusting myself in my sweats, I silently thank every demon lord in hell that I wore clothing to bed. Black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt might not be much, but it's better than nothing. And morning isn't my strong suit. I'm as likely to assume the knock at the door is Alaztair returning late and forgetting his key than to consider wearing clothing before I answer.
Mind you, I wouldn't mind seeing the look on Mal's face if I did open the door wearing nothing but skin.
"Are you sure no one's here?" Mal asks, throwing the covers back on Alaztair's bed, as if he might be hiding between the linen.
I frown at her, a prickle of unease rising in my chest. "We're alone." My voice is rough, heavy with sleep, although I admit it isn't much lighter when I'm fully awake.
"Thank God." She exhales in relief and drops backwards onto Alaztair's bed, making my lips twitch in reluctant amusement. He'll be pissed when he comes back and smells her on the covers. I don't ask her to move. "Aeden, I have a favor to ask."
The smile falls from my face. "Yeah?"
Unusually hesitant, Mal draws something free from her shirt—a key. I can hear her heart thudding from all the way over here, a rapid rhythm that unsettles me. "Can you help me work out what this is? It's..." She pauses, then seems to make some decision. "It's calling to me."
Never trust her.
My heart stops. She watches me, unaware of the sudden turbulence flooding my mind—none of the hesitation makes its way onto the surface. It’s calling to her? I steel myself, searching carefully for the right words to defuse and tease apart this unwelcome situation with tact.
"Are you fucking serious?"
She bristles, reeling backwards and glaring at me. "Wow. You can tone that right back. Christ, it was just a question." She launches up from the bed and storms towards the door. "Hint taken. I'll ask someone else."
I grab her arm as she passes me, stopping her with as little effort as breathing. Compared to me, she weighs nothing, my hand almost circling her forearm. Even barefoot, I tower over her. "Give me a second," I growl, jaw clenched.
She watches me in silence, eyes flashing, and wrenches her arm back. I let it go when it's clear she won't run. Still, we regard each other warily, the silence stretching as I consider all the thousand reasons why not turning this key into the professors is a bad idea. Is this the moment the voice warned me of? The moment everything changes?
Or does Mal need my help?
"Where did you get it?" I finally ask.
Mal relaxes almost imperceptibly. If I weren't her demon, bonded to her for two years and tuned into her every emotion, I might not notice at all.
"In the room last night," she explains, shuffling half a step backwards, in the direction of Alaztair's bed. "It appeared around my neck when those people popped into existence, but I don't know what I'm meant to do with it. Or if it's trustworthy or not."
I frown, slowly parsing through her explanation for the meat of the problem. "Have you been back to the painting to see what it does?"
Mal rolls her eyes. "Of course I have." She grimaces. "That's when it started to call to me. And... it’s linked to you as well, like a compass. So that's why I came here." From the heaviness in her voice, it took a lot to come h
ere at all.
Interesting.
"I'm going to shower," I force out, ignoring the part of me that says this is a huge mistake—that this key, whatever it is, is dangerous. "And then we'll go back to the classroom and see what the key does."
"I'll try some spells while I wait."
Clearing my throat, I mutter something in agreement and escape to the bathroom.
Alaztair pulled some strings when we joined the academy—Devil knows how, when he looks like he does. But whatever blackmail he dredged up or money he palmed off, we got one of the end dorm rooms. Which means the bathroom is connected to only two other dorm rooms: the one on the opposite side of the bathroom, and the room across the hall. Technicalities aside, we have an en-suite.
The door slams behind me, not a moment too soon because Sassafras slips past my feet, from where he's obviously been hiding near the heated towel rack, and runs into the bedroom. Immediately, I can sense the love pouring from Mal as she strokes my cat and contemplates the mysterious key.
I shut my eyes and tear off my shirt, jaw clenched against the onslaught of pure emotion coming from the bedroom. Every emotion Mal experiences resonates within my body, but it's the one I feed on that hurts the most.
And I feed on love.
Opening my eyes, I study the gaping cavern in my chest and the flaming heart that resides within. It no longer disgusts me, but I'm savvy enough to keep it hidden all the same. Golden fire licks at my ribcage, flaring brighter as Mal's love blooms in the other room.
It's always been easy for us to feed our bond. Throw Sassafras at her, and the witch overfills with adoration for that silly little cat.
She isn't filled with quite the same appreciation for her demon, but who is?
My human form is exactly the same as my demon form. There’s a reason for that, and I keep it to myself, no matter how many disgusted looks I get or badly whispered questions I overhear.
Kicking my sweats into the corner of the room, I rush through the shower as quickly as possible, glancing over my shoulder twice to make sure I'm alone before slicking my cock and jerking off in fast, rough pulls. Mal's predicament has me on edge today, and even though I probably could take my time, pleasuring myself with languid strokes, I'm itching to get back into the bedroom.
It might also have something to do with the note of possessiveness I always feel when Mal is in my territory. The need that consumes me to watch her, even if I don't interfere. To guard the exits and simply observe the quiet, deliberate way she moves within a space.
More often than not, I spend my nights in my other form—which is far more alert to danger than my usual self—guided by some ancient instinct to pace the hallway outside her dorm, guarding her. Watching her.
Protect our bond.
I towel my hair, letting it fall across my shoulders before tugging on a black shirt and jeans from my shelf in the cupboard in the corner. Mal's love swells, filling me to bursting, and I lean against the counter while I slowly feed that energy back into her as magic. My eyes fall closed, and for a second I pretend that this is all it is between us—a simple energy exchange between an unassuming demon and a witch who cares more about cats than power. True power.
But it isn't, and the more of my magic I give her, the more my jaw clenches, teeth grinding in tension that won’t ease.
Because the bonds don't belong to us. The voice that has whispered to me night after night for two years echoes in my mind: someone will control you, one day. Make no mistake of that, little demon. Dremen will turn your witch against you.
So long as I can keep us in this balance, protecting our bond and keeping Mal from becoming power hungry, everything will be fine. It’s a delicate dance, but I’ve managed it so far. We'll graduate this academy and either go our separate ways or at least be far away from here. Either way, the danger will remain behind us, within the academy walls, and I can—maybe, hopefully—begin to relax.
As long as Mal remains as uninterested in power as she has so far, then it means no one can groom her into a weapon against me. We might have a chance of getting out of here alive.
My other form ripples within me, lifting its head as if alert to a whiff of danger. I frown, opening the door—and freeze.
Mal stands on the other side, her expression determined, one hand outraised.
Time seems to stop. Behind her, the room shifts and distorts the closer her hand comes to my cheek, but knowing that is a distant awareness compared to whatever is about to happen between us.
“Mal?”
“Hang on.” She shushes me, and then her gloved hand cups my jaw.
Soft. Cautious.
I realize she’s never touched me before. Not once. Not like this. The leather is warm against my skin, and my heart tugs with renewed strength from our bond.
“What are you doing?”
“This key…” She sounds as though she’s caught in a trance, her eyes glazed. “It wants me to—” She shakes her head. “Hold on.”
Her hand pulls away, the sudden rush of cold air making me shiver. She tugs at the fingers of her glove, easing them off one by one.
The air shimmers, and my attention finally shifts to the room around us. The space is… different. Somehow wider than before, the proportions seem stretched to impossible dimensions. The armchair Sassafras likes to sleep in is no longer threadbare, and for a bizarre moment it’s like I’m seeing it as he does—comforting and safe. As I stand there, the windows fly open to let in a delicious breeze ripe with honeysuckle and the sweet nectar of summer fruit. Power radiates from the walls.
Too much power.
My heart races, red flags popping up as I put together the signs: dazed trance, growing power, Mal touching me.
I can't speak, can't think. Words pile on top of each other, fighting for dominance as I try to salvage this disaster. But I don’t know how. My heart flares, and the energy I feed her grows stronger than ever before. The power she draws from me is too great, and that means danger, danger, danger.
The key around Mal's neck glows, and she doesn't seem to notice. Is that where she’s getting the extra power from?
Then why does it feel like she’s drawing it from me?
“Mal…” This time, my voice is a low growl, but I’m not sure which one of us the warning is for.
She shakes her head. “It’s all right, Aeden. My magic is working now, I can feel it. For once, it’s good. Safe. Both sides are together.” Mal frowns thoughtfully. “Because of you. I don’t know why, but my magic wants you.”
They’ll turn her against me.
I don't mean to, but just as whatever power Mal is talking about surges within her, my own floods me now, searching for an escape. It finds one.
A crack in my hard-won discipline.
The nature of the bond between demons and witches means that both benefit—witches gain power born straight from hell while demons gain the discipline needed to channel that power into something beyond blind rage. That skill is lost to me now, fear steering my power towards the most appropriate target—the source of danger, as the caveman part of my brain understands it.
Fire roars, and the room catches alight.
THREE
Mal
Seconds before Aeden appeared, I thought I’d won.
The key led me here. Against everything I wanted or expected from it, it led me to Aeden, calling to me, igniting our bond with strength I’ve never felt before. Beautiful power flowed from my fingertips while he showered, as though the well of our bond couldn’t be emptied. And what’s more—my gift was within my control. I would need to take off my gloves to confirm it, but when I thought of freeing the spirits of the objects surrounding me, I was able to see the spirits without releasing them.
And their forms grew to match. Sassafras’ favorite chair, by the window, grew plumper and bigger to match the love he has for it. The room itself stretched to become the protective haven it has always been to its occupants.
For the first tim
e, I could command my gift at whim—marrying body and soul together without leaving either exposed to danger. At last, my magic was doing something right.
All thanks to Aeden and this key. Somehow, they’re the link.
Then he opened the door, and the world turned hazy—a blur of touch and fierce longing. Did I remove my glove? I think I nearly did.
The room is on fire.
"What the fuck?!” I don't realize what's happening until I see the anger in Aeden's eyes, the fire sparking from his fingertips.
Not only anger—fear.
My vision clears, like I’m emerging from underwater, and horror eclipses every other thought. I nearly took off my glove; what the hell was I thinking?
The immensity of what it means that my demon has lost control hits me: my power is drawing too much, and it’s weakened our bond. Demons without witches are uncontrollable, wild creatures searching for any outlet to pour their energy into. The more devastating, the better.
At the sight of Aeden’s wildness emerging, my magic purrs.
There’s no time to consider what that means. I rush over to Aeden, throwing Sassafras gently through the open bathroom doorway and shutting him inside in safety. Then I grab Aeden by the shoulders—all six foot, one fifty pounds of him—and shake some fucking sense into him.
It doesn't work. He shoves me backwards, eyes wide and frantic as he stares at the burning dorm room. Before I can work out how to douse the flames with water, which I'm sure I know a spell for if I could just think, the door slams open and Alaztair bursts in.
"Unholy demon lord in fucking hell," he mutters, taking in the chaos. "What on earth have you idiots done?"
He waves his hand, and water immediately begins to drip from the ceiling. It's as if we're beneath a rainforest canopy during the morning rain, but it isn't enough. Smoke floods the room, acrid and overwhelming, and the furniture it spurns from squeals and pops beneath the strain. Flickers of fire surge up beneath the gaps in the rain, refusing to quit burning.
