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My hands shove at the place right below his collarbone, hoping to pry myself free, but he is immovable. I choose not to answer him. I know there’s nothing I could say to him that would explain my escape. After seeing the brutality of the other demons, I could think of nothing I wanted more than to flee from here. “Let me go!”
Aamon’s wings beat the air, and we rise above the plaza until the ground falls away. I can only just make out the twisted city below. It’s a reminder of the vile world I’m now a part of. The higher we ascend, the more his grip on me tightens, digging into my skin with his claws.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the inevitable. His raw, untamed power is no match for me. The chase is over. I’m his.
As soon as our feet touch the ground at the mansion’s large marble double doors, they swing open with a loud bang, slamming against the walls with a crack. An unseen force sweeps me through the entryway door, down the long hall, and into the throne room I’d visited earlier. The room is eerily empty now. The only occupant is the ominous black throne made of bones. It’s a stark difference from the scene this morning when loud, boisterous imps filled every inch of space.
Mercilessly, I am jerked from his shoulder and forced to stand on my trembling legs before him. My knees knock together, but I force myself to remain defiant.
“Do you wish to die?” he snarls, pointing at me with ire.
I refuse to answer him. Instead, I walk toward him, hesitating for the briefest moment before placing a hand on his arm as a gesture of peace.
Aamon’s black eyes glance down at me, burning with ire. “Answer me!”
“N-No,” I answer, my voice trembling. “I want to go back to my realm where I belong.” Tears well in my eyes, though I swallow them down. I refuse to give the marquis the satisfaction of seeing my weakness.
The Goetia snarls, rolling his eyes with frustration. “Can you be so stupid as to think that venturing out beyond the safety of these walls into hell alone would offer you that as a solution? These souls are damned, despicable, and will do anything as a means to an end.”
He pauses momentarily, carefully choosing his words. “The things they would have done to you, Thorne! The way you could have lost your very life–”
I have no answers to give him. I admit it was impulsive of me to enter the city, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the awful pain I saw Aamon inflict earlier today. He commanded those imps to viciously murder innocent humans in the surface realm. There was not a single ounce of mercy given to anyone in this room, and he relished it.
Aamon wrenches me up by the collar of my tunic, balling it into his fist. He looks down at me, his eyes glinting with contempt. “Do you wish to break your pact, then?”
My mind spirals into chaos at his sudden question. There’s a barrage of choices swirling in my head, offering me no real path forward. Is that truly what I want?
I hesitate, chewing on my bottom lip as I dangle lifelessly in his grip. “No,” I whisper.
The marquis’ eyes twinkle with twisted amusement. It’s the same cruel look I saw earlier today when he dealt with two souls caught cheating in his casino. “Then you’ll need to be punished for your insolence. You put your life in danger and, in the same vein,mylife.” He studies me momentarily with a devious smirk, the corners of his lips turning up as he says, “I know just the thing…”
He hitches me up, tossing me unceremoniously over his shoulder again. His arm hooks around the backs of my knees to hold me steady. I watch the marble floor beneath us as he carries me to the throne. There, several unbleached skulls still bear signs of today’s earlier violence, still splattered with viscera and blood. My stomach clenches with terror as my mind races to think of whether my own innards will decorate the skull throne.
As if I weigh no more than a feather, he splays me over the backs of his knees as he takes the throne. I feel the herculean power of his thighs beneath me, and I am increasingly reminded of my fragility.
A rich hum of consideration vibrates through his body and reverberates through mine. His thick hand splays over the back of my neck, gripping it with his index finger and thumb to hold pressure. The sensation causes my pulse to beat furiously out of rhythm. A conflicting mixture of alarm and the wicked thrum of hunger surges through me.
“I am going to beat your pretty little ass red,” he says with a husky tone. “A petulant little boy like you had no business summoning a Goetia.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say with as much indignation as I can muster. Desperately, I try to wriggle from his grasp, but his vise-like grip has me cemented in place.
Aamon chuckles, though the sound is far less threatening than I anticipate it being; instead, it's downright mirthful. It’s clear to me he’s enjoying the torment he’s inflicting on me. “Pull your trousers down, Thorne, or I’ll do it for you, and I assure you, it will leave them in tatters.”
I may not possess a fraction of Aamon’s power, but I refuse to be treated like a child. My mind spirals as I worry over the peeling skin on my dry bottom lip. Is there a single living thing in this mercilessly hellish wasteland that I can pull strength from? A weed, a bug, anything I could drain? I need to steal something’s life to fight him, but there’s none. I’m utterly alone.
I take the waist of my trousers with trembling hands and shimmy them down to the center of my thighs. As the chilly air bites at my bare skin, I inhale sharply through my teeth.
“Good boy,” Aamon murmurs, gently stroking my head as if I’m his little pet. In some ways, I suppose I am.
Taking a steadying breath, I brace for the searing first strike to come. I will myself to focus on that breath as if it’s my greatest lifeline. The impact of his broad hand against my bare skin reverberates against the stone walls of the room.
The first is quickly followed by a second, and then a third so quickly, I can no longer find air in my lungs. It’s been stolen, evaporated into thin air, only to be replaced by wailing. I scarcely realize the screams belong to me, the pain radiates so deeply through every fiber of my body. My flesh feels raw and bruised as each and every smack of his hand comes down exactly where the last just struck. Tears form in the creases of my closed eyes, and saliva pools in my mouth.
“Say you’re sorry for putting your life at risk, Thorne, and this will end.” Aamon’s assault on me pauses momentarily as he waits for my answer.
I realize in the pause that my fingernails are digging into his thigh so deeply that rivulets of blood trickle through his fur. He gives me a moment to catch my breath, threading his claws through my sweat-soaked hair. It’s a gesture that feels tender, and it elicits a whimper from my lips. I was unaware of the throbbing between my legs, or the wetness leaking from my cock. The blinding pain dulled every other sensation.
“I-I—” My throat is sandpaper, and I struggle to find words when my mind is so void of any thought other than the pulsing of my body. “I am sorry.”
