Thorn Theodore's private estate, The Crying Pillars, was a nightmare of gothic architecture and architectural cruelty. The massive pillars that supported the arched ceilings were carved from a porous, grey stone that constantly seeped a cold, salty moisture, making it look as though the house itself were in a state of perpetual mourning.
Thorn led Hannah through the grand entrance, his hand heavy on her shoulder— for possession. He signaled to a sharp-featured woman with small, jagged horns protruding from her temples and eyes like flat obsidian.
"This is Mistress Vane," Thorn said, his voice clipped as he checked the fastenings on his gauntlets. "She is the lead maid. Vane, this human is my new personal attendant. Show her the grounds, give her the uniform, and teach her how to behave. I have a 'cleansing' to attend to at the East Border." He turned to Hannah, his thumb grazing her jawline one last time. "Try not to break while I'm gone, little bird."
The moment the heavy iron doors slammed shut behind Thorn, the atmosphere shifted from predatory lust to pure, toxic envy.
Mistress Vane stepped closer to Hannah, her nostrils flaring. Behind her, three other maids—low-ranking demons with greyish skin and stunted wings—emerged from the shadows. They didn't see a sickly human being; they saw a threat. Hannah's human beauty, even masked by the sickly serum, was a radiant insult to their coarse features.
"A 'personal' attendant?" Vane hissed, her voice like sandpaper. "The Commander has a short memory. He thinks a human pet will last longer than the others."
"She's so... fragile," one of the other maids sneered, reaching out to pluck a strand of Hannah's hair with a clawed finger. "One trip down the stairs and she'd snap. Why wait for her to fail at her duties?"
The maids exchanged a look of dark understanding. They didn't want to teach her the laundry; they wanted to erase the competition. Without a word, two of the demons grabbed Hannah by the arms. Their strength was staggering—inhuman and effortless.
"Wait! Please!" Hannah gasped, leaning into her role as the weak victim, though her heart was thundering with genuine alarm. "I just need a job! I can work!"
"You'll be working for the spirits of the deep, girl," Vane whispered.
They dragged her out of a side exit toward the back of the estate, where the land fell away into a jagged ravine. At the bottom flowed the Drowning River of the Void—a body of water so dark it looked like liquid midnight, known for its supernatural weight. If you fell in, the water didn't just wet you; it pulled you down like lead.
"We'll tell the Commander you were clumsy," Vane laughed as they reached the edge of the cliff. "A human girl, overwhelmed by the mist, slipping into the depths while trying to fetch water. A tragic accident."
With a coordinated heave, the three demons swung Hannah's light frame over the edge. Hannah let out a scream that was cut short as she plummeted toward the black, churning surface below.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the bone-shattering impact of the cold water. But the splash never came.
Instead, she hit something solid, warm, and immovable. Her breath left her in a sharp whoosh as powerful arms caught her mid-air. For a moment, everything was silent except for the rushing of the wind.
Her hands instinctively sought purchase, pressing against what she expected to be cold stone or wet earth. Instead, her palms met a broad, muscular chest. The skin was smooth, burning with a strange, dark heat, and firm as granite. She could feel the steady, slow thrum of a heart that beat with the power of a drum.
Hannah opened her eyes, her vision blurry with tears. Looking down at her with a face of terrifying, celestial beauty was Hebner Grand.
The Demon Lord was standing in the middle of the river—the very water that was supposed to drown her seemed to part around his legs as if afraid to touch him. He was completely naked, his powerful physique glistening with a light that seemed to emanate from his very pores. He looked at her with a cold, disgusted boredom.
"You," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through Hannah's entire body.
"I—I..." Hannah stammered, her fingers inadvertently digging into his bicep.
Hebner's eyes narrowed, his lip curling in a sneer that made her feel smaller than an ant. "If you think this little display—letting yourself be thrown from a cliff just to land in my arms—will earn you my favor, you are mistaken. If you are here to try and 'smite' me with your human frailty, you have already signed your death warrant."
He didn't wait for her to explain. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he simply opened his arms.
"Die, or don't. It makes no difference to the Void," he muttered.
Hannah plummeted the remaining few feet into the Drowning River. The water was instant agony—cold as ice and heavy as mercury. It filled her nose and mouth, dragging her downward. She thrashed, her lungs screaming for air, her hands clawing at the dark liquid that offered no grip. She couldn't swim; the supernatural weight of the River of the Void was designed to keep things at the bottom.
As she sank, her vision fading into blackness, she saw Hebner Grand turn his back and begin to walk toward the shore. He didn't look back once.
Then, something impossible happened.
As the Demon Lord stepped onto the bank, the entire river began to hiss. The water didn't just recede; it evaporated in a massive cloud of dark steam, as if the very presence of his power had commanded the liquid to vanish.
Hannah hit the muddy, solid ground with a wet thud. She rolled onto her side, coughing violently, heaving the black water out of her lungs. She gasped for air, her body shaking with cold, as she looked up.
The riverbed was bone dry.
A few yards away, Hebner Grand continued to walk toward the palace, his naked form a masterpiece of shadow and muscle. He didn't check to see if she was alive. He didn't care. He walked with the absolute certainty of a god who had just stepped over a bug.
Hannah lay there, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her mind was a whirlwind of terror and scientific observation. Despite the fact that he had just dropped her to her death, despite his cruelty and his hatred for her kind, she couldn't stop the thought that flashed through her brain as she watched his retreating figure.
That man is fucking hot, she thought, a shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Too bad he's a heartless monster. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.