Chapter 1: Sent To The Warlord

Elysia's world tilted the moment she woke.

The scent of sandalwood coiled around her senses like a phantom embrace, suffocating in its unfamiliarity.

Her body felt wrong and her limbs were sluggish.

Memories sank their claws into her.

"Elysia, I will be sent to the warlord tonight."

Ebony raised her glass, a faint smile curving her lips. "Let's set aside our grievances, just this once. It's my last wish."

Elysia nodded, the moment the alcohol touched her lips, her world blurred. Darkness swallowed her whole.

She should have known better than to trust that mouth full of lies.

Now, she is here.

A foreign ceiling. A luxurious bed. And—

Ebony.

She cursed the name as it curled on her tongue like poison.

She barely had time to process it before she noticed the presence beside her. A shadow moved In the dim light.

"You're awake."

Cool fingers traced along her collarbone before wrapping around her throat.

Elysia's breath hitched. 

She jerked back, only for a ruthless grip to seize her wrist, yanking her still.

"Your noble houses never fail to amuse me." His fingers held her in place, unmoved by her struggle. "They spit my name like a curse. And yet, when it suits them, they send their daughters to bribe me."

 Elysia twisted, struggling against his hold.

"Let go," she gasped.

Then, as if indulging her, he released her.

Elysia scrambled back, her body pressing against the intricate headboard, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Instinct guided her faster than thought could settle.

Her fingers curled around the nearest object, the heavy candle stand beside the bed.

She swung without a second thought.

The object flew past him, crashing onto the floor with a deafening clang before rolling to a stop.

Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

"You..." Her voice came out raw, her throat burning from whatever drug had been forced into her system. "Who are you?"

The moment their gaze met, the answer was already evident.

The man before her was draped in darkness, the glow from the lanterns caught the sharp planes of his face. His eyes like molten gold flicked over her form, completely unfathomable.

Elysia shivered.

He lazily traced his cheek where the candle stand had grazed him. Just a shallow mark, barely there. His lips curled, and he stepped forward with a slow and deliberate step.

"A woman sent to my bed dares to ask my name?" 

Elysia stiffened.

His bed.

The words crashed into her like cold water.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.

Then the hush whispers and horrifying tales slithered into her mind.

The warlord who bathed noble estates in blood. The devil in human skin.

Thane Valcrosse.

The name alone sent fear rippling through the highest courts. It tasted like rust on her tongue.

No, it couldn't be.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Panic clawing her throat. She swallowed it down.

"You have the wrong person." Elysia clenched the fabric beneath her. She forced herself to stay calm.

A dark chuckle.

"Do I?"

The mattress dipped as he leaned in, a knee pressing down into the sheets. The distance between them vanished in an instant.

Elysia pushed against his chest. Her strength was feeble and ineffective.

Click.

Cold steel pressed against her skin.

Elysia flinched. There was nowhere to go.

The barrel of a gun trailed up her body, gliding over the fabric until it rested beneath her chin, tilting her face up.

His grip was firm, not rough, merely assessing.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip.

"Soft," he whispered absently. "Like all the others."

Thane's gaze was indifferent and distant.

Elysia's felt chest tightened.

To him, she was no different from the countless women thrown into his path. A nameless offering by desperate noblemen hoping to worm their way into his power.

Elysia ripped her face away, staring at him unwaveringly. "I'm not here for that."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, he moved.

The barrel of the gun traced along her skin, pressing just enough to remind her of its presence. His arm resting beside her, caging her in. 

"Then tell me," he murmured, "what are you here for?"

Elysia held her breath.

She had no answer.

Or rather, none that he would believe.

His gaze dropped to her throat, fingers brushed lightly against her neck where faint bruises had begun to form.

"You bruised too easily," he remarked. "You should be more careful."

The words should've been mocking but they weren't.

And then, as if sensing at the same time, his fingers stilled.

A slight tremor in her hands. The unsteady rise and fall of her chest and the unfocused haze in her gaze.

Something was wrong.

His grip tightened, not in aggression but restraint.

It wasn't simply a sedative.

She twisted her body, trying to shake the sensation off.

"Don't move."

His command was frostbitten. A firm grip like steel pressed onto her wrist, pinning her against the bed.

Thane studied for a long moment, his fingers ghosting over her pulse. It stammered beneath his touch, erratic and fast.

His gaze flickered toward the incense burning at the table.

Thane's jaw clenched as he exhaled softly.

Elysia barely noticed when the gun lifted from her skin. A different sensation had taken root.

It started slow yet insidious, a fire licking at her veins, unfurling in heat.

Her breaths grew uneven, her body betraying her, muscles tensing as warmth coiled low in her stomach.

Every brush of the silk sheets against her skin sent a wave of sensation through her.

The realization struck like a dagger to the gut.

She stiffened.

No.

Panic settled up her throat. She clenched her thighs involuntarily, but the friction only made It worse.

Thane's gaze darkened.

A strange heat burned under his skin.

Unknowingly, her delicate frame pressed against him.

And in that moment, Elysia knew—

She was in the hands of a devil.

And he had no intention of letting go.