even the devill as an heart

Chapter Eight: Even Devils Bleed

The fire crackled softly in the dark.

Diago sat in his chair, eyes locked on the flames, as if they held the answers to the chaos inside him. His hand wrapped tightly around a glass of dark liquor, the other clenched at his side. He hadn't moved in hours.

The heat of the fire barely touched him.

But the memories burned hotter than any flame.

His jaw tightened as the glass in his hand began to tremble. It started again.

The memory.

A flash of his mother's voice—raw, broken, pleading.

"Please… I'm innocent. I swear it. Don't do this. Please…"

He remembered her cries like it was yesterday.

His mother, on her knees, surrounded by faceless figures in black. Her hands tied, her white gown stained with dirt and blood. She begged his father—her mate—to believe her. To protect her.

But his father had turned away.

Weak. Cowardly.

Diago had only been a boy then, hidden behind the stone columns of the council hall, watching helplessly as they dragged her to the edge of the silver pool. The punishment for betrayal. But she hadn't done it. She was framed.

He knew it.

And yet no one listened.

No one saved her.

Not even him.

When she was thrown in, her screams had pierced the air like a curse. A sound so raw and inhuman it still echoed in his ears.

His chest rose sharply with breath as the liquor glass shattered in his hand—crimson blood mixing with amber liquid and shards on the floor.

But he didn't flinch.

He just stared at the fire as it danced.

He didn't care about returning to the Underworld. Let them rot. Let the clans tear each other apart. He didn't care what happened to his father, or the pathetic excuse of a new wife he chose after watching his mate die.

But his brothers… the ones who still had innocence in their eyes, who hadn't turned into monsters yet… he had to go for them.

Only them.

---

Upstairs

Alora tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. Something felt off in the air — cold, heavy, suffocating.

She sat up, hugging her knees.

Her thoughts circled Diago.

The way his eyes had gone cold earlier… the way he shut her out… It wasn't just pride or distance. It was pain. Something ancient and buried. Something dark.

She couldn't ignore the pull in her chest. She needed to see him.

Slipping quietly out of bed, she padded down the stairs barefoot, her silk nightdress whispering against the walls. She made her way to the kitchen for some milk, but as she passed the hallway leading to the lounge, her breath caught.

There he was.

Diago, sitting like a statue in front of the fire.

But something was wrong.

His hand was bleeding — badly. Shards of glass littered the floor, blood dripping in quiet, steady trails. The entire room felt frozen, air thick with something ancient and sorrowful.

Her heart dropped. "Diago!"

She ran to him without thinking.

He didn't even blink as she dropped to her knees, grabbing his injured hand. "What happened?! What did you do?!" she gasped, inspecting the mess of blood and glass.

He said nothing. His face was void of expression, eyes dull and distant.

"Diago, talk to me!" she pleaded, her voice cracking.

She rushed out, returning moments later with the first aid kit. Tears were already falling from her eyes as she carefully began removing the shards from his palm.

"Why… why would you do this to yourself?" she whispered, her hands shaking. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Still, he said nothing.

Only after a long pause did he finally mutter, "It doesn't hurt much, kitten."

"Liar!" she snapped through tears. "How can you say that?! It's deep. You're bleeding everywhere."

"Keep quiet and let me do my work," she added shakily, trying to stay focused. Her hands trembled as she wrapped the fresh bandage around his hand, her sobs quiet but relentless.

Diago stared at her in silence. This girl—his little kitten—was crying for him.

He was the one hurting, and yet she was the one in pain.

It was… strange. Unfamiliar.

No one had ever tried to comfort him before. Not even once.

When she finished, she wiped her tears and looked into his eyes. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't ever do this again, Diago," she whispered fiercely. "It's not okay to hurt yourself. I don't like seeing you in pain."

Her voice cracked again as she began to cry once more, face buried in his chest.

He didn't know what to do.

His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides. He was the Prince of Darkness. Feared. Hated. Worshipped. No one had ever hugged him like this.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, though even he wasn't sure he believed it. "It doesn't hurt. Trust me."

She pulled back just enough to study his face. As always, it revealed nothing.

Still, she stared, searching.

"Go to your room, kitten," he said eventually.

"No," she replied simply.

"Alora…"

"I said no. I'm staying with you."

She marched over to the sofa opposite him, sat down, and folded her arms like a stubborn child.

Diago blinked.

Then gave up.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the fire.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Alora whispered.

He nodded. "Yes. It is."

"It's calming. Like… even though it burns, it's soft somehow."

He didn't reply.

"Diago… do you like reading books?" she asked after a while.

He paused. "Yes. I read sometimes."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?! What kind?"

"Fiction, mostly."

Her grin grew. "Ooooh, do you like fantasy? Vampires? Magic? All that stuff?"

He hesitated. "I do… but most of it's made up."

She laughed. "Well, obviously. It's not like you're a vampire or anything. You wouldn't know what's real or not."

His body tensed for a split second.

"No," he said slowly. "I just… know."

"Okayyy…" she teased. "What about romance novels?"

He looked at her. Something colder in his eyes now. "No. I don't like romance."

"Why not?"

"I don't love. I don't feel. I don't even have a heart, Alora." His voice was low, firm. "The devil never loves. There is no space for it—only darkness."

Alora stared at him.

Then, slowly, she reached forward and cupped his face in her soft hands. He flinched slightly, but didn't pull away.

"Everyone has a heart, Diago," she said softly. "Even the devil. You're not heartless. You're just hurting."

She smiled gently. "You're not the devil. You're… a beautiful angel wrapped in shadows. And I'm here. Okay? I'm here."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek, then curled up quietly beside him again, watching the fire.

He sat still, stunned.

Her words echoed in his head.

A beautiful angel wrapped in shadows…

She didn't fear him. She didn't run. She didn't even ask questions.

She just stayed.

Eventually, he felt her body shift. She was falling asleep. Her head lolled to the side, about to hit the edge of the table. He moved without thinking, catching her gently.

His gaze softened.

She had cried for him… bandaged him… kissed him…

And now she slept peacefully in his arms, like he wasn't a monster.

For the first time in centuries…

He didn't feel alone.