Xin, Toren, and the others turned away, boots cracking splintered stone, leaving Belial and Rose boxed in. Guards closed around them like a trap snapping shut, armor flashing in the dim glow. The shattered frame of the building loomed, walls jagged, crystalline shards jutting like blades.
The group ahead moved fast toward the summit grounds. Orders had been given. Shun was healed, and they had to bring him back. Belial and Rose stood locked in place, hemmed in by steel, silence pressing against their throats.
Belial's mind raced. Angles. Diversions. Bait. Every scheme folded back into disaster. Capture. Execution. No exits. His pulse thundered. Sweat pooled in his palms.
How had Toren found out? What trace had slipped? A misplaced word? His thoughts flickered between guards, every detail a weapon pointed at him.
The contract throbbed like an iron heartbeat, unyielding. Toren's cursed pragmatism had left no seam, no hinge, no slack. Belial's jaw locked. Panic clawed at his ribs. There had to be a flaw, a loose thread, a crack in the weave. Something. Anything. Every path ended in the same vision: a grave sealing shut.
His throat clenched, refusing a swallow. His fingers twitched. He'd survived worse. He had. Hadn't he?
Relax, he still needs me alive to lead them. But what if he speaks? What if they all turn on me? His heart jolted. He tasted copper. The thought circled, faster, sharper there was no way out of this.
Movement flickered across the chamber, snagging his attention.
Soldiers lined the walls, their armor catching the dim light that spilled through the shattered roof. They shifted restlessly, some rocking on their heels, others murmuring to their comrades. But their eyes, nearly all of them, betrayed their true focus.
Her.
Rose.
She stood apart, leaning against a cracked pillar with the effortless grace of a predator at rest. Her long black hair draped across her face, a dark veil stirred only by the occasional draft. Her attire was a clash of worlds—tight combat pants, reminiscent of denim, tucked into sleek black boots, paired with a sleeveless crop top reinforced with patches of dark armor. It was neither the rigid uniform of a soldier nor the tattered garb of a wanderer. She was an anomaly, a figure carved into the scene that didn't belong.
Her pale skin gleamed under the faint light, a beacon in the shadowed hall. Her presence warped the space around her, silent but magnetic, drawing every gaze like moths to a flame.
Belial's eyes sharpened as her head tilted upward. Her dark gaze slid past the soldiers, dismissing them as if they were mere shadows, and locked onto him.
They stared at one another.
For a fleeting moment, the chains biting into his soul faded. Toren, Xin, the Theatre's cruel design—they all dissolved. Rose's stare wasn't hostile, nor was it curious. It was empty, yet it pulled at him with an allure that set his nerves on edge.
Dangerous.
He knew her kind too well they had shared a bed together she had told him stories of when she was a street girl...it sounded too textbook but believable. His father had tangled with women like this, their charm a weapon as sharp as any blade. Belial had watched, too young to grasp the game but old enough to learn its rules. He had met others since—Seraph, the blacksmith, with her fire and iron, strength cloaked in feminine power. But Rose was different. Seraph had been a forge, blazing and unyielding. Rose was a void, a black hole that promised warmth only to devour everything in its path.
Yet, in that emptiness, he glimpsed opportunity.
Her head tilted slightly as a figure with wild purple hair approached her. Her lips curved into a faint, teasing smile.
"Finally here to propose, shadow boy?" Her voice carried across the hall, low and laced with mockery. The soldiers' heads turned, their attention sharpening.
Belial's lips twitched into a smirk. He stepped forward, his voice steady but warm, laced with a playful edge. "That I am, my lady."
Too formal!
Her composure faltered, a blink, a flicker of surprise. She hadn't expected him to meet her challenge head-on. Her smile sharpened, recovering swiftly. "Oh? Don't tell me you're dreaming of stealing a kiss afterward."
The soldiers' eyes lingered on her, their gazes tracing the lines of her form with unguarded hunger. Belial noted it, his own gaze sweeping the room before returning to her. He met her dark eyes and winked, letting a spark of mischief dance in his expression.
He had to play the game. Demons thrived on it—deals, manipulation, seduction when the moment demanded. Cassidy's half-mocking lessons echoed in his mind, words about charm, about bending others with promises and allure. Belial had never cared for such tactics. He preferred directness, the clash of wills over whispered games. But survival demanded flexibility, and he would wield whatever tools he had.
Besides he learned a thing or two from living with this gunner...
He flashed a grin, letting his voice carry just enough to draw her in. "Only if you promise to hold me close every night. Swear you'll never slip away."
Her eyes glimmered, a faint spark of amusement. "And if I do?"
"Please don't," he said, the words tumbling out with a raw edge before he could mask them. He caught the slip, cursing himself inwardly, but leaned into it, letting vulnerability become part of the act.
The soldiers chuckled, their low laughter rippling through. Some of the soldiers started making movements as if this was an opening to hit on her. Belial's pride stung, but he lifted his chin, burying panic beneath a veneer of confidence. "You think I can't afford a beauty like you? A million coins' worth of starlit escapes every year, and you'd toss that aside? But I suppose you're not one to help a man in need."
Rose arched an eyebrow, her amusement deepening. "A million coins? Bold claim, shadow boy. How do I know you're not weaving a pretty lie to use me?"
Belial placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense, though his eyes gleamed with calculated charm. "Use you, my lady? I'm wounded. I may be a rogue, but my word is gold."
Her lips parted, a silent pause stretching between them. Then she laughed, a soft, melodic sound that cut through the hall like a blade. "You're a desperate one, aren't you?"
The words struck deep, sharp as thorns. Desperate. Yes, he was. Desperation was the pulse keeping him alive, driving him to claw, bargain, twist. But it was also a blade he could wield.
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur meant only for her. "Desperation makes a man bold. And a demon deadly."
Her eyes narrowed, her smile wavering for a heartbeat. Belial held her gaze, unblinking, his golden eyes burning with intensity. The ether chains tugged at his soul, a reminder of Toren and Xin's hold, but even bound, he had room to maneuver. Space to weave.
Rose was dangerous. But so was he.
And if he played this right, she might become the key to his escape.
He leaned closer, his voice a velvet whisper. "Tell me, Rose, do you always tease a man on the edge, or am I special?"
Her lips quirked, a flicker of intrigue in her dark eyes. "Special? Hardly. But you're entertaining, I'll give you that."
"Entertaining?" He tilted his head, letting a slow, roguish smile spread. "I aim higher than that. Give me a chance, and I'll have you enchanted."
She crossed her arms, the motion drawing attention to the sleek lines of her armor-patched top. "Enchanted? Big words for a man in chains."
"Chains don't bind the heart," he shot back, his tone light but his gaze steady. "Or the tongue. Name your price, Rose. What does it take to sway a woman like you?"
Her laughter came again, softer this time, almost genuine. "You think you can buy me with promises? You're bold, shadow boy, but I don't fall for sweet words."
"Then what do you fall for?" he pressed, stepping closer still, his voice a low purr. "Danger? Power? A man who knows how to play the game?"
Her eyes flicked over him, assessing, calculating. For a moment, the hall faded, the soldiers' murmurs a distant hum. It was just them, two players circling in a dance of words and intent.
"You think you know me," she said, her voice quiet but sharp. "But you don't. Not yet."
"Then let me," he replied, his tone earnest now, though the undercurrent of strategy remained. "Show me who you are, Rose. Or are you afraid I'll see too much?"
Her smile returned, slow and dangerous, like a blade drawn from its sheath. "Afraid? No. But you should be."
Belial's heart pounded, not from fear but from the thrill of the gamble. Every word was a step on a tightrope, every glance a test. Rose was a puzzle, a void with edges he could trace if he was careful. If he was clever.
He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I like the fear. Keeps the blood warm."
Her eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, the world held its breath. Then she tilted her head, her hair shifting to reveal the sharp curve of her jaw. "Careful, shadow boy. Play too close to the fire, and you'll burn."
"I've been burned before," he said, his grin returning. "Makes the heat feel like home."
She studied him, her expression unreadable but her eyes alive with something new. Interest. Curiosity. Maybe even a spark of respect.
Desperation was his chain, but it was also his spark. And if he could kindle that spark in her, he might just find a way to break free.