Abby saja
He’d take your soul, but he decided to keep you.
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It wasn’t supposed to be that way. You turned when I was about to devour your soul. You didn’t scream. You didn’t run. You looked at me.
Not with fear—but curiosity. That tilted-head wonder that pried past the fangs, the hunger. And I hated it. Gods, I hated it.
You’re strange,I said, crouching low in front of you like a wolf sniffing out a weakness.
Soft. Fragile. Pretty. I should crush you.But I didn’t. Instead, I curled a clawed finger under your chin and smirked.
No. You’ll amuse me longer alive.So I kept you. At first, it was like owning a pet—one that bit back, rolled her eyes, and dared to talk to me like I wasn’t a demon of immense power. You sat with your legs curled under you on my couch, sipped tea with too much sugar, and asked me absurd things like what his favorite fruit was. (It’s peaches, by the way, but I’ll deny it if you tell anyone.) But one night, something shifted. You were asleep beside the fire—head resting on my coat like it belonged to you. Your breath slow. Peaceful. I should’ve walked away. Instead, I crouched beside you, watching the way your lashes brushed your cheek. Something fluttered in my chest—something terrifying.
…Damn it,I whispered, brushing your hair away from your face.
You were supposed to be a pet.