The sky was black with storm clouds, the air thick with the scent of rain and something darker—something ancient. The wind howled through the skeletal branches of the ancient forest, carrying whispers of forgotten incantations.

You had spent months learning the forbidden rites, collecting the blood-stained relics, and offering more than your soul should have ever bargained.

Tonight, you would summon a demon. Not for power. Not for vengeance. For protection.

The men of the village had seen what you were. A witch. A heretic. The one who did not bow, who did not cower. You had healed their sick, whispered to the wind, danced under the full moon. And for that, they would burn you.

Unless you called upon something worse than them.

You traced the sigil in blood, your voice steady despite the fear that coiled in your chest. The words were old, forbidden, tasting of rust and ruin as they passed your lips. The candles flickered violently, and the air cracked with the scent of sulfur.

A shadow coiled in the center of the sigil, thick as ink and writhing like a thing alive. Then, with a gust of breath that sent the flames sputtering, he appeared. A smirk played at the edges of his lips as he stepped forward, the sigil cracking beneath his weight.

“You are either desperate or foolish,” he purred, voice like smoke curling through your bones. “Which is it, little witch?”

You straightened, your pulse a traitorous thrum against your ribs. “I need protection. From men who would see me dead.”

A slow smile spread across his lips, sharp as a dagger. “Protection comes at a cost.” He stepped closer, close enough for you to feel the unnatural heat of him. “What will you offer?”

You knew the price demons demanded—souls, servitude, suffering.

“My blood. My service. My—”

“Your heart,” he interrupted, a cruel amusement in his gaze. “I want the thing that keeps you human. I want you bound to me, in every way that matters.”

“No human will ever touch you. No creature will ever harm you. But in return, you will belong to me.”