Chapter One - When Sentients Fall

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The gentle lull of water from the cracked walls above the dank dungeon stirred the lifeless being slumped upon the cold ground. With a silent groan, the young woman's lashes fluttered, her eyes adjusting to the dim lights permeating her surroundings. Feeling numb from the cramped position, she struggled to sit upright, a sharp gasp bursting through her lips as pinpricks of pain assailed her.

What the hell?

Lifting her neck, she gazed up and down, left to right. It was too dark to make out anything but the shape of neatly aligned metal bars. Lips parted, she ran her tongue along its cracked surface, wincing from the deep cuts on the lower half. Even her cheeks throbbed relentlessly.

What on earth had happened? Why did she hurt everywhere?

And more importantly, where was she?

Fingers shaking, she reached out blindly, brushing against a slippery, moss wall. Using it as leverage, she dragged herself up and leaned back to get a better view of her surroundings.

An instinctive urge to discover any looming threats distracted her from her pounding headache. Swallowing hard, she cleared the biting hollowness in her throat. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

A few seconds ticked by without a response.

"Can anybody hear me?"

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Nothing but the sounds of her laboured breathing and the steady leak of water echoed back. A chilly breeze danced by, leaving a trail of goose bumps along her skin. She shivered, bombarded by a sense of unease. It implored her to remember...something important. Her aching head protested as she tried to recall the events of the past twenty-four hours. Fragments of overlapping memories were all she could dredge up, the pain escalating with any attempt to piece each one back together.

Moan…

Alarmed, she jolted upright, her senses on high alert.

Although it was soft, it was unmistakable – the sound of another being.

Moan…

There it was again!

Overwhelmed with joy and relief, she cried out, "Hello! Is somebody there? If you can hear me, say something!"

She waited eagerly for a reply.

Moan…Moan…MOAN...MOAN…

Her lungs expanded and froze.

The corners of her lips wilted along with her excitement as the moans turned significantly louder by the second, approaching at abnormal speed before stopping right in front of her cell.

She dared not move or speak.

Alone in the dark, she knew a presence was there – a supernatural one.

The temperature began to decline.

Growing up, she heard her fair share of ghost stories from the housemaids. One common trait these paranormal encounters have was the eerie ability to make her hair stand on end. Now was no different. Shoving back the fear, she trained her eyes onto the ground, sighting a pair of blurred sandaled feet. Before she could react, a sudden burst of flames ignited the torches lining the walls, illuminating the hallway, and breathing life into this desolate place followed by the blatant creak of iron gates. She stiffened at the sound of impending footsteps, gripped by a healthy dose of fear and anxiety, her knees drawn tightly into her chest.

Several hooded figures assembled outside her prison cell — their imposing heights to her inferior position — intentional. They parted fluidly to allow a woman to step forth. Garbed in gaudy red silk overlaid with a provocative corset cinched around her impossibly tiny waist, her breasts threatened to spill over the top. She was incredibly gorgeous and yet, despite her worldly beauty, it could not hide the vile aura cloaking her like the stench of a decaying corpse.

"How the mighty have fallen!" the woman exclaimed with smug exuberance; her eyes filled with undisguised animosity. "Look at you, once a Princess but now you're no better than a sewer rat. I can't even begin to describe this euphoria." She licked her red lips, flashing a glimpse of tiny fangs. "I'll admit it's a different kind of high…perhaps even better than the heady taste of blood and sex."

Confusion coloured the young prisoner's expression. She neither cared for this stranger's disdainful tone nor haughtiness, looking like a cat that got the cream. Judging by her attire, the guards, and the words she wielded as her weapon, this woman must hold considerable power. "Who are you?"

The evil beauty frowned, betraying her ire. "I suppose that's a fair question but, it doesn't matter since you'll be dead before sunrise."

"I don't understand," came the whispering reply. "My head hurts and I can't remember what happened. Why am I locked in here?"

"You stupid bitch!" The woman slammed her hands against the bars, startling the young prisoner. "Don't act like you've forgotten. You're nothing but human scum! I can't wait to feed you to the wolves!"

Heart racing wildly, the young prisoner stared in abject terror as beauty morphed into ghastliness, giving birth to children's nightmares. Where once there was pale, smooth skin, now grew a pair of blunted horns on the woman's forehead. Even her eyes gleamed a malicious, ruby red.

Driven by fear, the young prisoner propelled herself back against the wall, head shaking profusely in denial. This isn't real! She screamed inside. Demons don't exist. It's impossible! "Y-You're not real..."

Before disaster could strike, a hard voice cut in. "That's enough, Mara."

Both gazes flew to the obscured silhouette in the background.

That voice.

She knew this man.

How long had he been standing there listening in? And what kind of man was he to hide his presence, only to be seen or heard when he wanted to be?

In the billowy depths of her memory, his voice beckoned ─ sleek, languid yet laced with a hint of iron. It was undeniably dark and masculine, a deep baritone that sent shivers down her spine.

Her instincts screamed danger.

A pair of black, polished boots stepped into view. Eyes travelling up, the young prisoner took in the leather encased legs, muscled thighs, and creaseless shirt left unbutton at the collar before stopping on a face she should never have forgotten — even in her nightmares.

Hair as black as midnight smoothed back from a wide forehead, with a face carved directly from marble, the man's protruding cheekbones flared out into a chiselled jawline that served to highlight his unforgiving wintry eyes. Something dark and exquisitely dangerous moved in the crystalline depths of those eyes no human would ever have. His features were unclassical, not the kind one would consider handsome at first glance yet there was a harsh, elemental beauty to his appearance. This man radiated an aura of natural superiority that matched his incredible stature and while lean and fine-boned, there was no mistaken the play of muscles beneath his clothes.

Strong, deadly, and uncompromisingly male were the words that popped into her mind. Anyone who thought otherwise were fools. "We meet again, Your Highness." He regarded her with a knowing look in his eyes that bespoke a degree of familiarity. "Or shall I call you Akila? It appears you're still shaken from the traumatic event." Disappointment crept into his voice. "You humans are weak. You fall ill easily, and your minds are so susceptible to harm."

His condescending demeanour brought forth a flood of cascading images, causing her to cry out and hunch over from the explosive pain. Memories came hurtling back, accompanied by a trail of subconscious tears as she recalled the chaos, the screams and all that blood. It was a horrific night that changed her life.

Without warning, demons invaded her home, killing everyone upon sight. Left to right, innocent people were mercilessly cut down while she stood paralysed with fear. Separated from her family, she witnessed her engagement night turned into a bloodbath. Even now, the cries of the dead haunted her.

No life was spared…except maybe her own. Did her father and siblings escape unscathed?

She heaved, relishing the burn of acid in her throat. It was unsightly and undignified, despair suffocating her lungs. "Why?" she sobbed uncontrollably. "Why did you attack us and kill my people? Why was I spared?"

The demon king glanced down at the pitiful creature curled up in her own vomit. Humans made it too easy for him, their vulnerability only fanning the flames of hatred in his heart. The more they squirmed, the harder he wanted to punish them. Impassive, he answered. "Because you have something I want." He stepped closer, the dungeon shadows lending him an intimidating air. "I will only say this once. As the new Emperor of Cronoa your sole duty is to obey me. I'm not a hard man to please and I can be fair. Please me, and you have nothing to fear. Cross me, and you'll never see the light of day again. But for you, little lamb, I will allow you to choose your own fate." He paused when she lifted those piercing eyes to him. "The first choice is to stay here as my prisoner, where you will be treated no better than an animal. I don't care how you survive as long as you're alive for my cause. The second choice is for you to submit and agree to be my concubine."

The demoness gasped in genuine horror. "Zagan, please tell me you're jesting! You never said anything about not killing her. What about us?"

If Akila wasn't so upset, she would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. No doubt the demoness shared a special relationship with this male, leading her to believe that she was significant — special.

"Silence!" he barked curtly, his eyes never leaving Akila. "I never say things I don't mean. What I do with our human prisoner is none of your business, and you'll be wise to watch your words, or she'll have no choice but to be my concubine."

The threat kept Mara's mouth shut, her eyes lowering in steady submission. The fact that he tamed this proud demoness spoke volumes about his authority.

"As my concubine," he continued. "I own your blood, body and soul. There isn't an inch of you that won't be mine. I will be your master until the day you die." He spread out his arms, eyes roving over every curve of her nubile body. Zagan couldn't tamp down the excitement to taste her blood again. There was something about her that called out to his base instincts. It was futile to resist. He couldn't stop it even if he tried. The moment he took a sip, he became strangely addicted. In other words, anything less than her total submission was unacceptable. "So, my little lamb which will it be? Will you choose to become my prisoner or live lavishly as my concubine?"

Disgust and outrage over his high-handedness overrode her fear. Ignoring the protesting aches of her body, she surged to her feet, meeting his gaze boldly. "You are no king. You're nothing but an imposter and a murderer who doesn't belong here." Grabbing the bars that separated them, she prodded. "I will never become your concubine! I'm a member of the royal family." Her chin lifted a notch. "How dare you suggest that I disgrace myself with a vile demon! I—will—never."

Unaffected, Zagan wrapped his own hand around hers, trapping her effectively. Predictably, the little lamb tried to pull away but to no avail. He almost smiled at her rebellion. "I believe you do remember who I am. It would be a shame since we've been intimately acquainted." He feathered his thumb over her skin. "It's annoying how fragile the human mind and body are. I hope your memory loss is temporary."

He hadn't lied about their encounter, but the details were still fuzzy. Voice trembling with suppressed fury, she spat out. "Release my hand. I will never consent to be yours, you murderer! I hope you rot in hell for all the sins you have committed!"

Zagan's jaw tightened a fraction, finally a crack in his composure.

Her indomitable pride for a defeated human grated upon his nerves. She was either brave or foolish. The initial fear clinging to her was replaced with determined fury, one shining from the golden depths of her uncommon eyes. It gave him a glimpse of her fiery spirit. Oddly, it calmed him down considerably.

When they first met, he assumed she would be like everyone else. Once again, she had proven him wrong. What an interesting female, he thought, feeling a dormant stirring of amusement.

"No?" he echoed silently, eyes narrowing into slits.

Akila's challenging gaze locked with his. "I will never submit to you. Death will be a better choice."

"You speak boldly for one whose life is in my hands."

"Because I have nothing left to lose," she returned immediately.

"But that's where you are wrong. There is much for you to gain by becoming my concubine." He lowered his head, his breath tickling her cheek. "You'll continue your luxurious lifestyle, and you'll have my protection. Most importantly, you might see your family again."

She reeled back in surprise, heart pounding rapidly. "They're alive?"

"You'll only know the answer once you agree to be mine."

Akila stared into pools of wintry ice, wondering if he was lying to manipulate her. "How can I trust the word of a demon? Or the word of a killer? You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" Driven by foreign courage, she leaned into his ear. "I welcome death before I ever submit to you."

Her cool rejection and temperament foretold her royal breeding. A part of him wanted to admire her yet, the vengeful side of him wanted to squelch her disdain. These humans were all the same. They degraded the demon race like his old master had, treating him as an expendable tool. Humans believed themselves superior and this princess was born lucky with a silver spoon in her mouth. She never endured hardships or crawled through hell to survive. His fingers twitched to choke the life from her slim body – to grant her wish right there. Forcing himself to calm down, he mentally counted to ten.

"The first choice it is," he clipped out, spinning away before he showed her why he was called the demon king. "I am impatient, but I'm willing to bet that before the week is out, you will be begging to come to my bed. I'll grant you seven days to change your mind."

Without waiting for her reply, he marched off in agitated strides.

When the dungeon cleared out, the forgotten demoness flew at her, hissing furiously. "Don't even think about replacing me in his bed. I'll rip out your guts before you can try. Filthy scum!" The last word was acid personified.

Akila decided then that Mara was petty and delusional. Was scum the only word she knew? There was nothing great about sleeping with a tyrant murderer. As a woman, she had no ambition to be more than her status, content to find love and be loved. Now, she had nothing. She didn't want to worry about being forced into a demon's bed or thinking about the world that no longer existed – her childhood, her family, and her friends… all wiped out in a single night. It was all the reason she needed to let loose a sorrowful wail from the recess of her soul, shoulders trembling violently with the need for someone to console her bleeding heart. Her father, the Emperor of Cronoa had complained that his youngest child was too stubborn for her own good. Countless times her obstinacy had gotten her into troubles that could have been avoided.

Today, she'd challenged the demon who held her life in his hands. Why didn't she just submit to him? Would it have made it all easier?

No!

Her mother did not raise a weakling. And, her family might still be alive, so the only leverage she had was her value to the demon.

But why did Zagan need her?

It made no sense to her grieving mind.

Letting the tears and heartache wash over her, she cried long into the night, finally slipping into a dreamless sleep. Tomorrow, she would concoct a plan but for now, she just wanted to mourn all that was lost.

---------------

Mara never questioned her master's decision in the past fifty decades they have been together. Observing Zagan as he sat brooding in his new throne, she wondered what went on inside his complicated mind. Often times he was like a formidable general plotting his next campaign, and the rarest moments he acted like a child with a new toy. As a demoness who preyed and fed upon mankind, she prided herself on her ability to read and predict a man's decision based on human weakness. Zagan was the only one who evaded her.

Although he was only half demon, she assumed that he would be like all other males, easy to control and manipulate. Not staying longer than a year with the same man was a principle she abided yet she broke that rule for this unpredictable demon. There was something about him that called out to her the first time they met, and she assumed the mutual attraction would wear off in time. How wrong she was on that account. Just when she assumed to understand him, Zagan would surprise her with a whole new side of himself.

Since the dawn of their existence, demons were solitary creatures who preferred to hunt alone and if they were to die, it would be the same way they came into this world – alone. Until today, she barely knew much about Zagan's history except maybe Balan, his right hand. She never asked him about his past nor did he volunteer to share it. Besides, their relationship was originally based on slaking their lust and desires, they were never together for anything more. So, when did it all changed?

When did she start to feel something other than desire for this male? In the first place, were demons truly capable of love?

A mocking smile replaced the grim line on her face.

What a fool I am, she chided. Even if I were to love him, it was impossible to think that a selfish demon who has relied solely on his own strength to pull through the sufferings in life would even be capable to feel anything more than anger, pain, and resentment.

"What are you smiling about?" Zagan's voice broke her train of thoughts. "Won't you share your thoughts with me?"

She was glad to hear the mild curiosity in his question. Shrugging idly, she sauntered up to his side before draping her arms around his neck. "Why do you want to make the princess your concubine when she isn't needed for anything other than awakening her Priestess's powers?"

"Jealous?" he jeered unkindly, his lips twisting sardonically.

"Of a weak human?" she scoffed, the lie slipping easily from her tongue. "Don't be ridiculous. I know she can never give you what I can. She's human after all. She doesn't understand the pleasure of drinking blood from another's vein."

"She may no longer be a princess but in the heart of the people she will always be one." His fingers curled into tight fists. "I hate to admit that the lamb is right to say that I cannot change the blood in her veins but, she's naïve to believe that the people's will cannot be manipulated. Making her my concubine will be the first step to change the favour of power from the dead Emperor to mine. And" — he paused, his fangs glinting beneath the firelight — "I will take great pleasure in taming that shrew who thinks herself better than us demons. I'll make sure that she regrets ever calling us disgusting. Once I'm done with her, she'll be no better than a demon worshipper and a puppet whose power I will use to conquer this world!" He barked with laughter, a narcissistic bliss that reverberated through the walls of the empty throne room.

Mara withdrew from the fervour in his tone. She always suspected that Zagan felt deeply about the way humans debased their kind but for him to verbalize it proved that he was still carrying the scars of a different place and time. Despite having her suspicions confirmed, there was another problem that troubled her deeply. Her intuition warned her that Zagan was quite affected by this human princess even if he wasn't aware of it. He might want to make Akila pay for her words, but Mara suspected that he wanted the princess in his bed just because. This made the human a threat to her wellbeing.

Since Mara warmed his bed, the demon king never showed interest in another female. The alarm bells in her head started ringing at his obvious interest. She mustn't allow it to happen.

Looking down at her master, she caressed his cheek. "Whatever you wish Zagan, I will help you make it come true." Except allow a human into your bed, she silently added.

A demoness in love would do anything for her male but she also protected what was hers.

This was Zagan's fault. He was a demon with his own centre of gravity, selfishly attracting beings from all walks of life, turning them into devoted worshippers and then leaving them high and dry. One would always be chasing after him but even when he stood close enough to touch, Mara always felt she could never reach him.

"Because of that I can only love and hate you at the same time, Zagan…,"

Note : Dear readers, just wanted to give you a heads up that I'm a little slow working on this novel, and new release is only every Saturday or Sunday (Eastern Standard Time). Leave me a comment or review! I'd love to hear from you.