Defiant Bride III

Valaric surveyed the scene with a sardonic smile. "Well, well, Azrakhel," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Putting out your own bonfire? Are you feeling a touch… sentimental in your old age?"

Azrakhel, still fuming from the sensory overload Riordan had unleashed, glared at the vampire. The urge to rip Valaric limb from limb was overwhelming. However, the warmth of Rinn's unconscious form in his arms tempered his fury. He couldn't risk harming the girl.

Sensing the demon's rising anger, Riordan spoke, his voice calm despite the surprise coursing through him. "Perhaps the girl holds some dormant power, something that negated the flames?"

Valaric scoffed. "Power? Hardly. House Elancourt has been as human as dirt for generations. More likely she just fainted from the smoke." He narrowed his eyes at Azrakhel. "Speaking of the unconscious human, wouldn't it be best to hand her over?"

The demon lord's grip tightened around Rinn. "Touch her," he growled, a low rumble emanating from his chest, "and your entire existence will burn brighter than this little inferno ever could."

Valaric chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Oh, please, Azrakhel. She'll be the one turning you to ashes when she wakes up and finds out you roasted her entire family."

A flicker of something akin to annoyance crossed Azrakhel's demonic features. "I care not for her feelings," he snarled, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

Before Azrakhel could retort, a wave of devastation washed over him. He looked around, his mismatched eyes widening in shock. The grand House Elancourt, the surrounding buildings, everything – all reduced to smoldering ash. His flames, which he'd extinguished moments ago, had left nothing but a graveyard.

Yet, the human girl in his arms remained unharmed. A single tear escaped her closed eyelid, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

Valaric's mocking smirk faltered, replaced by a grimace. Riordan, ever stoic, remained silent, his brow furrowed in thought.

Azrakhel, ignoring the rising panic, chose that moment to vanish with a puff of brimstone. The infuriating vampire and the unsettling blind man were left standing amidst the ashes, the weight of the demon's actions, and the mystery of the unharmed human girl pressing heavy on them.

Valaric, for once, seemed lost for words. He clenched his fists, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Find her, Riordan," he growled, the playful facade completely gone. "And if that demon so much as scratches her, I swear, even his immortality won't save him from my wrath."

Azrakhel materialized in his chambers with a flourish, the girl still cradled in his arms. He was furious. At the vampire's mocking words, at his own unexpected protectiveness, most of all, at his own weakness in carefully lowering the human onto the plush bed. He hated himself for the strange gentleness.

Only then did he truly look at her. The flickering flames in his room cast long shadows across her unconscious form, highlighting the stark contrast between the pristine white of her wedding gown and the livid red welts crisscrossing her back and arms. Furrows etched themselves between his horns. What kind of barbaric ritual had she been subjected to? This firebrand, this tiny human who had dared to defy him, looked less like a pampered noblewoman and more like a warrior who'd seen battle. The incongruity of it all was unsettling.

Then he noticed the way the bodice of her gown strained against her chest, the fabric pushed to its limit by the frantic gasps for air trapped beneath it. A curse ripped from his throat. Was this some kind of twisted human torture device? He couldn't believe his own eyes. Here he was, a demon lord who reveled in chaos, and he was bothered by a simple corset?

Ignoring the illogic of it all, his fingers brushed against the lace, his touch surprisingly gentle as he unhooked the back. The fabric loosened with a sigh, but the dress itself remained stubbornly stuck. Frustration bubbled over. With a snarl that would have sent lesser demons fleeing, he tore the gown down the back, the sound echoing in the opulent chamber.

The destruction of the expensive garment revealed a canvas of pain etched across her back – a brutal tapestry of old and new scars, some raised and angry red, others faded to a silvery white. Who had inflicted such cruelty on this fiery human? A possessive growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that had nothing to do with his demonic nature.

"Azrael!" he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. His second-in-command materialized in a blink, his crimson eyes wide with surprise.

"My Lord?"

"Find the girl's father," Azrakhel commanded, his voice a dangerous rasp. "If he's not already among the ashes."

Azrael bowed curtly and vanished as swiftly as he'd appeared. Left alone with the unconscious girl, Azrakhel found himself utterly bewildered. The fire, the fight, the unexpected… protectiveness… it all blurred together in a confusing mess.

Suddenly, Rinn's eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light. She focused on the imposing figure looming above her, taking in the horns, the mismatched eyes, the unexpected concern etched on his face.

"What are you doing?" she rasped, her voice hoarse.

Rinn's violet eyes, the color of a brewing storm, pierced through Azrakhel's confused thoughts. He found himself momentarily lost in their depths, a strange sensation for a demon lord who had seen countless battles and bloodshed. He cleared his throat, the sound rough.

"You shouldn't be talking," he rumbled, surprised she'd woken up so soon.

Rinn, ever the fighter, scoffed. "Don't tell me what to do, demon." Ignoring his command, she attempted to sit up, but a sharp pang of pain shot through her back, forcing her back down with a hiss.

Azrakhel, his gaze drawn against his will, noticed the way the torn remnants of her gown barely concealed the network of bruises and scars marring her back. A frown creased his brow. "Who did this to you?"

Rinn, her jaw clenched tight, yanked the shredded fabric back together, a fierce glint in her eyes. "None of your business."

He ignored her retort, his grip tightening on the torn dress, exposing the marred flesh again. "Tell me." His voice brooked no argument. "I won't ask again."

Rinn, her temper flaring, lashed out. "What's your problem, demon? You just burned down my house and almost killed me, and now you care about some scars?"

Azrakhel's jaw clenched. "I don't care." It was a blatant lie, even to his own ears.

"Then why ask?" she demanded, her voice laced with suspicion.

Frustration bubbled within him. Why did he care? This human, this defiant spark, was supposed to be his enemy. Yet, here he was, inexplicably bothered by her pain.

He ran a hand through his white hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. "Just tell me," he growled, the sound more of a plea than a command.

Rinn hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. Seeing his frustration, however, a stubborn streak ignited within her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Rinn, her violet eyes narrowed, finally spoke. "Where am I? And what are you going to do with me?"

Azrakhel stared at her, a turmoil of emotions warring within him. He hadn't planned this far ahead. Burning her house, yes. Kidnapping her? Not so much.

The easiest solution, a cold voice whispered in his mind, was to eliminate her. A quick snap of the neck, and the problem would be solved. But the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a strange aversion to the idea.

Rinn, mistaking his silence for malevolent intent, spat out, "Just kill me then! It would be a mercy compared to whatever torture you have planned."

Azrakhel scoffed. "Torture? You misunderstand, human. I don't even…" He trailed off, the frustration evident in his voice. The truth was, he didn't know what he was doing with her. He'd been consumed by a strange impulse, a need to possess, to protect… It was a feeling utterly alien to him, and it terrified him as much as it intrigued him.

A wry amusement flickered in Rinn's violet eyes despite the pain throbbing in her back. "Don't even… what, demon lord? Don't even know how to hold a proper hostage?"

Azrakhel, caught off guard by her audacity, finished his sentence with a frustrated growl. "I don't even know what I'm doing with you."

Rinn's lips curled into a smirk. "Well, that much is clear. You're clearly barking mad." She pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness that washed over her. "So, let me go then. Seems like you haven't exactly planned a villainous afterparty for your little fire show."

Azrakhel crossed his arms, a flicker of something akin to concern flitting across his demonic features. "Where would you go? You have no house, no family left."

The question, blunt and devoid of tact, was a fresh wound. Rinn lashed out, her voice dripping with venom. "That's none of your concern, you overgrown lizard! I don't know, a cave perhaps? Anywhere far away from you!"

The barb hit its mark. A sharp pang of… something… shot through Azrakhel. He hated the way her words stung, the way her defiance ignited a fire within him that had nothing to do with his usual demonic delights.

He reached out, a hand hovering near the tattered remnants of her dress. "You can't just leave like this." It was an absurd statement, coming from a demon lord who had just reduced her entire life to ashes.

Rinn's eyes narrowed. "Why not? It's not like it's any of your business what I wear, or where I go!"

Azrakhel opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. He was starting to sound… protective? The very notion was ridiculous. Yet, here he was, arguing with a human girl about her state of undress.

Rinn, fueled by anger and defiance, stood up with a wobbly grace. The shredded dress offered little coverage, barely concealing the angry red welts on her back. With a defiant gesture, she ripped the remaining fabric from her body, leaving her clad only in a thin chemise.

"There!" she spat, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Happy now? I'll walk out of here like this if I have to!"

Azrakhel stared at her, his mismatched eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. He took a step forward, his voice a low growl. "You can't possibly leave like this."

Rinn met his gaze, her chin held high. "Why not?" she challenged. "Isn't that what you want, demon lord? Me gone?"

Azrakhel opened his mouth to answer, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He didn't know what he wanted. He only knew he couldn't let her leave, not yet. The reasons remained a tangled mess in his demonic mind, a confusion that both frustrated and intrigued him.