This was a mistake. A horrible, life-ending mistake.
There was no way this was who I thought it was. And if it was… fuck.
Then he wasn't who I was meant to have siphoned from.
…Or was he?
Screw me and my no questions rule—because I didn't even know.
I never asked for names, motives, or explanations. Only what powers they wanted and how much they were willing to pay for it. That's what my clients loved most about me.
I kept it simple.
Well fuck that.
Fuck simplicity, fuck their money, and fuck my life, too—because it was about to end.
I'd stolen from Hans.
NOBODY stole from Hans!
They stole for him, yes. Yet someone had made me… and that was even the question, wasn't it? Had I really been screwed over by a client whose name I didn't even know?
Or was I just the idiot who'd screwed up this badly?
The answer was something I might never live to find out, because nothing was changing the fact that Hans de la Mort was deadly.
So deadly, in fact, that no one—except for me, obviously—not even my client, who had the luxury of staying anonymous, had dared to come within an inch of him, let alone steal from him. I was the scapegoat.
The sacrificial lamb.
The only one in history now, who'd not only been stupid enough to try… but dumb enough to get caught in the process by the hybrid prince of Erendale, himself.
Part werewolf, part lycan and part vampire, he was an unholy combination of three individually powerful species, in a world where none mixed.
An abomination, if there ever was one.
And as if the man wasn't already a monster, genetically speaking... if the rumours were true, he was something worse.
Possessed by something straight from the pits of hell.
A demon.
And I was in his grasp.
Still stealing from him, actually—because the siphoning hadn't stopped. His essence kept pouring into me, relentlessly. Drowning me in heat and the rawness of a magic that was never meant for a witch to hold.
Blood had begun seeping from my nose, and I wiped at it with the back of my hand, smearing a little across my face.
Oh, this was bad.
"This… this is too much, please…" I begged, trying to wrench my wrist free. "Please, let me go."
It was clearly… CLEARLY a plea, but his already punishing grip on me tightened. Had I known he'd only squeeze harder, I would've just shut up.
Or given an apology? Maybe that's what he wanted— "I'm sorr–"
"Shhh…" He pulled me close till I was pressed flush against him—my full breasts rising and falling with heavy breaths against his chest.
I had the decency to blush, even in these circumstances—he was an... undeniably fine male. And despite having one foot in the grave, my body had shamelessly refused to get the memo.
My breasts felt heavy. My skin prickled in awareness. My senses—
"You started this," he said, calm in a way that made my thoughts splinter. "So finish it."
Heavens.
"I– I can't—" Another surge of power slammed into me, cutting off my words.
"You will."
Die? Probably.
The pressure in my veins was mounting. My heartbeat roared in my ears—its pace doubling. Tripling. And when I thought my heart would finally explode and kill me—
The siphoning stopped.
I let out a relieved breath, but it was too soon. The last of his essence slammed into me in a final blow that drove me hard to my knees!
I groaned. In pain and anguish.
And then my vision went white, my eyes rolling back—not from exhaustion, but because something else was forcing its way into my head.
"Mine."
The word vibrated through my skull, brushing against what might have been my brain, tickling it—and I screamed.
It'd sounded like a thought, but it wasn't mine—so I shoved the unfamiliar voice away, summoning every ounce of mental strength I had left!
I struggled, and fought to keep whatever it was from taking root, and finally… finally, it eased off.
My lungs burned.
My bones were weak.
When my eyes cleared, Hans was still standing over me, looking down at me—but his eyes… They weren't mercury anymore.
They weren't even normal.
They'd become... reptilian. Almost like a crocodile's, but the colours were in reverse. Where there should've been lemon-green irises with black slits, his entire eyes were swallowed by black, and pierced through the centre with a thin, lemon-green slit.
The exposed skin of his neck and forearms had come alive with strange… shadowed markings. Ones that moved, slithering across his flesh like a snake—curling around his neck, down his arms, then back up again.
My skin crawled.
The rumours were true.
I swallowed hard. "W- what… are you?"
One corner of his mouth curved in a cruel smile. "The last person you should've made your mark, little witch, for I am—" I bolted before he could finish.
But he was faster.
Shit.
In a blink, a clawed hand closed around my throat, lifting me clean off the ground without any hassle.
I screamed again, louder this time—both my hands gripping the one at my throat and my feet kicking about in the air—but then, we weren't in the Abyss anymore. There was no one here to hear me.
No one, but him.
The world around us had melted away, replaced by a vast field of ruins bathed in blood, and bodies skewered on wooden spikes! This place didn't belong on the mortal plane…
Hans—no. This thing—the demon inside him had brought me here.
But where… was here?
I could still hear the sound of people's voices from the Abyss, like they were just… outside. And there was the steady beating of a heart that wasn't… mine.
Thump. Thump.
It came from above… beneath... no. All around me.
Gods.
Was I… in him?
"Welcome," the thing spoke, releasing my throat, "to my humble abode." I crumpled to my knees, dragging air into my burning lungs.
Its voice had been more of a… a vibration… in my bones, than an actual voice. Gods, I didn't even know. I was scared senseless.
I'd seen a lot of horribly messed up things in my twenty-one years of life, but nothing like this.
"Where—" I wheezed, doubling over and rubbing my abused throat. "Where are we?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Oh, but you already know, little thief."
What?
"I heard the moment you figured it all out in that… little mind of yoursss." The s slithered off his tongue, and an uneasy thought took root—that this demon might be something serpent-like, even though he still looked and sounded like Hans.
And then it sank in. Heard it. Not as in overheard—he'd meant inside my head. That strange feeling of something trying to force its way into my mind, earlier… that was him!
He grinned, revealing two rows of alarmingly sharp teeth.
Gods! I scrambled to my feet immediately, loath to remain in such a helpless state in this… whatever this hellish place was.
The inside of him—if that was to be believed. But where inside? His mind? His body? Was that even possible?
"Please," I tried again, licking my raw lips. "What do you want from me?"
"You," his answer came instantly.
My breath hitched.
"You've taken what's mine, little thief." He tilted his head, those disturbingy reptile eyes studying me. "And now… you are mine."
Then reality slammed back.
Hitting the ground with a broken gasp, I clutched my chest as though that might stop my heart from beating out of it.
The Abyss was back, but the crowd was… gone.
The streets were empty.
And the streets of the Abyss were never empty.
Where had they gone? Had they seen eveything that happened?
But I knew that wasn't the case, even as I thought it. Only I had been the unfortunate witness of that nightmare.
Hans—now back to normal—stepped closer, studying me with the cold, curious expression of someone deciding whether to kill you or let you run first. Then kill you.
"You've stolen from the wrong man, Siphoner," he murmured. He seemed almost… resigned? The reptilian eyes were gone, and so were the markings—but I couldn't tell if it was really him speaking… or still… the demon.
I chose the preferable option—him—and was about to blurt out that I'd gladly give back… every. last. cursed drop of his essence, when—
Something whistled past my face, so close it had kissed my cheek.
The sting came after, followed by the feeling of something… warm, and wet trickling down my face.
I swiped at it, my fingers coming away red.
Blood.
I looked to where the object had slammed into the wall by my right.
An arrow. One that had just missed me by less than an inch.
A shudder ran through me.
Who the fuck—
Shouts erupted from the direction it had come from, a dozen figures in black spilling into view—and I had my answer.
Their weapons were drawn, glinting in the moonlight, and from the narrow slits of their facemasks, their glowing golden eyes locked on the both of us.
One of them stepped forward.
"Hans de la Mort!" he barked without fear, with authority—or maybe just stupid audacity—and his voice was a low, animalistic growl. A werewolf? "Step away from the girl."
Oh, thank the gods! My client had influence, then—he'd sent men to rescue me— "The witch is ours."
Wait.
What?