Demonbound

14

Corvin opened his eyes slowly.

The room was dark. Still.

Then he saw a shape standing over his bed.

Grinning.

Corvin jolted upright with a sharp inhale, hand already reaching for the dagger beneath his pillow.

“Scott!” he hissed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Scott didn’t move.

Didn’t stop smiling.

“Many things,” he said cheerfully. “But who’s counting?”

Corvin scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned.

“Is it time already? I thought we agreed we’d go tomorrow.”

“Time waits for no one,” Scott replied. “Let’s move.”

Corvin swung his legs out of bed, already awake now. He grabbed a jacket from the chair, shrugged it on, and tightened the straps around his forearms.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

They slipped into the corridor like shadows.

The mansion slept, but never deeply. The faint hum of wards lingered in the air, a soft pressure against the skin.

Scott led the way.

They moved when the light flickered.

Paused when footsteps echoed.

A pair of hunters passed at the far end of the hall, voices low and tired. Corvin pressed himself into a recess between pillars, breath shallow, Scott barely an arm’s length away.

They waited.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Then silence.

They crossed the hall and descended the servants’ staircase, careful to avoid the main stairwell where guards rotated shifts. At the lower level, Scott crouched and traced a sigil near the doorframe.

The ward softened.

Just enough.

They slipped through.

Outside, the night air hit them like a promise.

The estate grounds stretched wide and dark, silvered by moonlight. Patrols moved along familiar paths, lanterns bobbing in slow arcs.

Scott timed it.

They moved when the lights turned away.

Ran low between hedges.

Paused behind a stone fountain while a guard passed close enough that Corvin could hear his breathing.

Finally, they reached the gates.

Scott stepped through first.

Then Corvin.

The gates closed silently behind them.

Scott took a deep breath and exhaled dramatically.

“Freedom.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Corvin said. “So where’s she?”

Scott frowned slightly. “I don’t know. She should be here.”

A shape shifted near the treeline.

Scott smiled. “That must be her.”

Someone stepped forward.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Familiar.

Scott stiffened. That was definitely not her.

Corvin’s hand went to his weapon.

“C–Commander Zayer?” Scott stammered. “What are you doing here?”

Zayer regarded them calmly, hands folded behind his back.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “What are you doing outside the estate?”

Scott opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“I was just—well—you see, when I—”

Zayer chuckled catching Scott and Corvin off guard. The commander doesn’t giggle.

Then suddenly, his face… moved.

Features blurred, melting like wax in candlelight. His height shrank. His shoulders narrowed. Dark hair faded to gold, spilling down in soft waves.

A young woman stood where the commander had been.

Shorter than both of them.

Golden-haired.

Her eyes were sharp and playful, lips curved in a knowing smile. She wore a fitted travelling coat, boots dusted from the road, beauty effortless and almost unfair.

“Marionette?” Corvin and Scott said together.

“It is I,” she replied lightly. “In the flesh.”

Corvin sighed, slapping a palm to his face. “What is it with Hallowmeres and deceit?”

“It’s not deceit,” Marionette said, tapping her temple. “It’s illusion. I just made you see what I wanted you to see. Family sigil. Comes naturally.”

She turned to Scott.

And paused.

Scott stood under the moonlight, hair slightly tousled, eyes bright despite the late hour. There was blood still dried at his collar from earlier, and something reckless in the way he leaned, weight favouring one leg.

Marionette’s expression softened.

“…Been a while, Scott Blackwell,” she said, composure snapping neatly back into place.

“No kidding,” Scott replied. “Did you bring what we asked?”

Marionette lifted a small leather bag and tossed it lightly from hand to hand.

“Demon parts,” she said. “Fresh. Unregistered. Perfect for the black market.”

Scott reached for it.

“Nice.”

She hesitated.

“Are you sure your father would be alright with this?” she asked. “Patriarchs tend to despise things like this circulating among commoner hunters.”

“It’s not just nobles who need demon parts to make powerful weapons,” Scott replied easily. “Commoners need them too. Maybe even more than we do. Selling to them is practically charity.”

Marionette studied him.

“You don’t need the money,” she said slowly. “Your father is the Patriarch. You have everything.”

Scott smiled and looked at her directly in her eyes.

“Everything but one.”

She blinked.

Then flushed.

“Well,” she said quickly, stepping back, “I should go. I can’t be out too long. Can’t have my family wondering where I disappeared to.”

She glanced at Scott again.

“I’ll see you later.”

And then she was gone, illusion swallowing her as the night closed in.

Silence settled.

Corvin turned to Scott.

“So,” he said. “Are you actually selling demon parts to commoners?”

Scott snorted.

“Of course not.”

Corvin raised an eyebrow.

“Then what are you doing with them?”

Scott’s smile returned.

Sharp.

Satisfied.

“I have many ideas and each one is tied to that demon we faced in the city.”

“Looks like someone has a grudge,” Corvin folded his arms. “I know I’ll regret asking this but what do you have in mind?”

Scott grinned. “Follow me.”