The Summoned Demon: 4. The Demon's Touch

Morning came, but the light didn’t feel real.

Mara sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, her body aching in ways she didn’t want to name. The chalk circle was gone. She had scrubbed it until her knuckles split, until sweat soaked through her shirt. But no matter how hard she tried, she could still feel the weight of it—the ritual burned into her skin like a bruise she couldn’t wash away.

And worse, she wasn’t alone.

He leaned casually against the dresser, watching her with the kind of patience that felt less like kindness and more like possession. His eyes burned even in daylight, and his body—bare, sculpted, impossible—looked out of place in her tiny, cluttered room.

“Why are you still here?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

He smiled. Not cruel, not soft. Simply certain. “Because you summoned me. And because I’ve claimed you.”

Her fists tightened in the sheets. “I didn’t know what I was asking for.”

“You asked to be wanted.