The Demon Prince’s Bodyguard

The Demon’s Claim

The rain didn’t stop. If anything, it got heavier, as though the sky itself wanted to drown Marseille and take me with it. Kael’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, dragging me through the alleys like I weighed nothing, like I wasn’t bleeding and half-ready to collapse. His grip burnt hotter than the storm, a strange heat that seeped through fabric and flesh until it felt like his fingers had imprinted into bone.

“Let go,” I spat, staggering against him. The words vanished into the storm, swallowed by the roar of water and distant sirens.

“You’ll bleed out if I let go,” he said flatly, not looking at me. His voice was a low grind, the kind of sound that turned commands into inevitabilities. He moved like someone who always knew where his next step would land and how many enemies he’d crush along the way. “Keep up.”

I wanted to cut him, wanted to shove the knife still clenched in my hand into the side of his throat. But the knife trembled. My arm ached. I hated myself for the weakness, for letting him drag me, for following him deeper into the dark instead of running the opposite way.

He turned through a rusted gate that screamed on its hinges. The courtyard beyond looked abandoned,a leaning scooter carcass, cracked planters filled with rain, and weeds growing through cement. A single dim bulb flickered above a back door. My father called places like this “temporary homes”. To me, they were cages.

Kael shoved the door open with his boot and forced me inside. The smell hit first: stale cigarettes, mildew, dust. A sagging mattress leaned in one corner, a wooden table in another. Shadows clung to the ceiling like they had teeth.

Only then did he let go of me.

I staggered forward, catching myself on the chair. My knees almost buckled. The knife slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor, and I hated the sound,it was too much like surrender. Rainwater dripped from my hair into a small puddle at my feet. I felt naked, exposed, not because of my torn jacket but because of the way his eyes were still burning holes through me.

“So?” My voice came out rough, shredded. “Talk.”

Kael stripped his shirt off without ceremony, tossing the ruined cloth onto the table. Blood smeared pale, hard skin beneath,muscle cut in sharp lines, marked with scars I couldn’t place. Not battle scars I’d seen before. Deeper. Stranger. His body looked carved, sculpted, but dangerous in a way no statue could ever be.

“What are you?” I asked. I didn’t bother hiding the contempt in my tone.

His eyes lifted to mine, coals banked but not cold. “A necessity.”

“You butchered twenty men.” I forced the words out like they were a lifeline. “You moved like you were part of the storm itself. That isn’t necessary. That’s a f*****g monster.”

“You called me a stranger before.” His mouth curved in something almost like amusement. “I prefer ‘answer’.”

He crouched, pulling a dented tin box from beneath the table. When he prized it open, the faint smell of alcohol drifted up. Bandages, rags, a small bottle of whisky. Not much else.

I flinched when he crossed the room toward me, rag in hand, liquor soaking it.

“Don’t touch me.”

His voice was calm and steady. “You’ll die if I don’t.”

I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to show him that the heir of Moreau didn’t bend for anyone, not Serrano, not my father, not some glowing-eyed demon who claimed me in the rain. But when he pressed the rag to my wound, fire ripped through my arm. I gasped before I could stop it, biting back the sound into a growl.

Kael’s grip didn’t falter. “Good. Pain keeps you alive.”

“Pain keeps you entertained,” I snapped, teeth bared.

His fingers were steady as he cleaned the wound, tearing strips of bandage with precision that felt too practised. Not a soldier’s touch. Not even a surgeon’s. A butcher’s. He tied the cloth tight, knotting it hard enough to make me hiss. His hand lingered at my wrist, thumb pressed over my pulse. For a beat too long, he held it there, like he was reading something written beneath my skin.

“You should be grateful.”

I laughed, the sound raw, hollow. “Grateful? You drag me through the storm like a dog and force me into this shithole. Gratitude isn’t part of the contract.”

“Contracts,” he said, leaning back against the wall, arms folded across that blood-slick chest. “Contracts are for men who bargain in coins. Your father dealt in a different ink. He signed with promises written in blood. You’re collateral in debts you’ve never read.”

The words froze me. “How the f**k would you know anything about my father’s bargains?”

Kael’s gaze flicked toward the door, as if he could feel the whole city pressing against it. “Because I’ve collected on them. I know every signature. Every soul bought and sold. Your father was no different from the rest. He only thought he was smarter.”

A shiver crawled down my spine. I wanted to call him a liar, to dismiss the story as some twisted trick, but the look in his eyes,calm, certain, cruel,said otherwise. My father’s empire was built on blood. Maybe he’d signed away more than I’d ever known.

Before I could speak, a noise at the back door snapped both our attention.

Three knocks. Slow. Deliberate. Someone who knew the rhythm of our house.

Kael’s hand pressed against the small of my back, hard, pushing me down toward the mattress. The movement wasn’t gentle.

“Stay,” he ordered.

The door creaked open.

Enzo Vitale stepped in first,rain-soaked, face tight with fear. My chest clenched at the sight of him. My oldest friend. My shield since childhood. For a moment, I almost forgot the demon in the corner.

Behind him came a woman I didn’t know. Sharp face, sharp coat, cigarette smoke clinging to her hair. Her eyes swept the room, landing on Kael for a beat longer than I liked.

“Boss,” Enzo breathed, dropping to one knee before me. Relief cracked through my chest like lightning, brief and dangerous. He glanced up at Kael, then back at me, jaw tightening. “What happened?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat felt strangled.

The woman spoke instead, her voice smooth as glass. “We’ve got a problem. Moreau House is crawling. Lucien called a parley with Serrano tonight. Says he wants to broker peace.”

Lucien. My cousin. Smiling serpent. Always soft voice, soft hands, sharp teeth.

“Peace?” The word scraped raw in my throat. “It’s a trap.”

The woman’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Some of your men say he’s been seen with Serrano lieutenants. Could be a new arrangement. Could be the end of yours.” Her gaze flicked toward Kael again. “If you don’t walk into that meeting, they’ll carve your seat out of wood and hang your head on it.”

Enzo looked at me like he expected me to roar. But my chest felt hollow. Lucien had always wanted the throne. Maybe tonight was his move.

Kael finally spoke, voice cutting the air like a knife. “Then we don’t parley. We gatecrash. Take the table. Burn the building. Let the rats scatter.”

I turned, really looked at him, and saw it again,the hunger under the skin. The way he wanted not just survival but conquest. It terrified me.

“Let me think,” I muttered, forcing my head up. A plan was already forming, rage sharpening every edge. “I’ll go. But I won’t walk in as a puppet. You stay out. You watch.”

Kael tilted his head, a dangerous curve tugging at his mouth. “You would deny me the pleasure?”

“I need men who know me,” I said, voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “Not monsters who claim me like property.”

His laugh was low, soft, andspoke, his dangerous. “Very well. Men, then. But think, Dante. Every man you trust owes you something. Do they owe enough?”

I ignored him, turning back to Enzo. “Gather what’s left. Quietly. Trust no one.”

Enzo nodded, jaw tight. “Yes, boss.”

The woman gave me a sharp little smile before they slipped back into the rain.

The safehouse fell silent again. Just me. Just Kael. Just the sound of water dripping from the roof.

“You could’ve killed me in that alley,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Saved us both trouble.”

Kael stepped forward, his presence pressing against me like heat. “You would’ve been miserable dead.”

The laugh that left me sounded like a sob. “That’s not comforting.”

His thumb brushed along my jaw. Light. Almost tender. I hated myself for not pulling away. Hated the way the touch burnt straight through me, spreading heat where there should have been nothing but fear.

“Tonight,” he murmured, “I told you I’d keep you alive. Tomorrow is for debts. For now, sleep. You’ll need to walk into their midst with a clear head.”

I met his eyes,those burning coals,and saw no mercy in them. Only possession.

“I’ll sleep,” I whispered. “Because I plan to wake up.”

His mouth curved, half-smile, half-threat. “Good. I like a stubborn meal.”

When he stepped back into the shadows, I finally let myself collapse onto the mattress. The blanket smelt of mould, but it was something to hold against the chill. My eyes stayed on him,still standing in the doorway, tall, watchful, terrifyingly patient.

I told myself I was only waiting for morning. Waiting to pit my cunning against Lucien’s betrayal.

But when sleep finally dragged me under, Kael was the last thing I saw.