Bound To A Demon King

Chapter Two

A Few Hours Ago

I wasn't supposed to be doing this. It was strongly forbidden to go near the graveyard. But for some reason tonight I had a strong feeling that I needed to be there.

Father would surely disapprove. I just couldn't mind now though. I was missing mother terribly. So I bribed Mr. Wells to drive me, with an artwork I had randomly grabbed from the mansion.

A greedy collector, Father wouldn't notice one of his less special decorative pieces missing. Valued at no less than a thousand dollars, it was a hefty bribe, but I didn't care.

Mr. Wells cast a shocked look as I dumped the frame into his arms. “Miss Moretti…”

“The graveyard near the abandoned church,” I stated curtly, scowling. “Are you taking me or not?”

His expression faltered, conflicted between risking his life by deceiving his boss and pocketing a painting worth more than his monthly pay. But I knew his type: covetous.

“But Miss, this is risky. Mr. Moretti could realize it’s missing,” he protested, though he didn't hand the artwork back.

“If Father ever finds out, I'll tell him I took it for myself,” I replied. I would have to confess to the priest that I lied on Sunday. He would give me penance to cleanse me of the sin.

Reluctantly, Mr. Wells tucked the frame beneath his jacket and moved toward the parked Cadillac. “Get in. We have to be quick before anyone notices you're gone.”

I lifted my white, below-the-knee dress to duck into the car, nodding silently. Honestly, I doubted anyone else would notice. I was skilled at being invisible.

Luckily, Father had just left for an overnight business trip. If he were anywhere near the estate, I wouldn’t dare risk this; he was too cunning to be deceived.

As the car cleared the estate gates, I could finally breathe. The suffocating loneliness of the mansion melted away from my lungs.

I inhaled the fresh, cold, untamed night air—a stark contrast to the stale, polished atmosphere of my home.

It had been twenty-four months since I was last out by my own choice. The days had stretched so long I’d lost count. My life was rigidly restricted to school, church, or elite social gatherings where Father displayed me like one of his prized art pieces.

I watched the darkening skies as the car picked up speed, the winding road stretching endlessly ahead, beneath a canopy of ancient pines.

My mother died four years ago, when I was sixteen. Father insisted she be buried in the oddest, most remote place, forbidding me from visiting to ensure I wouldn't be "hung up on her death."

He hadn't even let me attend her funeral. When I initially discovered the location against his wishes, his fury was terrifying. Yet, here I was, seizing the opportunity to visit her for the second time.

An hour later, the manicured bushes lining the road gave way to wild, unkempt forestry whose tall, looming shadow reached out like twisted fingers. The car tires left the civilized asphalt and began grumbling loudly against the gravel of a narrow dirt path.

Except for our headlights, there was no light here, and no other cars. The air grew heavy with dew, and an eerie stillness set in, broken only by the creeping of insects and the distant, unrecognizable hoots of wild animals.

Eventually, the path became too overgrown for the SUV. The rest of the journey had to be on foot.

Mr. Wells opened my door, and together we walked through the clearing. He led the way, using a heavy flashlight and a cane to beat down the thick bush blocking the path.

Soon, the woods opened up to a massive clearing where hundreds of worn, broken gravestones were gradually being swallowed by the earth. It was a century-old abandoned graveyard, and this was where Father had buried my mother.

Next to the graveyard stood a dilapidated church, its high tower visible for miles. Half its ceiling had caved in, and its wooden walls were blackened with decay. At night, the howling cold breeze made the place feel aggressively haunted.

It felt like there were shadows lurking in the dark, watching with soulless eyes. I shuddered, goosebumps erupting across my skin.

“Miss, please be quick,” Mr. Wells urged, planting his feet to signal he wouldn't take another step forward. A man his size, and he was terrified. I was too, but thinking of Mother all alone in a place like this made my fear irrelevant.

Turning on my phone's flashlight, I ignored his whimpering and trudged deeper into the yard.

Mother’s white marble headstone stood at the far end, looking cleaner than the rest. The farther I walked, the darker and colder the air became, suffocating the weak beam of my phone.

I knelt in the damp grass before the inscription:

Elizabeth Moretti

1987–2022

I traced the engraved letters. When a tear escaped my eyes, I wiped it away angrily, my expression hardening despite the grief burning in my chest.

Thick wild climbers had wrapped tightly around the marble of mother's stone. Spurred by a sudden, nameless rage, I began tearing at the weeds, punishing the plants for disrespecting her memory.

Snap! I heard a stick break with a heavy stomp.

Startled, my head whipped around. “Mr. Wells?” I called out.

The sound hadn't come from the entrance. It came from near a tree deeper within the yard, past where I stood. I looked back and could still see the distant halo of Mr. Wells’s flashlight. If it wasn't him, was it an animal? Or someone else?

Dread pooled in my stomach. I stood up, aiming my phone into the endless dark.

“W-who’s there?”

Driven by a reckless instinct, I inched toward the massive oak tree with a canopy wide enough to shade dozens.

A voice in my head screamed at me to turn back, but curiosity won and I stepped under the shadow of the branches.

Just then my left foot caught on what felt like a wire. I stumbled, nearly crashing to the ground, my phone slipping from my grip.

“s**t! What have you done, i***t?!” an angry voice of a woman swore from the dark.

I snapped my head up just in time to see a tall shadow hurry out from behind the trunk, running directly toward me.