Bound To A Demon King

Chapter Three

Eleanor

In my panic, my first thought was to flee.

But before I could, a heavy, cloaked shadow collided with me like a freight train, knocking the breath clean out of my lungs. The force slammed me hard against the freezing earth.

I gasped, my chest burning as I struggled to draw in the icy air. By the time my vision cleared from the jarring impact, the clearing was dead silent. The shadow was gone, swallowed by the woods as if it had been nothing but a cruel trick of the fog.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Fear and cold seized my limbs. I scrambled onto my hands and knees, frantically sweeping the grass for my phone. It lay face-flat in the dirt, its beam shooting upward, casting eerie, long shadows across the underside of the oak canopy.

"What the hell was that?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I snatched up the device. I swung the light wildly around the clearing, expecting a monster, a stalker, or one of Father's men to leap from the dark. Nothing. Just the howling wind.

I took a step backward to run, but the sole of my ballet flat caught on something solid beneath the overgrown weeds. I stumbled slightly, aiming the flashlight downward.

It was a book.

It was massive, thick, and looked ancient, its leather cover worn down by time. Every rational instinct I possessed screamed at me to ignore it. I had just been assaulted in a centuries-old graveyard at midnight; I needed to get to the car. Yet, I couldn't move.

An inexplicable, heavy warmth seemed to radiate from the binding, cutting through the freezing night air. It was a magnetic, intoxicating pull, tugging at the very core of my being.

It felt as though my entire soul was being dragged toward it, tethered to whatever mysteries lay inside its weathered pages.

So as if hypnotized, I leaned over. My trembling fingers brushed the leather, and a sudden jolt of electricity shot up my arm.

I didn't think much of it, but I should have. That was my first mistake.

I hoisted the heavy volume into my chest, gripping it like a lifeline.

The reality of the dark woods crashed back over me like a broken spell, and survival instinct finally took the wheel.

I turned and bolted through the brush, tearing through the wild greenery without looking back, desperately sprinting toward the distant, bouncing halo of Mr. Wells’s torchlight.

I think this was where everything started to go wrong.

"Is everything alright?" Mr. Wells hurried up to me the second he saw me burst from the treeline, his face pale with sudden panic.

In a fluid, practiced motion, his hand gripped the holster hidden behind his back, preparing to draw a pistol while his eyes actively scanned the dark perimeter for danger.

"Did you see anyone?" I gasped, my lungs burning as I clutched the heavy, ancient book tightly against my chest under my coat. "Did someone pass through here?"

"No," he responded, his posture stiffening as he checked the shadows. "Did you see anyone?"

"Are you sure?" I pressed, my heart still hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He shook his head, his gaze shifting guardedly from left to right. "There is no one else, Miss. I haven't stepped away from this spot. If someone had gone through, I would surely know." He lowered his eyes to me, noting my frantic breathing and the dirt smudging my white dress. A deep worry creased his forehead. "Is there something wrong, Miss Moretti? Did anyone..."

"No," I lied, adjusting my grip on the book so it was hidden in the folds of my skirt. "I must have been mistaken. Let's leave."

Mr. Wells didn't need to be told twice. We quickly followed the narrow, overgrown path winding through the suffocating woods to find the car. The heavy silence of the night pressed into my back, making me feel like a dozen invisible eyes were tracking our retreat.

Once we reached the clearing, Mr. Wells practically threw my door open. As soon as I was inside, the engine roared to life. He slammed on the gas and sped off down the gravel path, driving like a man who dreaded spending even a single second longer in that godforsaken place.

As the dark silhouette of the church tower faded into the distance, I looked down at the mysterious book in my lap, not realizing my isolated, predictable world had just changed forever.

The Cadillac finally glided to a halt inside the mansion’s garage, and I slipped away like a shadow, retreating to the absolute sanctuary of my bedroom.

After a long, blistering shower to wash away the cemetery dirt, I stood in front of the vanity mirror.

As the loud hum of the blow dryer filled the room, my gaze drifted to the reflection behind me. The weird book I had stolen—no, not really stolen, just picked up—sat prominently on the dresser.

A sudden, sharp cold ran down my spine, and I shivered involuntarily.

I should be scared. I mean, I’ve watched enough horror movies to know exactly how this story ends for the curious girl. But maybe it was the crushing loneliness, the endless boredom, and the sheer lack of thrill in my life that was in control of me now.

Instead of fear, an intense craving took over. I wanted, more than anything, to know what was inside those pages, and what that cloaked figure in the graveyard had been doing with it in the dead of night.

Besides, horrors were just fiction.

I clicked the blow dryer off, put it away, and turned fully toward the book. Walking over to the bed, wrapped in nothing but my bath towel, I sat on the mattress's edge.

I picked up the heavy volume and placed it on my lap, a jolt of pure excitement coursing through my nerves. I couldn't tell if it was coming from the book or my own heightened senses, but a faint, numbing, electrifying sensation seemed to buzz at the tips of my fingers as they caressed the hard cover.

It had no title. The leather was just a plain, weathered sandy brown.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I slowly peeled the cover open. The first few pages were covered in intricate, bizarre drawings that I couldn't make any sense of—strange geometric symbols and overlapping lines.

Perhaps they’re just for aesthetics, I thought, my mind racing.

Holding my breath, I continued flipping through the heavy parchment until my eyes finally landed on handwritten words.

The page—or what I assumed to be the first chapter—bore a single Roman numeral heading: ‘I’ Beneath it sat a roughly handwritten title: The Act of a Demon’s Seduction.