Page 19 of The Darkest Knight

When the guards grabbed his arms, Devina neared and grabbed his face, the long talon nails digging into his skin. “One chance to save her life,” she whispered. “Give yourself to me, body and soul. Remain here in this realm away from Meliot, away from the useless games he forces you to play. Be mine.”

“Never,” Niall spat, his voice cold as steel.

The demon's eyes closed slowly, then opened, staring directly into his. “Then you will suffer.”

In the dungeon, they chained him to a post, the rusted iron biting into his wrists. The hate he’d felt in Devina’s presence grew deeper, soon replaced by a seething rage he couldn’t unleash. The first lash tore into his back, the hooks rending flesh and leaving behind searing trails of agony.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream, waiting for the sweet release of darkness to claim him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t in the dungeon any longer. Instead, Niall lay on a soft blanket, the sun warming him.

At the sound of waves crashing against the shore, he inhaled the salty air, refusing to open his eyes and face reality. No doubt another trick of Devina’s.

“Da are ye asleep?” The sweet voice caused him to jerk to a sitting position.

“Maribel, leave your Da alone,” Caitlin called from nearby, holding his younger daughter Beatrice’s hand. A seashell glinted between the chubby fingers of the child’s other hand.

“Da!” Beatrice called out with a giggle.

Struck speechless, he watched the scene before him. It was the summer. He and his wife had taken the girls to the seashore for the day. He never forgot the day, the last time he’d spent time alone with his family.

The wind blew Caitlin’s skirts flush against her and her large stomach became obvious. She was expecting their third child. His son.

“Here, love, come to me.” His wife spread her arms calling Maribel to her. The four-year-old ran to her giggling. Niall tried to focus on Caitlin’s face. It was blurry, and he blinked and squinted trying to see her clearly. But the sun shone too brightly behind her, and he couldn’t make her features out.

“Go back to sleep Niall, rest.” Caitlin’s voice was like a whisper in the breeze.

“No!” He screamed, but their faces grew fainter. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward them.

The scene faded and he fell to his knees.

Niall was once again in Devina’s opulent bedroom, his body trembling with emotion and pain. He wasn’t sure what had occurred. The room shimmered with unnatural light, the air heavy with the scent of perfumed oils and something darker, more sinister. As always, his injuries were mysteriously gone—no bruises, no open wounds, no scars from the whip’s cruel hooks. But the phantom pain lingered, burrowing deep into his bones, a constant reminder of her torment.

“Lay with me,” Devina, back in her familiar form, circled him, her voice seductive but laced with evil at the same time.

“Never,” he rasped, his voice a broken growl.

“You will.” Her words, deceptively soft, carried the weight of a command. She flung her arm toward him, and an invisible force slammed into his chest. Niall flew through the air, colliding with the stone wall so hard it jolted the breath from his lungs. He crumpled to the floor, his weakened body collapsing under the impact.

Her laughter was cruel, echoing in the room, many voices at once. With a flick of her wrist, her dark magic seized him again, lifting him effortlessly and flinging him onto the bed. The silken sheets, cool and deceptive in their softness, mocked. He twisted, trying to roll off, but before he could move, straps of leather slithered around his ankles and wrists, binding him to the bed.

He struggled, his muscles straining, but the bindings didn’t budge. His strength, already depleted, diminished further with every futile tug. His head fell back against the pillows, and a guttural howl escaped his throat—raw, primal, and desperate.

“Do it, Niall. Accept me as your master,” Devina purred, standing over him like a queen triumphant. Her black eyes glinted with malice as her lips curled into a smile. “Or tonight, she dies.”

Her hands fell on him, caressing his chest and shoulders, their touch meant to seduce but only igniting disgust within him. Her fingers trailed down his torso, each movement calculated, each brush of her skin a cruel mockery of affection.

This time, though, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t give her the satisfaction. The fury he’d held back for so long erupted, his body trembling with its intensity.

“It matters not what you do. I will nae be yours,” he roared, the word carrying every ounce of defiance he could muster.

Devina straddled him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she leaned closer. “Don’t fight me,” she hissed, her breath hot against his ear. “You know you will never win.” Her lips pressed against his neck, her kisses like venom seeping into his skin.

Then, something shifted. The straps binding him snapped with a sudden, violent force. Before Devina could react, Niall surged upward, throwing her off him. She tumbled backward, hitting the floor with a cry of surprise. An ornate bedside table flew across to where she was and crashed beside her, its contents scattering across the polished stone.

Her face twisted with rage as she scrambled to her feet. With a snarl, she lunged toward him again. But an invisible barrier sprang up between them, shimmering faintly in the dim light. She slammed into it and stumbled back, her fists pounding uselessly against the clear, unyielding wall.

“Who is this witch?” she screamed, her voice shrill and full of rage. Her eyes darted around the room, wild with fury. “Who dares enter my private quarters?”