When the Demon Calls Her Name

Morning light filtered through the curtains, too sharp for Evie’s taste.

She dragged herself into the kitchen, her feet heavy, her hair a chaotic mess of defiance. The smell of coffee teased her awake, but the sight of Lucian leaning against the counter, annoyingly perfect, made her groan.

“Good morning, little one,” he greeted, his voice as smooth as the steam curling from his cup.

She squinted at him, her expression as sour as the unwashed dishes in the sink. “Why are you so...alive? It’s unnatural.”

He chuckled, the sound low and maddeningly smug. “Demons don’t require sleep like you fragile mortals. Shall I fetch you a cushion for your exhaustion?”

“Fragile?” Her hand paused mid-reach for a mug. “I’ll show you fragile.”

Lucian arched a brow, his smirk growing. “By all means, enlighten me.”

Evie scowled, pouring herself coffee like it was medicine for her wounded pride. She took a long sip, glaring at him over the rim of her mug.

The caffeine hit a small jolt of clarity in her foggy brain.

Lucian waited, patient as ever, until she slumped into a chair at the table.

“Now that you’ve returned to the land of the living,” he said, setting his cup down with deliberate precision, “we can resume our discussion.”

“Discussion?” she muttered, already regretting getting out of bed. “What now? The art of demon etiquette? How to fold napkins with a smirk?”

He ignored her jab. “Rules,” he announced.

Her mug paused halfway to her lips. “Again? Didn’t we already—?”

“We’ve touched on it before,” he said, cutting her off, “but clearly, repetition is necessary.” He leaned back slightly, studying her with that infuriating, knowing gaze. “You’ve avoided the heart of it, Evie. Today, we dig deeper.”

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach churned. The thought of “digging deeper” with Lucian, exposing her vulnerabilities, was like walking into a storm without an umbrella.

“Rules,” Lucian began, pacing slowly as if he were delivering a lecture to a class of one. “They are the foundation of trust. Without them, relationships—any kind of relationship—descend into chaos.”

She slouched in her chair, feigning indifference. “Sounds like a slogan for a self-help book.”

“Mock all you like,” he said, stopping to rest his hands on the back of a chair, “but boundaries are non-negotiable. They create clarity and security. Even in... unconventional dynamics.”

Her cheeks flushed as she caught his meaning. “You mean BDSM.”

Lucian tilted his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Yes. But the principles apply far beyond that. Life is negotiation, Evie. Power given, power taken—all of it requires understanding.”

She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “And what? You think I’m just going to sit here and write out a list of things I don’t want you to do?”

“Precisely.” His calm, matter-of-fact tone made her want to throw something.

---

In the living room, Lucian handed her a notebook and a pen, their weight oddly intimidating in her hands.

“Start with what you know,” he instructed, sitting across from her. “What are your non-negotiables? What won’t you tolerate under any circumstances?”

Evie stared at the blank page, the lines blurring. She tapped the pen against the edge of the notebook, a nervous rhythm. “This feels... weird. Like homework from hell.”

Lucian smirked. “Fitting, isn’t it? But this is more than an assignment, Evie. This is about knowing yourself.”

Her stomach twisted. Knowing herself? That was dangerous territory. She thought of her past—the moments she didn’t let herself think about. The memory of cold hands gripping her arm, of whispered threats. The way her mother’s voice had sliced through her childhood like broken glass.

Her hand trembled as she began to write.

No humiliation. No manipulation. No deceit.

The words felt heavy, as though they carried the weight of years.

She paused, biting her lip.

Lucian watched her, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “You’re hesitating. Why?”

“Because...” She exhaled, her voice barely audible. “Because I don’t know where to draw the line.”

His expression softened, just a fraction. “Then start with what scares you most.”

It took her longer than she expected to finish the list. When she finally slid the notebook across the table, her hand was stiff, her chest tight.

Lucian read in silence, his crimson eyes scanning each word. His face betrayed nothing, but when he looked up, there was something new in his expression—something close to respect.

“Good,” he said simply, handing the notebook back.

“That’s it?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Now,” he said, picking up the pen, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked. “Wait—you have boundaries?”

Lucian smirked, but it lacked its usual arrogance. “Even demons have rules, Evie. Chaos is only effective within a framework.”

She watched as he wrote with swift, deliberate strokes. When he finished, he pushed the notebook toward her.

Her eyes scanned the page. Some items were predictable.

No harm to innocents. No betrayal of agreements.

Others surprised her.

“No exploiting vulnerability for personal gain?” she read aloud.

Lucian’s gaze met hers, steady and unflinching. “Without consent, power is meaningless.”

For a moment, she forgot to breathe. His words settled in her chest, a strange warmth fighting against the cold walls she’d built.

The afternoon passed in a flurry of debate and negotiation.

Lucian’s sharp wit clashed with Evie’s stubbornness, but by the end, the notebook was filled with rules—some firm, some flexible, all painstakingly crafted.

As they finished, Evie leaned back, exhausted but oddly lighter.

“See?” Lucian said, his smirk returning. “Not so difficult.”

She snorted, tucking the notebook under her arm. “Speak for yourself.”

He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on her. “You did well, little one.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight.

That night, as Evie lay in bed, she replayed the day’s events in her mind.

For all his arrogance, Lucian had a way of stripping her defenses, forcing her to confront truths she’d rather ignore.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she hated him for it—or herself for letting him.