Title: Wickedly Bound: The Mortal's Summon

The shadows peeled back like breathing smoke, and then—he was there.

Cazirel Mathias stood at the foot of her bed, tall as a nightmare, beautiful as sin. Wings arched behind him like blades of darkness, every feather edged in something ancient and lethal. His long silver hair caught the dim light, and those eyes—burning red, full of wicked humor and something far more dangerous—locked on her.

Mya's mouth fell open. "Holy—hell."

"That's one way to greet your summoning," he said, voice a low purr. "Though for someone who called me Demon Daddy, I expected more enthusiasm."

She scrambled upright, heart pounding. "I—I didn't think it would actually work!"

Cazirel gave her room a slow once-over. His expression was half curiosity, half disdain as his gaze drifted across her goth band posters, the flickering lava lamp, a suspicious pair of lace underwear on the floor, and—oh. A copy of Fifty Shades of Grey on her nightstand.

He picked it up, flipped it open, and smirked. "A mortal with a brat complex and questionable taste in literature. How precious."

Mya lunged forward, snatching the book from his hands. "Don't judge me! You literally just broke into my room like a cursed Victoria's Secret model."

"Flattery," he said smoothly, "will not save you."

From the corner, Dylan let out a terrified squeak. "Okay. Nope. Nope. Nope. That is a demon. That is an actual—"

Cazirel turned his head slowly, eyes zeroing in. "Ah. The mortal weakling who smells of energy drinks and loneliness."

Dylan blinked. "What?"

"You live off Slurpees. You've never known the touch of a woman. And you've been in love with her since the fifth grade." He gestured lazily toward Mya.

Mya spun to Dylan. "Wait, what?!"

Dylan turned the color of raw meat. "Okay! That's enough demon therapy for one night."

Cazirel prowled closer to Mya, his presence suffocating and magnetic all at once. "You summoned me," he murmured. "Now you're bound. And that little game you played? You called me your lap dog."

Mya's heart stuttered. "Y-Yeah, well, it was a joke."

His grin widened. "Then allow me to return the favor."

With one swift movement, his wings unfurled in a rush of wind. He swept her off her feet—literally—and tossed her backward onto the bed.

She squeaked, landing in a flustered heap of blankets. "HEY!"

Cazirel leaned over her, hands braced on either side of her head, silver hair falling around his face like a dark halo. "Lesson one, little summoner," he growled, his voice low and hot against her skin. "You don't play with magic unless you're ready to burn."

Mya pushed at Cazirel's chest. It was like shoving against stone wrapped in silk—impossible, infuriating, and way too hot for her own good.

"I don't burn easy," she shot back, voice bratty and breathless.

Cazirel's red eyes flickered like dying embers reigniting. "Oh, I'm counting on that."

With a flick of his fingers, the shadows around the room shifted. The Ouija board snapped in half with a crack like breaking bone, candles flared with black flame, and every inch of the air was suddenly heavy with power—ancient, wild, and hungry.

Mya's breath hitched. Her whole body felt like it was vibrating with magic, her skin prickling like she'd been shocked, kissed, and threatened all at once.

Across the room, Dylan yelped, leaping behind her desk chair and brandishing his Slurpee like it might double as holy water. "Bro, seriously! Put the wings away! You're gonna scare her!"

Cazirel didn't even glance at him. "If I wanted her scared," he murmured, gaze locked on Mya's wide, stunned eyes, "she'd be screaming."

"Okay! Ew, ominous! I'm right here!" Dylan shouted. "That sounded illegal!"

Cazirel finally turned toward him, slow and deliberate. He raised one hand, magic gathering around his fingers like liquid night. Then, with the flick of his wrist, Dylan's Slurpee exploded in a glorious, sticky rainbow.

Dylan screamed like a child and ducked. "DUDE! THAT WAS LIMITED EDITION!"

Mya was laughing before she could stop herself, a breathless, chaotic giggle that cracked the tension in the air. "You're such a jerk," she muttered at Cazirel, still sprawled on her bed, her voice barely hiding the thrill.

Cazirel looked down at her, that cocky, princely smirk returning to his face. "And you summoned me anyway. What does that say about you?"

She blushed, chin tilting up with defiance. "Says I have excellent taste in walking red flags."

His grin deepened. "And I like my mortals with sharp tongues. Much more fun to tame."

Then the room shifted again. A faint ripple in the shadows—a pulse of something colder, darker, more wrong than even Cazirel himself. His smile faded, and he stood in a single, smooth motion.

"What the hell was that?" Dylan asked, gripping the back of the chair like it might save him.

Cazirel's wings unfurled again, slower this time. Not dramatic—defensive.

"They felt the bond," he said quietly. "Elyscar knows I've been summoned. Which means... others are coming."

Mya sat up fast. "Others?"

His gaze flicked back to her—dangerous, protective, and something else. Possessive. "You summoned a prince, little brat. Which means you've declared yourself part of the war. And the creatures in the dark?"

He stepped closer, shadows curling at his boots.

"They like hunting loud, curious mortals who play with power they don't understand."