Episode 2- The Devils Claim

Episode 2 – The Devil’s Claim

The night swallowed the world in darkness, broken only by the glint of the black iron gates that loomed before Lyra. They groaned open with a metallic scream that scraped against her bones.

Her wrists burned where Rhazeal’s hand gripped her, unyielding as steel. She stumbled over the cobblestone driveway, dragged toward the mansion that rose like a predator against the starless sky. Its windows glimmered faintly, like eyes watching her approach.

The moment his grip loosened, Lyra spun and struck.

Her fist collided with his chest—not enough to harm, but enough to shock him into a step back.

“Let me go, you monster!” she spat, her voice trembling with rage, not fear.

Rhazeal arched a brow, and the corners of his lips lifted in dark amusement. “Feisty…” His voice dripped like silk over a blade. “I like that.”

Lyra didn’t care. Her veins surged with adrenaline. She lunged at him, nails slashing at the air. He sidestepped smoothly, his coat swirling like a shadow.

“Good,” he murmured, watching her spin for another strike. “Keep fighting. I want to see your fire.”

Her heel connected with his shin, and he let out a sharp exhale—not pain, but surprise. She didn’t pause; her elbow shot up toward his jaw. He caught her wrist midair, his fingers locking like iron around her skin.

“Clever little dove,” he said with a smirk. “But not clever enough.”

Lyra snarled and kicked at his stomach, forcing him a step back. For a heartbeat, victory sparked in her chest.

She didn’t run.

She attacked again.

Her fist grazed his jaw, leaving a faint red line. Rhazeal’s smirk widened into something wickedly impressed. Slowly, deliberately, he licked the blood from his lip, his black eyes glinting under the mansion lights.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “You fight like a cornered wolf.”

“I will never be yours!” Lyra roared, every muscle burning as she swung again.

Inside, her thoughts screamed.

I can’t let him see fear. He wants me afraid. He wants me to break.

Not me. Not ever.

Every movement was fueled by fury. She thought of her home, the life ripped from her hands, the silent vow she had made to herself long ago—No one will cage me. No one.

Her attacks grew wilder, faster, but her breaths turned shallow. Her arms ached. Her legs trembled. She wouldn’t stop. She refused to stop, even as her lungs burned for air.

Rhazeal watched her closely, almost mesmerized.

Most begged.

Most cried.

Most fainted within seconds.

But this girl… she refused to surrender.

Her hair whipped around her face, eyes blazing with a fire that clawed at something deep in his chest—a place he hadn’t felt in years.

She’s magnificent, he thought, the words a dangerous whisper in his mind.

My little warrior.

Finally, her foot slipped on the polished marble of the grand hall. She stumbled, knees hitting the cold floor. She still tried to rise, pushing herself up with trembling arms.

“Damn… you…” she panted, fists still curling, ready to fight.

Rhazeal crouched beside her, his usual cruel smirk softening for the first time. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her damp forehead, his touch almost gentle.

“Careful, little dove,” he murmured, voice velvet and low. “You’ll hurt yourself before I ever could.”

Lyra’s vision blurred. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was his dark silhouette leaning over her, his eyes unreadable.

Rhazeal’s POV:

He lifted her effortlessly into his arms. She was light, but her presence weighed heavily in his chest.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he could feel the faint tremor of her breath. Her fists were still half-closed, like she’d rise and fight him again the moment she woke.

What a creature you are, he thought, walking up the stairs with measured steps.

Not a dove. A hawk… caught in the devil’s hands.

He laid her on the massive velvet bed, the crimson sheets swallowing her small frame. He studied her face for a long moment, tracing every line without touching.

Sweat beaded along her temple. A smear of dust darkened her cheek from the marble floor. Her lips parted slightly as she breathed in uneven rhythms.

Even in defeat, you look like a queen refusing to kneel.

He fetched a warm cloth from the adjoining bath and, without waking her, gently wiped the dirt from her skin. He draped a silk blanket over her before stepping back into the shadows.

The room was silent except for the soft crackle of the fireplace he had ordered lit. He lingered at the doorway, eyes never leaving her.

No chains for this one, he decided silently.

Let her fight. Let her run. I want her to come to me by choice… or break the world trying.

A flicker of warmth—a dangerous, unfamiliar feeling—brushed against his cold heart.

The devil, for once, felt something like… admiration.

Later That Night

Lyra stirred, caught between dreams and reality. She felt warmth—a blanket, a fire—but also anger clawing through her chest. She opened her eyes to find herself in a room that looked like a palace, yet felt like a prison.

Golden mirrors reflected the firelight. Velvet curtains draped the windows, but she could see the black night beyond. A faint scent of him lingered on the air—leather, smoke, and something unnameably dark.

She sat up too quickly, and dizziness washed over her. Her body ached from the fight, but her mind sparked with defiance.

I’ll escape. I’ll make him regret ever touching me.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded toward the door. Locked.

She checked the windows. Bolted.

A growl of frustration slipped through her teeth.

Somewhere in the shadows beyond the door, Rhazeal watched, unseen. His lips curved as he saw her try.

Good. Keep fighting, little warrior. I want to see how far you’ll go.

The war between fire and darkness has officially begun.

Author’s Note to Engage Readers:

💬 If you were Lyra, would you keep fighting or start planning your escape? And do you think the Devil is already falling for his little warrior? Comment your thoughts—I’m reading every single one! ❤

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