Astaroth's rage didn't just fade; it mutated into a predatory, all-consuming passion. With a single, dismissive flick of his wrist, he sent the heroic thief to his new post at the borders—basically "ghosting" him into duty.
Then, he swept me into his arms, marching toward the inner sanctum of the palace with a stride that said, "This woman is my territory."
He had carved the way I looked at that street-thief into his mind like a curse. Jealousy is the purest, most lethal poison running through a Demon Prince's veins, and Astaroth was determined to pour that poison directly onto my neck. He didn't want me just loyal; he wanted me consumed.
When the heavy, obsidian doors of the Sealed Room slammed shut with a thunderous boom that shook the very foundations of Portagry, Astaroth lowered me onto the cold marble counter. His hand traced the purple seal on my throat with a possessive, almost painful firmness.
