Holy fuck.
Aidan stumbled back, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps. He hadn't expected that. Not at all. Mr. Albu had been adamant that Damon never spoke. Not once in all these years.
But he had spoken now. And that voice—God, that voice. It hadn't just echoed in the room. It had echoed inside him. It had settled in his skull, slithering through his mind like a command he had almost obeyed.
Aidan swallowed, his pulse hammering in his ears. His fingers trembled as he darted a glance down at the ring on his hand. Was this what saved him? Was this the only reason he was able to break free?
The thought made his stomach churn. He didn't wait to analyze it. He turned on his heel and ran straight for the bathroom. The second he reached it, he tore the faucet on, cupping handfuls of cold water and splashing it over his face, trying to drown out the lingering weight of Damon's voice. His chest heaved. His body burned. His thoughts spun wildly, refusing to settle.
And then—
He felt something.
A throbbing, aching pressure beneath his trousers. Aidan froze. His breath hitched, a deep frown cutting across his face as he looked down in utter disbelief.
What the fuck?
Why?
He ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, refusing to dwell on the weird reaction his body had just had. He chalked it up to adrenaline. To the shock of it all. His flushed face in the mirror was just from running, not from anything else. Shaking his head, he dismissed it entirely, drying his face and leaving the bathroom.
By the time the day wore on and he buried himself in assignments, the memory of the basement, the voice, the way his body had reacted—all of it faded into the background. He forced himself to forget. He had more important things to worry about. Aidan woke early the next morning, dressed quickly, and left for college, deliberately avoiding any thoughts of Damon. He knew he would have to face him again later. But if he was lucky, he could go the whole morning without thinking about it.
He succeeded—until afternoon arrived, and he found himself standing at the entrance to Mr. Albu's house with the weight of reality crashing back down. He inhaled sharply, gripping the plate of frozen meat in his hands as he made his way down to the basement. His steps were slower this time. More hesitant. And then he saw him.
Damon was already there. Sitting at the edge of the circle. Waiting.
Aidan's breath hitched. The demon's mesmerizing grey eyes were already fixed on him—piercing, amused, and far too knowing.
But what unsettled Aidan most was the smile stretching across Damon's lips.
Not a friendly smile.
Not a kind one.
A slow, deliberate grin, just wide enough to reveal the sharp hint of canines at the corners. Aidan stopped dead at the base of the stairs.
His grip tightened around the plate. His instincts screamed at him to turn around and leave. The silence stretched between them like a tightrope.
Then—
"I was waiting for you."
Someone's in a chatty mood, Aidan thought, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. His pulse was unsteady, his heartbeat a little too fast. That voice—it wasn't just deep, it was rich, commanding, and smooth in a way that made something in his chest tighten. It curled around him, seeped into his bones, made him feel like he was being pulled into something he couldn't name. It took every ounce of effort to ignore the way his skin prickled in response.
He forced his attention to the plate in his hands, eyeing the frozen slab of meat that hadn't thawed properly despite him running it under warm water earlier. Great. As if he didn't already feel guilty enough for feeding Damon this barely edible trash. The sight of it made him grimace, a nagging discomfort settling in his stomach. It was an odd thing to feel bad about—this was a demon, after all. He shouldn't care. But Aidan couldn't ignore the way Damon looked at food, the slow way he ate, the underlying hunger in his movements, like a starving animal forcing itself to be patient. It gnawed at him.
Without thinking much about it, Aidan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic packet. A cupcake. He had grabbed it from the vending machine at college, though he wasn't even sure why. He hadn't been hungry at the time, hadn't even planned on eating it. And yet, here he was, unwrapping it, setting it down on the plate beside the meat as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn't want to go near Damon, not today, so he carefully placed the plate on the bottom step of the staircase and slid it forward, pushing it just far enough for the demon to reach.
Damon didn't move. He didn't even glance at the food. Instead, his eerie gray eyes stayed on Aidan, unreadable and piercing in a way that made his skin itch. "This is not the wizard's food," he said, his voice quiet but firm, as if he already knew the answer.
Aidan stiffened, his lips pressing together into a thin line. He wasn't sure why that irritated him, but it did. "It is," he said, too quickly, the lie sitting awkwardly on his tongue. "Eat up. Aren't you hungry?" His voice came out sharper than intended, edged with something he couldn't quite place. Damon shouldn't be questioning him—he should just take the damn food. He was being generous, wasn't he? He didn't have to give him anything extra. Hell, he didn't even have to be here.
Finally, Damon moved. Slowly, deliberately. He reached for the meat first, gripping it with those sharp, claw-tipped fingers before sinking his elongated teeth into it. Aidan watched, unable to look away as Damon chewed with precise, measured movements. His jaw flexed with every bite, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, never once breaking eye contact. The way he ate was almost hypnotic, like he was aware Aidan was watching—aware that every movement was drawing him in further. The realization made Aidan's breath catch.
It was captivating. The slow drag of his lips, the deliberate flick of his tongue to catch stray pieces of food. Something about the way he moved sent an uncomfortable heat curling low in Aidan's stomach. It wasn't just hunger he saw in Damon's expression—it was something else entirely, something Aidan didn't want to name. He suddenly felt too warm, too restless, as if his skin no longer fit right.
He needed to look away. He should look away.
But he didn't.
His gaze remained locked on Damon's mouth, on the way his lips—fuller than before, weren't they?—parted slightly as he finished chewing. Aidan's breathing had gone shallow without him realizing it, his throat suddenly too tight, his pulse unsteady. He forced himself to tear his eyes away, shoving his hands into his pockets as if that would somehow ground him, keep him from spiraling into thoughts he shouldn't be having.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Aidan hesitated before lowering himself onto the bottom step of the staircase, the cold stone pressing against the backs of his thighs. His fingers curled loosely against his knees as he watched Damon, his heart thrumming a little too fast. The air between them felt heavier now, charged with something Aidan couldn't name. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of what he was doing—sitting here, trying to have a conversation with a creature that could probably rip his throat out if given the chance.
He exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from his shoulders. "How do you feel being tied down like this?" he asked, his voice softer than he intended.
Damon's eyes flickered, the dim light catching the sharp planes of his face. "How do you think?" he responded, an eyebrow arching in something that could have been amusement, though Aidan wasn't sure. His tone was flat, detached, but there was something simmering beneath it, something almost... calculated. Like he wasn't just answering the question—he was testing him, playing with the weight of his own words.
Aidan felt a shiver creep down his spine, but he didn't back away. "Don't you want to be free?"
The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. His stomach clenched, his mind catching up to what he had just done. He was talking to him. Not just feeding him, not just observing from a safe distance—he was actually engaging, as if this were some casual, friendly conversation between two people and not a human and a demon locked in a basement. What the hell was he doing?
Damon's gaze didn't waver. "Yes, Aidan," he said, and something in his voice shifted, smoothing out into something almost seductive. "I want to see the outside world. I want to feel the air on my face, the sun on my skin." He inhaled deeply, as if imagining it, his expression unreadable. "I hate being trapped like this. Chained like an animal." His voice dipped lower, a soft rasp curling around the words. "But I am not an animal, Aidan. You know that... don't you?"
Aidan's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes flickered down to his body instinctively. No, he was definitely not an animal.
His fingers twitched against his knee, a prickle of unease threading through his chest. He shouldn't be talking to him, shouldn't be sitting here, shouldn't be listening to the way his voice wrapped around his name like it belonged to him. His name that he shouldn't be knowing.
Something wasn't right.
"Would you escape if I opened your binds?" Aidan asked, his own voice barely above a whisper. He hadn't meant to ask that. Hadn't planned to ask that.
Damon's expression shifted, his features tightening as a flicker of something unreadable passed over his face. Aidan noticed the way his jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek ticking ever so slightly. His eyes darkened, the warmth—or whatever imitation of warmth he had been displaying—draining from them in an instant. Aidan didn't need to hear him speak to understand one thing clearly: he was not happy.
"What happened?" Aidan asked, the silence pressing down on him, thick and heavy.
Damon didn't answer. Instead, he just watched—studied Aidan like he was something to be dissected. His entire demeanor was unsettling, every movement, every flicker of his gaze feeling too precise, too calculated. It wasn't just his words that wove a spell around Aidan—it was his presence, the way he sat, the way his gaze lingered just long enough to make Aidan's skin prickle.
Something fluttered in Aidan's stomach, a strange sensation that made his throat tighten. He shouldn't be feeling this way. He shouldn't be thinking about him like this.
For a split second, an insane thought gripped him. An urge so sudden and wrong that it left him breathless. What if I just... unbind him? The idea lodged itself in his brain, unshakable, insidious.
And then he noticed them.
The horns.
They were starting to push through his skin, small but unmistakable, curving from the top of his bald head in sharp little peaks. The sight of them sent a jolt through Aidan, an instinctive, bone-deep understanding that this was bad news. Mr. Albu had warned him about this. The horns meant something.
"Did I say something wrong?" Aidan tried again, his voice quieter this time, edged with uncertainty. But Damon didn't respond.
The silence stretched between them, thick as fog, suffocating.
Aidan waited, hoping—expecting—that he would say something, anything. But Damon remained still, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked onto some unseen point beyond Aidan. Like he had already moved on.
A strange frustration curled in Aidan's chest. He didn't understand what had changed, why the air in the room suddenly felt different, why Damon's mood had shifted so drastically. It left him unsteady, off-kilter.
"Okay, I'll leave then," Aidan muttered, pushing himself up from the step, his movements stiff. He half-expected Damon to stop him, to finally say something, but he didn't.
He didn't move.
He didn't look at him.
He just sat there, staring at nothing.
Aidan walked away, his pulse hammering against his ribs, but the silence followed him—clung to his back like a whisper he wasn't supposed to hear.
***
For the next few days, Aidan didn't bother trying to strike up a conversation with Damon. He simply placed the plate of food at the edge of the circle, stepped back, and waited in silence. Damon, in turn, would crawl forward, retrieve the food without a glance in Aidan's direction, and return to his usual spot as if Aidan wasn't even there. The ritual became mechanical, void of the strange push and pull that had existed between them before.
At first, Aidan told himself he didn't care. He wasn't here to make a friend—he was here to feed him, to make sure he didn't die down there. But that excuse rang hollow the longer Damon ignored him.
Something about it gnawed at Aidan, a sharp, irritating presence at the back of his mind. Damon had showered him with attention for two days, watching him intently, responding to him, unsettling him in ways Aidan still didn't quite understand. And now? Now he wouldn't even look at him.
It was deliberate. It had to be.
Aidan clenched his fists. He wasn't sure why it got under his skin so much, why it bothered him the way it did. What did he expect? That a demon would crave his presence? Want to talk to him? He was being ridiculous. He was being stupid.
Maybe Damon was afraid of the outside world. Maybe he had given up on freedom. He'd been trapped here for God knows how long. Who's to say he didn't prefer it? Maybe stepping outside would be more terrifying than staying locked away.
Aidan wanted to know what was going on in his head. Desperately. But there was no way of knowing. Damon had shut him out completely.
Aidan found himself distracted, increasingly restless, unable to shake the strange weight in his chest. When Jared let him play on his PS5 on sunday night, Aidan couldn't even focus on the game. His fingers felt sluggish on the controller, his mind a mess of something unnameable. And then, somewhere around 3 A.M., an entirely different kind of frustration took over.
His body felt off, like a live wire buzzing beneath his skin. A weird, restless kind of heat settled deep in his stomach, making it impossible to concentrate. He squirmed in his seat, shifting uncomfortably, his heart beating a little too fast. Why the fuck was he so turned on?
With a sharp breath, Aidan shut off the game, practically fleeing to the bathroom. He locked the door, pressing his back against it as he exhaled shakily. His skin felt too warm, his entire body thrumming with an unwelcome need.
His fingers fumbled with his sweatpants as he slid them down just enough, wrapping a firm grip around himself. His breath hitched as he started moving, slow at first, trying to picture a faceless man.
Tall. Broad. Big hands.
Aidan bit down on his t-shirt, muffling the sharp gasp that escaped his lips. His body reacted so fast—too fast. Heat pooled low in his stomach, a pressure building at a rapid pace, one he couldn't slow down even if he tried.
And then he was coming—hard.
Aidan jerked in surprise, his body trembling, his breath ragged. It had been so quick. Too quick. Normally, it took time for him to build up to it, to work himself up properly. But this? This was different.
His hand trembled as he reached for some toilet paper, cleaning himself up, his mind reeling. His reflection in the mirror looked just as stunned as he felt—cheeks flushed, lips parted, pupils blown wide.
He had no idea what the fuck had just happened.
On Monday morning, Aidan made his way to the kitchen, grabbing the paper bag that held Damon's food. As he toppled its contents onto the plate, only a single, sad piece of broccoli tumbled out. He frowned, shaking the bag, peering inside as if expecting something more to magically appear. Nothing. The bag was completely empty.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. This was nowhere near enough for a grown man, let alone a demon. Damon needed real sustenance, something that could actually keep him alive. Aidan knew he couldn't keep feeding him sweets, even if the idea of offering him treats had been oddly satisfying at the time. With his lack of hygiene, his teeth would rot, and Aidan didn't want to be responsible for turning a demon into a toothless mess.
Letting out a sigh, Aidan resigned himself to carrying the pathetic piece of broccoli to the basement. But as he descended the stairs, something made him stop dead in his tracks.
Damon was already sitting there—but he looked different.
Aidan's breath caught in his throat. The man before him no longer resembled the gaunt, malnourished figure he had been tending to. He had changed. His body had transformed, muscles now sculpted in hard, defined lines, his skin stretched smoothly over a frame that was suddenly—utterly, unfairly breathtaking. His broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist, his entire form exuding strength, power, and something else—something undeniably sensual.
Aidan felt something cold slither down his spine. This wasn't normal. How the hell had he gained so much mass overnight?
He was still trying to process it when Damon rose fluidly to his feet, moving with a grace that sent a fresh wave of unease through Aidan. Every day before, the demon had crawled to retrieve his food, but now—now he walked.
And he walked with purpose.
Aidan forced himself to remain still, to not look down, but his brain unhelpfully registered everything. Damon was naked. Completely, shamelessly bare, his impressive form on full display. Aidan's face burned as he clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Damon's face. He needed clothes. Like, immediately.
Swallowing hard, Aidan shoved the plate forward with his foot, hoping to distract himself. Damon's expression barely shifted as he plucked the lone piece of broccoli off the plate, inspecting it with open disgust before forcing himself to chew.
Aidan crossed his arms. "Not used to something that's actually edible?"
Damon didn't answer. He simply chewed, his expression sour, before turning on his heel and retreating to the far end of the circle, sitting down once again, as if Aidan wasn't even there.
Aidan's patience snapped.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, irritation creeping into his voice.
Nothing. Not even a glance.
Aidan scowled. "I know you can talk." His voice came out sharper than he intended, edged with frustration.
Still, no reaction.
He was ignoring him.
Aidan clenched his fists. After all the trouble he went through, after all the times he brought him food, Damon was just going to act like he didn't exist?
It shouldn't have bothered him. But it did. And that was the most frustrating part of all.
In a fit of anger, Aidan stormed toward the circle, his frustration blinding him to the very real danger in front of him. A mistake. A huge mistake.
The moment his foot slipped against the smooth stone floor, he knew he was in trouble. His balance wavered, the world tilting as gravity dragged him down. His breath hitched—he was going to hit the ground, hard.
But before he could, Damon moved.
A blur of motion, an overwhelming force—then strong arms caught him. His fall was broken in an instant, his body caged beneath a solid, immovable weight.
Aidan barely had time to react before his eyes locked onto the figure looming above him. Damon. The demon's sharp, stone-carved features were impossibly close, his smooth skin practically glowing under the dim light. He smelled like something dark and intoxicating, something not of this world.
But Aidan barely registered that because Damon was scowling.
Aidan's blood turned to ice.
His breath stilled in his lungs as he stared up at him. Shit. He was trapped. Pinned beneath a demon who had every reason to be furious.
Panic surged through him, making his body jolt with frantic energy. "Let me go!" he yelled, hands shoving at the unyielding wall of muscle above him. His fingers pressed against Damon's chest, and Aidan's stomach dropped. Holy shit. He really had grown stronger overnight.
Then his gaze darted to his hand.
The ring.
It was gone.
His heart lurched. The protective ring—the one thing standing between him and Damon's full power—was no longer on his finger.
Terror clawed up his throat. "Please don't kill me," Aidan begged, voice trembling.
Damon's expression flickered—something sharp, something almost offended flashed across his face before he abruptly pulled away.
"You came to me first," Damon said, his jaw tightening, muscles in his neck flexing.
Aidan's breath was still uneven as he scrambled to sit up. "You trapped me!" he shot back, his voice shaking from both fear and frustration.
"I didn't trap you," Damon countered, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous rasp. "You were going to fall."
That was when Aidan felt it.
The heaviness.
It settled over him like a weighted blanket, thick and suffocating, pressing down on his limbs, stealing his strength.
His knees wobbled, his breath hitched—he couldn't move.
This pull he felt towards this man had to be incubus magic. There was no other explanation for it.
It had to be. The pull was stronger now, so much stronger, as if Damon's presence alone was clouding his mind, tangling itself into his thoughts, his body. Aidan wasn't stupid. He knew what Incubi could do.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He could die right now, and he didn't even have the strength to run.
Then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure lifted.
"Just leave," Damon gritted out, breaking eye contact and stepping back, retreating to the corner like he hadn't just wrecked Aidan's entire sense of reality.
That was all it took.
Aidan didn't hesitate. He turned on his heel and bolted, sprinting out of the basement and up the stairs, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he fled.
He didn't stop running until he was home.
***
Read the explicit version of the full book on my Patreon. Link ( https://www.patreon.com/RHRose )