He didn't raise a hand. He didn't summon a spear of light. He simply stood there, a picture of unconcerned arrogance, as the largest wolf lunged toward him.
Time seemed to slow. The wolf's jaws, gaping wide to reveal a maw of blackened gums and yellowed teeth, were the only thing I could see. I saw myself reflected in its glowing red eyes, a tiny, terrified figure frozen in place. Then, a blur of motion.
The demon king moved. He didn't dodge or block. He met the charge head-on. He ducked under the wolf's snapping jaws, his movements fluid and impossibly fast, and came up inside its guard. His hand, glowing with a faint crimson light, closed around the wolf's throat. There was a sickening, wet crunch. The wolf's body went limp. He tossed its corpse aside like a bag of garbage.
The other wolves, which had been circling, stopped. They stared at their fallen pack leader, then at the demon king. A collective, mournful howl rose from their throats, a sound of grief and fury that echoed through the forest.
"Touching," the demon king said, his voice laced with a sarcasm so sharp it could cut glass. "Now, you can all join him."
He moved toward the pack. They didn't run. They charged, a snarling mass of mangy fur and raw, red flesh. He met them not with a burst of power, but with brutal, efficient violence. He was a whirlwind of motion, a storm of fists and feet. He broke a wolf's neck with a single, sharp twist. He tore another's jaw from its skull. He disemboweled a third with a casual swipe of his hand.
I stood there, frozen, a spectator to a massacre. It was horrifying. It was also, in a dark, twisted part of my soul that I didn't want to acknowledge, kind of impressive. On a technical, rather straightforward level, it was objectively less impressive than him using magic.
But that annoying part of me was easily impressed by flexing muscle, apparently.
It's a weakness I've never quite rid myself of.
Silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the dripping of blood from the demon king's fists. He stood there, surrounded by the bodies of the wolves, a statue of gore and fury.
Then he swayed.
It was a barely perceptible movement, but I saw it. His shoulders slumped. His head dipped. The golden necklace around his neck flared with a soft, warm light. My head spun, a dizzying wave of nausea washing over me. I stumbled, my hand flying to my forehead. The world tilted, the green of the forest and the blue of the sky blurring into a nauseating swirl.
"Ugh..." I groaned, and sank to my knees.
I could feel the warmth draining from my body, the life being siphoned away drop by drop. The knot of warmth in my chest, the one he had so rudely 'awakened', was a dull, throbbing ache. I looked up at him, and he was looking at me. His purple eyes were narrowed, a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—in their depths.
"Your magic is as pathetic as your combat prowess," he said, his voice a low growl that lacked its usual bite. "I barely drew on it, and you are already on your knees."
"I'm... not... used to... this..." I managed to say, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Clearly," he replied. He walked toward me, each step a deliberate act of will. He stopped in front of me, a dark silhouette against the morning sun. "For your sake, let us find a town today. Else I will determine just how far this necklace can think to push me to keep you alive." He looked down at me, a strange, unreadable expression on his face.
Then, he held out a hand. A silent offer. An olive branch of sorts, if the branch was attached to a terrifying, all-powerful monster who had just slaughtered a pack of plague wolves with his bare hands. I stared at his hand, then at his face. His expression was still unreadable.
I took his hand.
His grip was firm, a little too firm, and he pulled me to my feet with a single, effortless motion. I stumbled forward, my legs still shaky, and my body collided with his. My face pressed against the hard, warm skin of his chest. I could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart, a slow, powerful drum that vibrated through my own body. The warmth from his skin seeped into my clothes, a stark contrast to the chill that still clung to me.
I pulled back, my face flushing. I could feel the heat spreading up to my ears, a blush that was half embarrassment and half... something else. Something I didn't want to name.
"Control yourself," he said, his voice a low growl. He let go of my hand as if it were contaminated. "Your pathetic mortal desires are an affront."
"I tripped," I shot back, my voice a little too high. "It's a common side effect of almost dying and having your magic sucked out through a golden leash."
A sound escaped him. Not a laugh, but something close to it. "If you cannot bear the leash, by all means. Sever it."
His words should have been an invitation or a jest.
They were....
Something directly between threat and command. He truly expected me to take it off. For his pride to compel me to die for him. Which was. So many levels of messed up that my brain refused to process it.
Angus, finally emerging from behind the tree he'd been using as a personal shield, fluttered over to us. "The town! I can feel it! It's just over that ridge! It's called… Brackenwallow! What a lovely, swampy name!"
"Brackenwallow," the demon king repeated, his tone making it sound like a curse. He gave the pile of dead, rotting wolves one last, dismissive glance. "Lead the way, feathered pest. Before this one attracts something else that wishes to consume her."