Monster Mates Vol 3

A DevotedSub Books Collection

Volume 4

by Devoted Sub

To my husband, my Dom, my Twin Flame. My love, my strength, my courage, and the soul who awakened the parts of me I never knew howto set free.

You believed in me when my own faith had all but vanished. You saw a writer where I saw doubt, a voice where I heard silence, a futurewhere I saw only limits — and gave me the courage to put my wordsinto the world and dare to call myself an author.

You never wrote my stories for me or walked the road in my place. You gave me something more precious: the strength and courage tobelieve I deserved to walk this path, the confidence to believe inmyself, and the faith to know I could do this.

You taught me that when life knocks you down, you get back up, and you never fail. Failure is never found in falling, but in giving up.As long as I keep rising, keep trying, and refuse to surrender, Iwill never truly fail.

If my words reach the world, your love gave them wings. If my stories outlive me, a part of you will live on in every word.

You are my love by choice, my Dom by devotion, my Twin Flame by a bond that transcends the ordinary, and my forever by a promise Icarry willingly.

What is claimed is loved. What is loved is kept. What is kept is bound. What is bound is never abandoned.

And so, upon these pages, I carry the title you bestowed upon me, my most cherished one: Devoted Sub. Not simply a name beneath astory, but a name born of our bond, carried with pride, and foreverentwined with the man who gave it to me.

With all that I am, all that I create, and all that I will ever become,

Forever yours,

Your Devoted Sub.

Contents

1. The Incubus's Tithe

2. The King's Glass Bride

3. The Mansion of Flesh and Shadow

4. The Minotaur's Maze

5. The queen's coronation

6. The Rival Coven's Claiming

7. THE RUT

8. The Siren's Mate

9. The Submitted Rival

10. The Succubus's Debt

11. The Warlord's Bride

12. The Warlord's Prize

13. The Watching Ship

14. The Wild Hunt

15. The Wolf's Knot (Original)

16. Tied in silk

17. Trained to Please

18. Zero Gravity

The Incubus's Tithe

Ruby was twenty-eight years old, and she had been given to a demon as payment.

The village called it the Tithe — every generation, a bride for the manor on the hill. Ruby's name had been drawn. She'd walked up the hill in a white dress, her hands shaking, and knocked on the black door.

It opened. He stood there — tall, dark, beautiful in a way that hurt. Ivan. The incubus. Her new husband.

- Ruby, — he said — her name like honey and smoke.
- My tithe. My bride.
His eyes — gold, slitted — devoured her.
- Come in.

She entered. The manor was dark, candlelit, smelling of incense and sin. He led her to a bedroom — massive, black silk, a fireplace roaring.

- Strip, — Ivan said quietly.

Ruby's breath caught.
- Now?

- Now, wife.
His smile showed fangs.
- The Tithe is paid in flesh.

She stripped — the white dress falling. She stood naked in the firelight, twenty-eight, trembling. Ivan looked her over — slow, hungry.

- Beautiful, — he breathed.
- My beautiful tithe.
He stripped — black silk, falling — and Ruby's mouth went dry. He was magnificent — carved, his cock already hard, thick, heavy. And behind him — wings, dark, leathery, unfolding.

- On the bed, — Ivan said.
- On your back.

She obeyed. He crawled over her — his wings spreading, his body covering hers. He kissed her — deep, hungry — his fangs grazing her lips.

- I'm going to feed on you, Ruby, — he whispered.
- Incubi feed on pleasure. Your pleasure. And I'm very, very hungry.

- Then feed, — Ruby whispered.

His mouth was on her before she could breathe — his tongue licking deep, his lips around her clit, sucking with rhythmic pulls. His hands held her thighs open. His wings wrapped around them — a dark cocoon.

Ruby cried out — her hands fisting in his hair.
- Ivan—

He ate her relentlessly — groaning against her, his tongue never stopping. He fed on her pleasure — she could feel it, his hunger growing with every moan. His fingers pushed inside — two, then three — curling.

She came — screaming, her body arching. He kept his mouth on her — drinking her pleasure, his eyes glowing gold.

- More, — he growled.
- Give me more.

He brought her to climax again — and again — his mouth insatiable, his hunger endless. Ruby sobbed — overwhelmed, euphoric.

- Please, — she whispered.
- Ivan—

He crawled up her body — his cock hard, leaking — and pushed into her — one deep stroke. Ruby screamed — at the stretch, at the fullness.

He set a brutal rhythm — pounding into her, his wings beating slowly.
- You're mine, — he growled.
- My tithe. My bride. My food.

- Yours, — Ruby gasped.
- Feed on me, Ivan—

He did — his mouth on her throat, his fangs grazing — drinking her pleasure while he fucked her. She came — screaming — and he roared — coming deep inside her, his wings snapping wide.

He held her — panting, his wings folding around them.
- Mine, — he whispered.
- My Ruby.

- Yours, — Ruby breathed.
- Mason.

The Tithe became their ritual. Every night — Ivan feeding on her pleasure, her body his altar. He'd take her — in bed, against the wall, on the floor. His mouth, his hands, his cock — insatiable.

- You're mine,
he'd growl — his fangs on her throat, his wings around them.

- Yours,
she'd gasp.
- Feed on me.

One night, he took her on the manor roof — under the moon, the village lights below. He bent her over the parapet — his wings holding her — and pushed into her from behind.

- Anyone could see, — Ruby gasped.

- Let them, — Ivan growled.
- Let them see you're mine.

She came — screaming into the night. He came — roaring, his wings snapping.

He held her — the stars above, the village below.
- My tithe, — he whispered.
- My bride.

- Yours,
Ruby agreed.
- Mason.

Years passed. The village kept sending tithes — but Ivan sent them back.
- I have my bride,
he'd say.
- I need no other.

Ruby aged slowly — his feeding keeping her young, his love keeping her whole. And every night — in the manor on the hill — the incubus fed on his bride.

- Mine,
he'd whisper — his mouth on her, his wings around them.

- Yours,
she'd breathe.
- Mason.

Mason — a tithe paid in pleasure, a bride bound in hunger, a love fed on ecstasy.

His. Hers. Mason.

The first night — before the Tithe was fully paid — Ivan showed Ruby the manor's secret.

- Come, — he said — after, when she lay wrecked and glowing in the black silk.
He wrapped her in a robe, took her hand, led her down. Down past the kitchens, past the cellars, to a black door.

- What's down there? — Ruby whispered.

- My truth.
He opened it.

Stairs — spiraling down into heat. Ruby's breath caught — the air thick with incense, with hunger. At the bottom: a chamber. Circular. The walls carved with ancient scenes — incubi and their brides, locked in ecstasy. In the center: a stone altar, black silk draped over it. Candles — hundreds — the flames blue.

- This,
Ivan said quietly,
- is where I feed. Truly feed.
His gold eyes found hers.
- The bedroom is — gentle. This is not.

Ruby's heart hammered.
- Show me.

Ivan's smile was slow, hungry. He stripped her — the robe falling — and laid her on the altar. The stone was warm — heated from below. He stripped — his wings unfolding, massive in the small chamber.

- Kneel, — he said — but she was already lying down.
- No. Kneel. On the altar. Hands on the stone.

She knelt — the warm stone under her knees, her hands braced. Ivan moved behind her — his hands on her hips, his wings wrapping around them.

- I'm going to take you,
- the way incubi take their brides. Hard. Deep. Until you scream. — he growled

He pushed in — one brutal stroke. Ruby screamed — the sound echoing off the carved walls. He set a punishing rhythm — his hips slamming against her, the altar scraping stone.

- Feed me, — he ordered.
- Give me your pleasure. All of it.

She came — screaming, her body convulsing. He fed — she felt it, his hunger drinking her ecstasy, his eyes blazing gold. He didn't slow — kept pounding, kept feeding.

- More, — he growled.
- More, Ruby.

She came again — and again — her voice raw, her body wrecked. He fed on every wave — growing stronger, his wings beating, the blue flames flaring.

- Please,
she sobbed.
- Ivan— I can't—

- You can.
His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back. His other hand reached around — finding her clit, rubbing in hard, fast circles.
- You're my bride. You give me everything.

She shattered — a climax so violent her vision whited out. He roared — coming deep inside her, his wings snapping wide, the blue flames roaring.

They collapsed on the altar — panting, sweating. He held her — his wings folding around them.

- My tithe, — he whispered.
- My true bride.

- Yours, — Ruby breathed — wrecked, glowing.
- Mason.

He carried her upstairs — gently — and laid her in the black silk. He held her until she slept.

The dream-walking started in the second month. Ruby would fall asleep — and wake in a dreamscape. A garden — dark, lush, the air thick. And Ivan — waiting, his wings spread, his eyes gold.

- Ruby,
he'd say — his dream-voice honey and smoke.
- I've been hungry.

In dreams, he took her — without limits, without mercy. He'd spread her on the dream-grass — his mouth on her, his tongue relentless. He'd push into her — deep, hard — the dreamscape shuddering with every thrust.

- Come for me,
he'd order — and she would, screaming into the dream-sky.

She'd wake — gasping, soaked, her body aching — and Ivan would be there, holding her, his eyes knowing.

- Good dream?
he'd murmur.

- The best,
she'd whisper — and he'd take her again, in the waking world, his hunger endless.

One night, in the dreamscape, he did something new. He knelt — actually knelt — and looked up at her.

- Tonight,
he said quietly,
- you feed on me.

Ruby stared.
- What?

- Incubi can share.
His gold eyes held hers.
- Take my pleasure, Ruby. Feed.

She didn't know how — but her body knew. She pushed him back on the dream-grass — straddled him — and took him inside her. She rode him — slowly, deeply — feeling his pleasure build, feeling it flow into her.

- Yes, — Ivan groaned — his wings spreading on the grass.
- Take it. Take me.

She rode him harder — her hands on his chest, her eyes locked on his. She felt his climax building — felt it crest — and drank it, the pleasure flooding her, overwhelming.

They came together — screaming into the dream-sky — and woke tangled, gasping, the black silk damp.

- Did you— — Ruby whispered.

- Yes.
Ivan's eyes were soft, wondering.
- You fed on me.

- Was it— okay?

- It was incredible.
He kissed her — deep, slow.
- My bride. My equal.

After that, the feeding went both ways — sometimes he fed on her, sometimes she fed on him, sometimes they fed on each other, locked together, pleasure flowing both ways until they were both wrecked, glowing, one.

The village festival came in the autumn. The whole village climbed the hill — with offerings, with fear, with curiosity. Ruby stood beside Ivan on the manor steps — no longer the frightened tithe, but the incubus's bride. Confident. Claimed.

A young woman approached — hesitant.
- My lady — is he — is he kind?

Ruby looked at Ivan — his gold eyes on her, his hand on her waist. She smiled.

- He's mine, — she said simply.
- And I'm his. That's all that matters.

The woman nodded — slowly — and left her offering.

That night, Ivan took Ruby on the manor steps — where the village could see the candles, hear the echoes. He bent her over the stone railing — her dress around her waist — and pushed into her from behind.

- Let them hear, — he growled.
- Let them know you're mine.

She screamed — into the autumn night, the village lights below. He roared — his wings snapping wide, visible to all.

- My bride, — he whispered — holding her, the stars above.

- Your bride,
Ruby agreed.
- Mason.

The child came — impossibly, miraculously — in the fifth year. Half-incubus, half-human. A girl — gold-eyed, dark-winged.

Ivan held her — this ancient demon, undone.
- My daughter, — he whispered — tears on his face.
- Our daughter.

Ruby watched them — her demon, her baby — and felt her heart overflow.

- What do we name her? — she asked.

Ivan looked up — his gold eyes wet.
- Ash, — he said.
- Because she was made from it.

- Ash,
Ruby agreed — smiling through tears.
- Perfect.

That night — the baby sleeping — Ivan took Ruby slowly, reverently. His hands on her changed body — worshipful.

- You gave me everything, — he whispered.
- A bride. A daughter. A heart.

- You gave me everything, — Ruby said.
- A husband. A family. Mason.

They came together — soft, perfect — and held each other, the baby breathing softly.

- My tithe, — Ivan murmured.
- My bride. My Ruby.

- Yours, — Ruby whispered — already asleep.
- Mason.

Decades passed. Ash grew — bright, winged, loved. The manor stood — the hill, the candles, the hunger.

And every night — in the bedroom, in the chamber, in dreams — the incubus fed on his bride. And she fed on him. And they were one.

- Mine,
he'd whisper — his mouth on her, his wings around them.

- Yours,
she'd breathe.
- Mason.

Mason — a tithe paid in pleasure, a bride bound in hunger, a love that fed on ecstasy and gave back forever.

His. Hers. Mason.

The claiming ceremony was the Tithe's final night — the night Ruby became truly, irrevocably his.

Ivan prepared for a week — the chamber cleaned, the candles replaced, the altar draped in new black silk. Ruby watched — curious, nervous, excited.

- What are you doing? — she asked.

- Preparing, — Ivan said — his gold eyes serious.
- The claiming. It's — permanent. Deeper than the bond. It marks you. Mine. Mason. No one — not death, not time — can break it.

Ruby's breath caught.
- And if I say no?

- Then we don't.
He took her hands.
- You're my bride, Ruby. Not my prisoner. But I want — I need — you to be mine. Completely.

She looked at him — this demon, this husband, this love — and felt the truth in her blood.

- Yes, — she whispered.
- Claim me.

The ceremony was at midnight. Ivan led her down to the chamber — naked, her hair loose, the blue candles flaring. He laid her on the altar — gently, reverently.

- Repeat after me, — he said quietly.
- I, Ruby, give myself to Ivan. Body. Blood. Soul.

- I, Ruby,
- give myself to Ivan. Body. Blood. Soul. — she whispered

- Mason, — Ivan said.
- No return.

- Mason,
Ruby echoed.
- No return.

He bit his wrist — deep — blood welling dark. He pressed it to her lips.
- Drink.

She drank — his ancient blood, power and forever. Then he bit her throat — deeply — and drank from her. Their blood mingled — his in her, hers in him.

He pushed into her — slowly, deeply — their blood still flowing.
- Mine, — he growled — his eyes blazing gold.
- My claimed. My Ruby.

- Yours, — Ruby gasped — the blood loss, the pleasure, overwhelming.
- Claimed. Mason.

He moved — slow, deep, ritual — the blue flames flaring with every thrust. His wings wrapped around them — a dark cocoon. He fed on her pleasure — deeply, completely — while his blood remade her.

She came — screaming, her body arching off the altar — and felt the claiming lock into place. A mark — burning on her shoulder, his name in ancient script. Permanent.

He came — roaring, his wings snapping — and felt her lock around him, forever.

They lay on the altar — panting, bloody, bound.

- Look, — Ivan whispered — showing her the mark in a mirror.
His name — burned into her skin, gold on pale.

- Mine, — he said quietly.
- Mason.

- Yours, — Ruby breathed — touching the mark, tears falling.
- Mason.

He carried her upstairs — gently — and laid her in the black silk. He held her — his wings around them — until she slept.

She dreamed — of him, of hunger, of forever.

The mark changed things — deepened them. Ruby could feel him — always, his hunger, his love, his need. And he could feel her.

One night — months later — she woke hungry. Not for food. For him.

She found him in the study — reading, his gold eyes lifting. She crossed the room — naked, the mark glowing faintly — and straddled his lap.

- Ruby? — he asked — surprised.

- Quiet, — she whispered — and kissed him, deeply.
She unzipped him — took him inside her — and rode him, right there in the study.

- My bride, — Ivan groaned — his hands on her hips, guiding her.
- My hungry bride.

She fed on him — her body drinking his pleasure — while he fed on hers. They came together — screaming, the books rattling.

- Mine, — he growled.

- Yours, — she gasped.
- Mason.

After that, the hunger was mutual — wild, equal. She'd take him — in the hallway, on the stairs, in the garden. He'd take her — in dreams, in the chamber, on the roof.

They were insatiable — two halves, one hunger.

One full moon, they went to the village — together, openly. The villagers stared — the incubus and his marked bride, gold-eyed and glowing.

A child pointed.
- Mama — look!

Ruby smiled — and spread her own small wings. Dark. New. The claiming had given her wings.

The villagers gasped. Ivan laughed — proud, delighted — and spread his massive wings. They took off — together — soaring over the village, the moon silver.

- My bride, — Ivan whispered — mid-air, holding her.

- Your bride, — Ruby laughed — flying, free, his.
- Mason.

They landed on the manor roof — breathless, laughing — and made love under the moon, their wings tangled.

- Mason, — he growled.

- Mason, — she cried.

Centuries passed. The village became a town. The town became a city. The manor stood — the hill, the candles, the hunger.

And every night — the incubus and his bride, gold-eyed and winged — fed on each other. Pleasure for pleasure. Hunger for hunger. Love for love.

- Mine,
he'd whisper — his mark on her shoulder, his blood in her veins.

- Yours,
she'd breathe — her wings around him, her heart his.
- Mason.

Mason — a tithe, a claiming, a love that outlasted time.

His. Hers. Mason.

Ash's wedding was the happiest night of Ruby's eternal life.

Her daughter — gold-eyed, dark-winged, beautiful — had found her own love. A young incubus — respectful, smitten, terrified of Ivan. The ceremony was in the chamber — blue candles, black silk, ancient vows.

Ruby watched — tears on her face — as her daughter repeated the words she'd once said.
- I give myself. Body. Blood. Soul. Mason.

Ivan held Ruby's hand — tightly.
- Our girl, — he whispered.

- Our girl,
Ruby agreed — smiling through tears.

That night — the young couple in the east wing — Ivan took Ruby to the chamber. He laid her on the altar — gently, reverently — the blue candles flaring.

- My bride, — he whispered — his gold eyes soft.
- Mother of my child. Love of my eternity.

- My husband, — Ruby breathed.
- My demon. My forever.

He made love to her — slowly, tenderly — the altar warm beneath them. Then wildly — her screams echoing, his roars answering — their wings tangled, their pleasure shared.

- Mine, — he growled.

- Yours, — she cried.
- Mason.

They slept on the altar — tangled, sated — the blue candles burned low.

In the morning, Ash found them — laughed, covered her eyes.
- Parents!

Ivan grinned — unrepentant.
- You'll understand someday.

- I understand now,
Ash said — her young husband blushing behind her.
- Come on — breakfast.

They ate together — four immortals, one family — the manor sunny, the hill green.

Ruby looked around the table — her demon, her daughter, her new son — and felt her heart overflow.

- Thank you, — she whispered to Ivan — her hand in his.

- For what? — he asked.

- For choosing me. For the Tithe. For everything.

He kissed her hand — his gold eyes soft.
- Thank you for saying yes.

And in the manor on the hill — through centuries, through eternity — the incubus and his bride loved each other. Fiercely. Hungrily. Mason.

His tithe. His claimed. His Ruby.

Mason.

And when the world ended — as worlds do — and a new one began, the manor stood on its hill, the blue candles still burned, and the incubus still fed on his bride. For hunger fades, cities fall, and time devours all — but a Tithe paid in pleasure, a claiming sealed in blood, and a love that chose forever? Those endure.

His. Hers. Always.

Mine. Yours. Mason.

The Tithe is paid. The bride is claimed. The hunger is eternal — and so is the love that feeds it.

In the blue-candle chamber, on the altar, Ivan looked down at his marked bride and spoke the words.

- My mamacita, — he rumbled — honey and smoke, ancient and new.
- My claimed mamacita.

- Papacito, — Ruby whispered — the mark glowing faintly gold.
- My demon. My papacito.

His wings snapped wide — the blue flames roaring. He pushed into her — deep, hard — feeding on her gasp.

- My mamacita, — Ivan growled — his thrusts pounding, his hunger endless.
- Feed your papacito.

- Papacito, — she screamed — coming, the altar shaking.
- Take everything—

He roared — coming deep — and held her, wings folding.

- My mamacita, — he whispered.

- My papacito, — Ruby breathed.
- Mason.

The King's Glass Bride

Crimson was twenty-eight years old, and she had bought a haunted mirror.

The antique shop owner tried to warn her.
- That one — it's got a history. The last three owners—

- I'll take it, — Crimson said — drawn to the massive, black-framed mirror.
In the glass — for just a second — she'd seen eyes. Gold. Hungry.

She hung it in her bedroom. That night — she woke at 3 a.m. The mirror was glowing. And he was in it.

Tall. Dark. Beautiful. Gold eyes. Dark wings. His hand pressed against the glass — from the inside.

- Crimson, — he said — her name like honey and smoke.
- Enzo me.

- Who—
Her breath caught.
- What are you?

- Owen. Incubus. King.
His smile showed fangs.
- Bound in this mirror a hundred years. You're —
He inhaled.
- You're the first who's seen me.

- How do I free you? — Crimson whispered — already moving toward the glass.

- Blood.
His gold eyes held hers.
- Your blood. On the glass. Willingly given.

She should have been afraid. She wasn't. She pricked her finger — a sewing needle — and pressed it to the mirror.

The glass rippled — like water. His hand came through — real, warm — and grabbed her wrist. He pulled — and stepped out of the mirror. Into her bedroom. Into her life.

- Enzo, — Owen breathed — his wings unfolding, massive in her small bedroom.
- A hundred years.
He looked at her — gold eyes blazing.
- My freer. My Crimson.

- You're—
She stared.
- Real.

- Very real.
He crossed the room — slowly, deliberately — and cupped her face.
- And very hungry. A hundred years without feeding.

Crimson's breath caught.
- Christopher on me.

- Crimson—

- Christopher on me, Owen.
She pulled him down — kissing him wildly.
- Please.

He did — his mouth on her throat, his hands tearing her nightgown. He laid her on the bed — his wings spreading — and his mouth was between her legs before she could breathe.

He ate her like a starving king — his tongue relentless, his hunger a century deep. She screamed — coming within minutes — and he fed, his eyes glowing.

- More, — he growled.
- Give me more, Crimson.

He brought her again — and again — his mouth insatiable. She sobbed — overwhelmed, euphoric.

- Please, — she whispered.
- Owen—

He crawled up her body — his cock hard, thick — and pushed into her — one deep stroke. She screamed — at the stretch, at the fullness, at the reality.

- Mine, — Owen growled — his wings beating.
- My freer. My Crimson.

- Yours, — Crimson gasped.
- Christopher on me—

He took her — hard, fast — a century of hunger unleashed. She came — screaming — and he roared — coming deep inside her.

He held her — panting, his wings folding.
- My queen, — he whispered.
- My Crimson.

- Yours, — Crimson breathed.
- Marco.

The mirror stayed — in her bedroom, dark now, empty. But Owen stayed too — in her bed, in her life. He fed on her — every night, his hunger endless, her pleasure his food.

- You're mine,
he'd growl — his mouth on her, his wings around them.

- Yours,
she'd gasp.
- Marco.

One night — a month later — the mirror glowed again. Crimson woke — Owen already standing, his eyes narrow.

- What? — she whispered.

- Someone's calling.
He touched the glass — rippled.
- My brother. Another incubus. He wants —

The glass showed a face — like Owen's, but colder.
- Brother,
it sneered.
- I see you've found a — pet.

- She's my queen, — Owen growled.

- Then I'll take her.
The face smiled.
- When I get out.

Owen smashed his fist into the mirror — cracks spiderwebbing.
- Never.

But the cracks — they spread. And that night — the brother came through. Into Crimson's bedroom.

- Crimson,
Owen roared — throwing himself between them.

The fight was brutal — two incubus kings, wings tearing, blood black. Crimson watched — terrified — then grabbed a shard of mirror glass.

She moved — fast — and drove it into the brother's back. He screamed — staggering — and Owen tore his throat out.

Silence. Blood. Then Owen turned — holding her, shaking.

- My warrior queen, — he whispered.
- My Crimson.

- Yours, — Crimson breathed — bloody, victorious.
- Marco.

He carried her to bed — gently — and made love to her. Slowly. Tenderly. Healing.

- I thought I'd lost you, — he whispered.

- Never.
She cupped his face.
- I'm yours.

They came together — soft, perfect — and slept tangled, his wings around them.

Owen destroyed the mirror — shattered it, burned the shards.
- No more, — he said.
- No more bindings.

But he kept one shard — small, on a chain around Crimson's neck.
- So you remember, — he said.
- You freed a king.

- I freed my husband,
Crimson corrected — smiling.

They married — in her bedroom, at midnight, the shard witness. Vows — ancient, binding.

- I take you,
- as my queen, my freer, my love. — Owen said

- I take you,
- as my king, my incubus, my love. — Crimson said

That night — he took her on the bedroom floor, among rose petals. Slowly. Reverently. Then wildly — her screams, his roars.

- Mine, — he growled.

- Yours, — she cried.
- Marco.

Years passed. The shard stayed — around her neck, warm. Owen stayed — in her bed, in her heart.

And every night — the mirror king fed on his queen. And she — willingly, hungrily — fed him.

- My Crimson,
he'd whisper — his mouth on her.

- My Owen,
she'd breathe.
- Marco.

Marco — a mirror, a king, a queen who freed him.

His. Hers. Marco.

The first week of freedom was a blur of hunger and heat.

Owen fed — constantly, desperately — making up for a century of starvation. Crimson gave — willingly, endlessly — her body his feast.

He took her everywhere — the bed, the shower, the kitchen counter, the living room floor. His mouth — insatiable. His hands — everywhere. His cock — always hard, always hungry.

- You're going to kill me, — Crimson gasped one morning — wrecked, glowing, sprawled on the kitchen table.

- Never.
Owen kissed her forehead — his gold eyes soft.
- You're my queen. I protect what I feed on.

He carried her to bed — gently — and held her while she slept. He watched her — this woman, this freer — and felt something he'd never felt in a thousand years.

Gratitude. Wonder. Love.

- My Crimson, — he whispered — to her sleeping form.

She smiled in her sleep — and reached for him.

The learning was mutual. Crimson taught Owen the modern world — phones, cars, coffee. He taught her — his world, his hunger, his history.

- A thousand years, — he said one night — holding her, the city lights through the windows.
- I've been — a lot of things. A god. A demon. A monster.
He looked down at her.
- You've made me — a man.

- You're still a monster,
Crimson teased — smiling.

- Your monster.
He kissed her deeply.
- Marco.

He showed her — his power, his past. He took her flying — over the city, his wings strong, her arms around his neck, screaming with delight.

- You're insane! — she laughed — the wind in her hair.

- You're mine!
he roared — diving, soaring.

They landed on a skyscraper roof — breathless, laughing — and made love under the stars, the city oblivious below.

- My queen, — he growled — his wings around them.

- My king, — she gasped.
- Marco.

The hunger rituals became their language. Every night — he'd kneel before her — this ancient king, humbled — and ask.

- May I feed, my queen?

And she'd — his Crimson, his love — open her arms.
- Always.

He'd worship her — slowly, reverently — his mouth, his hands. Then he'd take her — wildly, hungrily — his king's need unleashed.

They were — king and queen, demon and woman, hunger and love.

One night — Crimson woke to find him gone. The bed empty. Panic — then she heard it. The shower. She found him — under the water, his head bowed, his wings drooping.

- Owen? — she whispered.

He looked up — his gold eyes haunted.
- I dreamed, — he said quietly.
- Of the mirror. A hundred years. Alone.

She stepped into the shower — clothes and all — and held him. The water pounded. He shook.

- You're free, — she whispered.
- I'm here. You're not alone.

He clung to her — this ancient king, broken.
- Don't leave me, — he whispered — the words raw, childlike.

- Never.
She kissed him — deeply.
- I'm yours. Marco.

He took her — in the shower, against the tile — slowly, desperately, like she might vanish. She held him — tightly — anchoring him.

- I'm here, — she gasped — as he moved inside her.
- I'm real. I'm yours.

They came together — softly, tears mingling with water — and held each other long after.

- My Crimson, — he whispered.
- My home.

- Your home,
she agreed.
- Marco.

The mirror shard became her armor. Crimson wore it always — and discovered — it had power. She could see — through glamour, through lies. She could — when angry — cut.

A mugger learned — one night, a knife, Crimson alone. She touched the shard — and the mugger saw — her eyes gold, her shadow winged. He ran — screaming.

Owen found her — shaking, exhilarated.
- Are you—

- I'm fine.
She smiled — fierce.
- Your queen protects herself.

He laughed — proud, delighted — and took her right there, in the alley.
- My fierce queen, — he growled — pushing into her against the brick.

- Your queen, — she gasped — coming hard, fast.

They never spoke of it. But after — he taught her. To fight. To fly. To be — what she was becoming.

Not human. Not demon. Something new. His.

The coronation was his idea — a year after freedom. He took her to the old place — ruins, in a desert, where he'd once been king.

- Kneel, — he said quietly — in the broken throne room, under stars.

She knelt — in a black dress, the shard glowing. He placed a crown — black metal, ancient — on her head.

- I, Owen,
he said — his voice ringing,
- crown Crimson — my freer, my love — Queen of my heart, my hunger, my forever.

She stood — crowned, glowing — and kissed him deeply.

- ...