Rosearia’s eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous crimson.
"Fine." A faint, lethal smile touched her lips. "But if I have to earn your secrets..." Her gaze flicked directly to his, burning with sudden intensity. "...you’d better be prepared to earn mine."
"Very well, then," Asmodeus said, his low voice vibrating right against her chest.
"Since you know I’ve been faking unconsciousness," she murmured, "you can let go of me now. I can walk perfectly fine."
"And what if I decide not to?" Asmodeus ran his tongue slowly over his full lower lip, his dark blue eyes gleaming with predatory mischief.
Rosearia’s brow twitched. "Well, then... I suppose you’ll just have to deal with the consequences."
Before he could ask what she meant, Rosearia deliberately let her body go completely limp in his arms.
Then she began to tremble. Her shoulders shook delicately, her breath catching in soft, pitiful hitches against his neck.
"I-I don’t feel so good..." she whimpered, burying her face in the warm crook of his neck. She pressed her nose against his feverish skin, putting on the performance of a lifetime. "My head is spinning so fast..."
Asmodeus stopped dead in his tracks. A heavy silence settled over the deserted corridor.
"Are you seriously doing this right now?" he asked flatly.
Rosearia’s lips twitched against the sensitive skin of his collarbone, her warm breath fanning across his pulse point. "Doing what?"
Asmodeus looked down at her. For the first time all night, the grand, untouchable Demon God looked genuinely, utterly exasperated.
Rosearia peeked up through her lashes, offering him a blindingly sweet, innocent smile. "You took me from Adrian, didn’t you? So carry me."
Her delicate fingers curled lightly into the lapel of his silk coat, tugging him just an inch closer.
Asmodeus stared at her for three long, agonizing seconds. Then a low, husky sigh escaped his chest. "Fine. I suppose I can indulge my fragile mate."
He shifted his grip beneath her thighs, pulling her flush against his chest so tightly she could feel the heavy, erratic thud of his heart.
Rosearia blinked. Iactually expected him todropme. The last time he’d held her, he had let go without a second thought.
"You’re surprisingly obedient," she teased softly.
"I wouldn’t call it obedience."
"What would you call it?"
"Indulgence." Asmodeus flicked a dark glance down at her lips. "You’ve been pretending to be a helpless little flower for so long that I’m curious to see just how far you’ll push the act... before I break it."
Her smile faltered slightly.
There it is again. The danger. The heat. He knew she was playing him, but instead of stopping her, he was letting her trap herself.
"Since you know I’m pretending," Rosearia whispered, leaning closer to his ear, "take me somewhere more interesting than that gloomy fortress."
"Is that so?"
"I don’t want to go back there yet."
"Why?"
"It’s boring."
A faint, wicked curve touched Asmodeus’s lips. "You’ve never even stepped inside my bedchamber."
"Might not make a difference."
A low, rumbling laugh vibrated from his chest straight into hers. "And where, pray tell, would your ladyship prefer to be taken?"
Rosearia shrugged casually, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the silver buttons of his coat. "I don’t know. Why don’t you take me somewhere... forbidden?"
Asmodeus went quiet for a moment. His dark eyes deepened, swirling with raw magic. "I suppose I do have an appointment to keep."
She studied his razor-sharp jawline. "Where?"
"An auction."
Her eyes lit with a genuine, dangerous spark. "An auction?"
"Now that sounds like fun."
"I thought you’d say that."
"And you’re taking me?"
"You begged me to carry you, didn’t you?"
Rosearia smirked, pressing her cheek back against his shoulder. "Then take me, my Lord."
The shadows swallowed them whole, and the journey carried them far beyond the border of the Imperial Capital. By the time Asmodeus brought them to a halt, the polished cobblestone streets of the Empire had vanished completely, replaced by jagged obsidian cliffs under a blood-red sky.
A massive iron gate guarded the pass between two mountains, its surface carved with ancient, glowing runes that writhed like living snakes whenever Rosearia tried to look at them directly.
Beyond the gate lay a realm of pure sin.
Lanterns of violet fire floated lazily above winding alleyways. Masked demons, high-tier warlords, and shadow brokers glided between towering stone structures. Witches hawked glowing, forbidden potions, while strange, terrifying beasts walked alongside nobles draped in sheer silk and jewels.
It was chaotic. Beautiful. Intoxicatingly deadly.
Rosearia stared, her lips slightly parted in awe. "This place is..."
"Different?"
"Magnificent."
Asmodeus glanced down at her, his eyes lingering on her parted lips before he offered a knowing smirk. "I knew you’d appreciate a little darkness."
They entered an opulent obsidian palace at the heart of the hidden city. Unlike the wild streets outside, the interior dripped with suffocating wealth — black marble floors polished to a mirror finish, gold pillars wrapped in dragon scale, and grand chandeliers wrought from crushed starlight.
Every patron inside wore an elaborate mask to hide their identity. Asmodeus didn’t bother with one. Neither did Rosearia.
No one dared challenge them. In fact, the instant Asmodeus stepped through the archway, conversations died like cut threads. Heads turned. Whispers erupted like wildfire.
"The Demon God..."
"Is that really Lord Asmodeus?"
"Who is the woman in his arms?"
"Look at the strange veins in her body... that’s the Cursed Rose!"
Rosearia caught every single whisper, but maintained an expression of absolute, regal indifference. Asmodeus ignored them entirely, escorting her into a lavish VIP box suspended directly above the main auction stage.
He settled smoothly into a plush velvet throne, effortlessly pulling Rosearia down into his lap.
Rosearia gasped softly as her hips met his solid thighs. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting," Asmodeus drawled, his large hand settling heavily over her waist, his thumb stroking the curve of her hip through her dress. "You said you wanted to be carried."
Rosearia’s breath hitched at the sudden, burning contact, but before she could push him back, the heavy doors to their private box glided open.
A woman walked in carrying a silver goblet.
She was breathtaking — cascading raven hair, porcelain skin, deep brown eyes, and a revealing dress of midnight silk that left almost nothing to the imagination. She glided toward Asmodeus with an intimate, sickening familiarity.
"Lord Asmodeus," the woman called softly, her voice dipping like warm honey as her eyes swept over his body. "It has been far too long."
Asmodeus barely spared her a glance, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing patterns on Rosearia’s hip. "Has it?"
The woman’s seductive smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before recovering. "I’ve missed serving you, my Lord." She offered the silver goblet with both hands, leaning forward to expose her deep cleavage. "Your favorite vintage."
Rosearia’s sharp senses caught the heavy, metallic scent floating from the goblet. Pure, virgin blood.
Finally, the woman turned her gaze onto Rosearia, her eyes flashing with instant jealousy. "Ah. So this is the famous Cursed Rose."
Rosearia leaned back against Asmodeus’s chest, her tone dripping with sweet venom. "So my reputation precedes me."
"Everyone in the Underworld is talking about you." The woman took a step closer, sniffing the air subtly before letting out a patronizing laugh. "Hmm. No magical aura. And you smell... so painfully human."
Rosearia remained silent, her eyes turning to pure, lethal ice.
The woman leaned closer to Asmodeus, ignoring Rosearia entirely. "I prepared this personally, my Lord. I remembered exactly how you like to take your pleasures." Find the original chapter at novelping dot com.
She held the goblet directly to his lips. Asmodeus raised his hand, his long fingers reaching out to take it. The woman shot Rosearia a smug, triumphant smirk over her shoulder.
"Oh." Rosearia’s pupils contracted. So that’s the game we’re playing.
This woman thought she owned him. She thought she possessed some sacred, intimate privilege because she knew his dark cravings. And Rosearia had never, ever tolerated another woman marking territory in front of her.
Asmodeus’s fingertips brushed the silver stem of the goblet.
Rosearia moved.
CRASH!
With a lightning-fast swing of her leg, Rosearia kicked the silver goblet right out of the woman’s hands. It exploded against the marble wall, splashing thick, dark crimson liquid all over the woman’s pristine dress.
Silence crashed over the room like a dropped blade.
The woman shrieked, staring down at her ruined dress in utter horror before whipping her head around. "You crazy bitch! What do you think you—"
Rosearia didn’t let her finish.
She spun around in Asmodeus’s lap, grabbed him by his silk lapels, and yanked the Demon God violently down to her level. Asmodeus’s eyes widened in genuine, stunned shock — a look she had never once seen on his face.
Rosearia locked her lips onto his.
The air in the room vanished. A collective gasp echoed from the doorway as the servants froze in terror.
It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t timid, hesitant, or soft. It was possessive and demanding — a raw declaration of ownership, a challenge, and a promise all wrapped into one. She bit his lower lip lightly, tasting the metallic hint of his power, forcing him to open for her.
For one breathless second, Asmodeus remained completely paralyzed beneath her assault.
Then a dark, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his throat.
His large hand slammed into the back of her hair, entangling his fingers in her locks, while his other arm wrapped around her waist like an iron vise, crushing her body flush against his chest. He took control of the kiss, turning it brutal, deep, and intoxicatingly intense.
Rosearia’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping her throat that he instantly drank down. Her senses exploded — his scent, his heat, his overwhelming power crashing over her like a tidal wave.
"Well." Her mind spun wildly. That went... way hotter than planned.
When he finally released her lips, a thin, silver thread parted between them. Both of them were breathing heavily, their chests heaving against one another.
Rosearia looked down at him.
His arrogant, amused smirk was completely obliterated. The Demon God was staring up at her, the darkness in his eyes burning. The wild hunger in his gaze was enough to melt steel.
Rosearia’s heart hammered violently against her ribs — not out of fear, but out of a sudden, dangerous thrill that shot straight down her spine.
The servant woman was shaking in utter humiliation, her face pale as a sheet.
Rosearia slowly turned her head toward her. Then, with deliberate, torturous slowness, she hooked two fingers under the collar of her dress and slid the fabric down, exposing the smooth, milky slope of her shoulder and the delicate curve of her neck.
She looked right back down into Asmodeus’s burning eyes, her voice dropping into a breathless, sultry whisper. "I don’t like you drinking filthy, second-rate blood from a cup." She shot the trembling woman an ice-cold, dismissive glance before meeting Asmodeus’s gaze again. "If you’re thirsty, my Lord... why don’t you bite straight into your sweetheart instead?"
The servant woman let out a strangled gasp and fled the room in tears.
Asmodeus stared up at the exposed, flawless pulse point on Rosearia’s neck. His chest heaved.
Then, slowly... his lips parted, revealing the sharp, glinting tips of his lethal fangs.
Rosearia’s breath caught. Her artificial confidence faltered — just a fraction.
Asmodeus’s grip on her waist tightened until there was no space left between them. He leaned up, pressing his warm lips against the fluttering pulse on her neck, his sharp fangs grazing lightly against her skin.
His voice dropped into a dark, rough rumble that sent shivers straight to her core.
"How on earth am I supposed to refuse an invitation like that, my sweet Rosearia?"
Rosearia.
Not Rose. Not the name they had given her.
Her pupils dilated as the point of his fangs pressed harder against her vein.
Wait... how does he know? Or rather, how much does he really know about her?