"Monsters don't get to wake up in soft beds. They wake up in the dark, gasping for air, with blood in their mouth and ghosts under their skin."

Daniel woke up gasping, lungs tight, ribs screaming.

His body wasn't just in pain.

It was empty.

A deep, marrow-deep hollowness gnawed at him, way worse than any wound. His limbs felt too heavy, like they were chained to something beneath the earth. His chest burned with every breath, but the fire didn't come from his lungs-it came from absence. From something ripped out of him.

He was magic-drained.

It wasn't like bleeding. It was like being bled dry from the inside out. His soul felt scraped raw, his veins humming with static magic where power used to flow. His head throbbed with a phantom pressure, and the world around him seemed a beat too slow, like the air couldn't reach him fast enough.

He pressed his hand to his side, feeling the sticky warmth of fresh blood.

Shit.

He didn't need to see the wound. He already knew it wasn't the worst thing killing him.

Because pain fades.

But this?

This kind of emptiness eats you alive.

Even the walls were alive. Not with life. Not with warmth. But with something else - something buried in the stone constantly watching him.

The silver veins woven into the walls pulsed faintly, their glow shifting with his heartbeat. When he exhaled sharply, one of the runes flickered, just for a second, just enough to remind him that it wasn't a prison built to contain a man.

It was built to contain something worse.

This wasn't a cell but a cage.

Then came the scent of burnt incense and bad decisions.

Zayn appeared.

Not walked. Not floated.

Manifested.

All black. A swirling ball of power and Dirhem, fur spiked out like he'd just been licked by lightning and liked it. His body was wrong, too soft for something that snarled. Cat ears twitched atop his head like twin blasphemies.

A grin split his face. All jagged purple teeth, dripping with amusement, black wicked tongue and no mercy. When he smiled, it wasn't affection-it was mischief before violence.

And those eyes?

Amethyst.

Glowing like cursed jewels, sharp enough to slice through guilt and too clever to trust.

Eyes that looked like they were offering a contract with the devil... and laughing because you were dumb enough to read the fine print.

He leaned forward, claws tapping the air, tail swishing like a blade in heat.

"Still breathing?" he purred, voice a slur between delight and disdain. "Shame. I had money on you finally croaking. I'm bored of babysitting meat."

Daniel didn't look at him. His ribs screamed. Blood leaked like betrayal. He pressed his hand to the wound.

Warm. Wet. Deep.

Not healing. At all.

Zayn hovered like smoke with teeth. "You feel it, don't you? That creeping crawl inside your bones. The way your magic's turning on you like a bitch in heat."

Daniel ground his teeth. "Leave it, Zayn."

"Oh yeah," Zayn snapped, flailing a transparent miniature hand. "Sure, because you're so clearly in control. Bleeding out like a heroine. Fuck's sake, Daniel."

The Dirhem stirred - ancient, ageless, currently pretty much useless.

You are just a vessel that leaks. A throne that tilts. You utterly disgrace me.

Daniel winced. "Not now."

Not now? The Dirhem's voice coiled inside his skull like silk and strangulation.

I am always. You are temporary.

Zayn rolled his eyes. "Here we go. The eternal asshole awakens."

Daniel muttered, voice low, proper, venomous: "Zayn. You stay out of this."

Yes, ghost. Scurry back to your little grave. This is between me and what remains of your friend.

"Oh bite me," Zayn snapped. "You're just a glorified parasite with a god complex and no dick. Daniel's the one doing the bleeding, not you."

The Dirhem sneered. Well he wouldn't be bleeding if he let me out.

"I did let you out. And you nearly gutted a child."

Because the child had a knife. And you had hesitation.

Zayn waved a hand through Daniel's head like he was swatting smoke. "Great. One of you wants to kill toddlers, the other wants to die from internal bleeding. Real leadership material."

Daniel pressed harder against his ribs. His palm came away slick.

"You're burning out," Zayn said, quieter now. "Dirhem or not. If you don't get it together-"

"I said shut up."

Let him speak. Maybe I'll finally be entertained before your body collapses like the coward it is.

Zayn growled. "You're all bark for something that needs a corpse to move."

And you? You're a punchline pretending to be a haunting.

Zayn's grin turned sharp, wicked. "Yeah? Still the only thing in this room with a working brain."

Daniel groaned, blood pooling beneath him. "Please. Gods. Both of you."

The Dirhem chuckled-an old, bone-deep sound, like tombs cracking open inside him his whole soul writhed

Then-

The iron door scraped open.

Daniel went still.

Zayn vanished like a shadow doused in salt.

And the Dirhem hissed.

A mage entered-robes crisp, expression detached. His hands glowed faintly, his fingers crackling with Dirhal.

A medic.

A detached one.

"Hold him."

Hands grabbed Daniel's arms.

He jerked instinctively, but too late.

A glass ampule snapped behind him.

A needle sank into his skin.

The burn hit immediately.

Cold fire rushed through his veins.

Daniel sucked in a breath as his body locked up, magic coiling inside him, weakening, suffocating.

The mage stepped back. "The Dirhem's recklessness has caused internal bleeding. His body won't last at this rate."

Daniel's vision blurred. The room swayed. "Finally," he thought dully.

But then, Profaci's voice.

Calm. Bored. Unconcerned.

"He'll work with it."

The mage hesitated. "Sir, I... We should be hiring an enchanted Mage for him -one of the healing branch. At this rate, his body will-"

Profaci cut him off. "I don't want him recovered."

Silence.

The mage hesitated, his fingers twitching over his satchel, where enchanted tools lay untouched.

"Sir but if you don't let him heal properly, his body will begin rejecting the suppressants."

Profaci didn't even blink. "That's not my problem."

"If the Dirhem survives and the body doesn't-"

Profaci's gaze darkened. "That's the idea."

The Dirhem shuddered inside him, hearing those words. And for once?

It did not fight him.

It listened.

Because for the first time, they had a common enemy.

For the first time, the Dirhem hesitated.

Yes, It wanted control. It wanted to tear through Daniel's body, burn his mind to nothing, take over and never let go.

But if Daniel died-truly, finally died-it would not be free.

Profaci would not let it be free.

The branding on Daniel's skin wasn't just a claim of ownership.

It was a seal.

Profaci had never wanted Daniel. He had never cared about the body at all.

He wanted what lived inside it.

He wanted to take the Dirhem, not just unleash it. To consume it. To absorb it. To kill it.

And the Dirhem? It had no interest in dying. Even if it meant working with the boy it loathed.

For now.

The mage swallowed, "Quadruple the dosage."

Daniel barely had time to breathe before,

Four.

Four injections.

Back to back.

The Dirhem screamed in protest, clawing at the edges of Daniel's mind.

Get up. Fight. Kill them all.

"And get myself torn apart?"

Better that than this.

"Maybe. But not today."

Zayn flickered into view the second the mage left - dashing towards him as if offering a hug but ended up looking like he was laying down.

"You need to get the hell out of here."

"Brilliant plan," Daniel muttered. "I'll just walk out."

Zayn's glare could have peeled paint off a wall. "You cannot keep doing this."

"No shit."

Zayn growled. "You need to accept what you are."

Daniel sat heavily onto the bench. His fingers curled against his knee.

"You know what you are, don't you?"

Zayn's voice was quieter now.

Daniel didn't answer.

He didn't want to know.

Zayn exhaled sharply. "You're a Forbidden."

The word hit the air like a curse.

Daniel's stomach twisted.

He already knew.

He just didn't want to believe it.

Because Forbiddens didn't die easily.

Because Forbiddens could tame the darkest demons.

And because no one wanted that power controlled.

Daniel exhaled slowly. His ribs ached, his skin burned, his body felt like it was crumbling under the weight of too many wounds.

But his mind?

His mind was sharpening.

Profaci wanted him dead. The Dirhem wanted to take over. Zayn wanted him to be smart.

Fine.

He'd be all of it.

And when he was done?

Lemus would be nothing but smoke and ruin.

All he has to do is learn to control his magic but How?

Before Daniel could snap out of his trance, the heavy iron door scraped open. Again.

A rush of footsteps followed-delicate, quick, purposeful.

Then came the voices. Sweet. Trained. Coated in the kind of sugar that always came with poison.

The maids entered like a breeze wrapped in perfume and obligation, their chatter trailing behind them like smoke. They didn't look at him.

They never did.

But he saw them.

Wide eyes, quick lashes, lips tinted in temptation and duty. Girls trained to move like shadows in silk-present, pleasant, and conveniently forgettable.

Except he didn't forget.

He never did.

Their gazes flickered over his body when they thought he wasn't watching-like gamblers glancing at a rigged deck, equal parts fascination and fear. They tried to hide it under the mask of professionalism, but he knew that look.

The look of someone trying not to want what they couldn't afford.

He scanned them the way a merchant scans cheap velvet-looking for flaws, frays, and a buyer stupid enough to think it's silk. One of them-tall, nervous fingers-had the walk of someone raised in luxury but broken into servitude. Another-short, sharp-eyed-watched his every breath like she was taking inventory of sin.

Good.

He could work with that.

He was paid in stale nuts and a half-rotting fruit. But girls like these?

Girls like these gossiped. They whispered. And once in a while... they bought.

He could offer a taste. Just enough to get her hooked. Get a coin or two out of it-hell, even an extra ration. A shoulder touch here, a smirk there.

That's all it took.

The third girl had eyes like she wanted something probably getting indecently punished by him.

Perfect.

Let them look.

He had ribs cracked and skin peeling, but he could still seduce better than most men could stand upright.

"You need to bathe," one of them said briskly.

Daniel let them pull him up. He didn't fight. Wasn't worth the effort. They dragged him down the stone halls, past burning torches, through doors that hissed with magic as they opened.

The bathing chamber wasn't like the others.

This one reeked of intent. No grime-slicked walls or shared troughs of water. No, this was the special room-the one they only opened when someone was being packaged, not cleaned.

Gleaming marble lined the floor with embedded veins of enchanted silver that pulsed faintly with pain suppressing spells. Tall glass shelves lined the far wall, stacked with balms, oils, tinctures, and things he couldn't pronounce but had been rubbed on his skin enough to know they burned like hell and smelled expensive.

Every product here had a purpose - to soften, to lighten, to glow, to erase. Steam curled in lazy ribbons from a central pool etched with Dirhal runes.

The moment his foot touched the water, the surface shuddered. Heat coiled around his skin, and the ripples spread out in sharp, unnatural patterns. The Dirhem inside him growled, and the water reacted.

A single, violent ripple twisted away from him, distorting the reflection on the surface, warping the enchanted runes floating beneath. The water recognized his presence but it did not want him.

The attendants stepped back slightly.

They had seen this before.

Daniel sank into the bath, and the reaction intensified. The water did not settle. It curled toward him, then away. As if trying to reject him, as if caught between the heat of his body and the suppressing spells laced into the bath.

Pain-dulling spells.

Muscle relaxants.

Something that made his limbs just a little heavier.

Daniel exhaled. "It's resisting me."

One of the attendants whispered to another. "He's warping the Dirhal in it."

Not surprising.

The magic in the bath was meant to numb. But his Dirhem did not want to be tamed. The more it pushed back, the more the water rippled and twisted, darkening in places, clearing in others.

The Dirhem inside him laughed. Even the water knows we do not belong here.

He bit back a retort.

They didn't scrub him like they were paid to.

Their fingers skimmed, brushed, lingered. One sponge drag turned into a second pass, slower. The cloth slipped from collarbone to sternum with more grace than necessity, circling once-just to see. Another dipped lower, pausing just above the waistband of the linen towel, like she was waiting for him to flinch. Or growl. Or-God forbid-respond.

Daniel didn't move. Didn't blink. But his voice cut through the steam, cool and sharp.

"You're missing a spot. Or are we playing pretend now?"

The tallest girl flinched. The others giggled, but it was nervous, flirt-thin.

"Maybe you should be grateful someone's washing your back at all," one muttered, squeezing the cloth harder than needed. "Spoiled little whore can't even soap himself."

Daniel turned his head slowly, one brow raised. "I've killed people with less attitude than yours, darling."

Another girl laughed, but her hand stayed where it was, fingers grazing his shoulder blade like she was tracing the curve of something dangerous.

"You talk big for someone dripping oil and waiting to be gift-wrapped," she teased. But her eyes dropped to his chest, to the scar trailing down his ribs like a signature. That kind of damage didn't come from posing in bed sheets.

He tilted his head toward her without smiling. "You're one bold decision away from losing a hand, sweetheart."

Then, without a flicker of warning, he caught her wrist and yanked her into the water. She gasped-half shock, half breathless thrill-as the warm bath soaked her uniform, fabric clinging to her body. Her knees hit the bottom of the pool with a dull splash, her hands splayed against his chest.

The other two maids froze. One blinked, the other scowled-eyes sharp, visibly irritated not to be the one sinking into luxury alongside him. But neither said a word. No one wanted to break rank first. And Daniel? He didn't even look at them.

He was already too aware of the girl now kneeling between his legs, her fingers slick with soap, moving slowly-almost reverently-down his chest. The heat of her palm slid lower, just brushing below his navel.

He didn't flinch.

He pulled her fully into his lap.

The motion was fluid. Casual. Dominant in the way that said: You can test the goods, baby, but remember who owns the shelf. She didn't protest-just let herself be arranged like silk across his thighs, her breath catching in her throat as her hand stilled for a heartbeat.

She didn't flinch. Neither did the others.

The other two maids, resigned, stepped back into motion. One returned to his shoulders, working her thumbs into the tense muscle with practiced pressure, too forceful to be purely soothing. The other slid behind him, fingers in his hair now, working oil through the strands as if she could shampoo the war out of him.

He leaned back, eyelids lowering, letting them continue-not because he wanted it.

But because he knew what power looked like when it dripped like oil off his skin and made women wonder:

"How much does he cost when he starts charging?"

The other two girls were soon gone.

Perfume still clung to the steam. The door hadn't even cooled from their exit.

The third one-wet, half-bathed, silent-was climbing out of the pool, fingers clutching at the marble lip for balance, linen soaked through and skin flushed from proximity, not heat.

Daniel didn't even look up when he spoke.

"You forgot something."

She froze. Not in fear. Not quite. Just enough hesitation to betray interest.

Then she turned, met his gaze.

That was her mistake.

He reached out, fingers curling around her wrist-not hard, but absolute. She let herself be guided, dropped back into the water with a soft splash. The motion was seamless. Almost practiced.

Her uniform clung like second skin now, translucent in places where it shouldn't be.

She reached for the fabric at her chest, tried to gather it modestly, but he was already there-close, leaning in, head tilted like he was listening to the way her breath hitched.

His fingers brushed her collarbone.

Not urgent.

Not demanding.

Just claiming space that wasn't his.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to that sliver of exposed skin-slow, firm, mouth hot with reverence and ruin. Like he was tasting her, not kissing. Like she was a prayer he wasn't supposed to speak, so he bit the words down instead.

She shoved at him, but not hard. "You'll charge for that, won't you?" Her voice was tight. Uncertain. Almost breathless. "I don't even have a penny."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Water rolled down his temple. His voice was soft. Measured. "Just a meal," he said. "Nothing more."

Her expression shifted-equal parts dread and temptation. "You'll get me killed."

"Maybe," Daniel said, dragging his thumb across her wrist where his lips had just been. "But you'll die full."

She hesitated. He didn't.

"If you want it," he murmured, turning away, "you'll be in my room before I get dressed."

A pause.

Low. Final.

"I don't undress for anyone."

He didn't wait to see her reaction. Didn't ask again.

Because the moment ended because he ended it.

And the water behind him... rippled.

Not from magic.

From the way she stood there-still in the bath, still watching.

Still considering.

Word Count: 2988 words

A/N

Tell me, love-what did you think?

Because this unhinged little beast you tolerate (me, obviously) just ripped apart the original draft like a feral witch in a blackout. You remember the earlier Chapter Twos and Threes, right? Gone. Ashes. I rewrote the whole damn thing on a Wednesday night. Yes, I am losing it. And no, I have no regrets.

Anyway-

Daniel's breaking.

But is it enough? Should I crack him more? Shatter him until even the gods flinch?

This isn't just a one-time spiral. He'll be like this for the whole series. A boy held together by spells, suppressants, and sheer spite. He's not living-he's just breathing because someone needs his body as a vessel. Medication is survival now.

So, you better get used to Daniel and his weird medicines.

And if you've read the older version I just unpublished (soft sob), maybe you've guessed how they finally meet. I'm not changing that too much. Just... sharpening it.

So now I ask you:

What do you expect to happen next?

What do you want?

And here's something Daniel would probably whisper into the bathwater if he thought anyone was listening:

Have you ever worked yourself raw for something-bled, clawed, begged-and still been denied it?

Because he has.

Because I have.

And when he falls apart next time?

He won't be the one picking up the pieces.

You'll have Lysandra then.

So wait for me.

We're only getting started.

- Your Ethereal Lover
Serephina Liraen
🖤🖤🖤