The Demon Lord's Mate

Come With Me

The next morning was no different from any other, though Ali wished with every bone in her body that it could be. She woke to the familiar heaviness pressing down on her chest, the exhaustion in her limbs making it a struggle just to roll out of bed. Her sleep had been broken, haunted again by visions of him—the tall shadowed man whose burning eyes never stopped watching her. She could still feel his warmth where he had touched her the night before, healing her wound. It was almost worse than the pain had been, that reminder of someone who didn’t belong in her world yet refused to leave it.

But there was no time to linger on the thought. She had work.

She trudged through the streets, pulling her jacket tighter around her thin frame, the morning chill seeping into her bones. The smell of oil, fried food, and damp pavement greeted her as she stepped into the diner where she worked. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the familiar sounds of clattering dishes, sizzling pans, and raised voices filled the cramped space.

Her boss was already in the kitchen, barking orders at the other workers. A stocky man with a permanent scowl, he had never shown her an ounce of kindness in the years she’d worked under him. To him, she was disposable—a tool to be used until it broke. And today, she could tell by the dark look in his eyes that his patience had worn especially thin.

Ali tied her apron and slipped behind the counter, forcing herself to move with precision despite the ache in her body. She wasn’t feeling well—her stomach churned, and her head throbbed where it had struck the counter the night before. But she swallowed the discomfort. She had no choice but to endure.

She had been working only an hour when it happened.

Her hands trembled as she plated orders, the sounds of customers shouting for their food blurring in her ears. She reached for the eggs sizzling on the stove, but her grip slipped. The yolks burned too long, turning rubbery and bitter. In her rush to salvage them, she dropped the pan with a clatter, sending shards of two plates shattering across the kitchen floor.

The noise drew the boss instantly.

He stormed toward her, face red, fury radiating off him in waves. “Are you stupid?” he spat, his voice carrying over the kitchen noise.

Ali froze, heart hammering. “Sir, I—”

He didn’t let her finish. His hand shot out, gripping her hair and yanking it so hard she cried out. Her body bent backward under the force, pain shooting through her scalp. She whimpered, trying to steady her breath.

“Don’t you f*****g dare, girl,” he growled, his face inches from hers, his hot, sour breath making her stomach turn. “You’ve cost me eggs, plates, and time! You think this place has money to waste on your incompetence?”

Before she could respond, he shoved her hard.

Her small frame slammed into the counter’s edge, the sharp corner cracking against her temple. She gasped, vision blurring as pain blossomed across her skull. Her knees buckled, and she hit the tiled floor with a dull thud.

“I’ll pay for it!” she whimpered, her voice high and desperate. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but she forced herself not to sob. She knew it would only enrage him further.

Her boss snarled, looming over her. “No. I’m done with you.”

He grabbed her by the hair again, yanking her upright so violently her neck ached. Ali cried out, her tears finally spilling. Her knees trembled as she struggled to stay standing under his grip.

And then—

The temperature in the kitchen plummeted.

A black mist seeped into the corners of the room, curling along the floor like tendrils of smoke. The lights above flickered, then dimmed, casting the kitchen in shadow. Every sound seemed to still—the sizzling of oil, the clatter of dishes, the chatter from the dining area—gone in an instant, as though the world itself had been muted.

The boss froze, his grip on Ali’s hair loosening slightly. His eyes darted around, wild and panicked. “What the hell—”

The mist swirled violently, and from it, a figure emerged.

Tall. Towering. Cloaked in black that shifted like a living shadow. His eyes burned with a faint, otherworldly glow, pinning the boss in place like a predator sizing up prey. The Demon Lord’s presence filled the kitchen, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

Ali knew him instantly.

He was no longer a dream. No longer a presence confined to the four walls of her room. He was here, real, undeniable.

The Demon Lord’s gaze shifted slowly, deliberately, from Ali to the man gripping her hair. His expression darkened.

“Who are you? What are you?” the boss stammered, voice shaking as he stumbled back a step.

The Demon Lord’s lip curled in disgust. His voice, when he spoke, was a low growl that vibrated through the walls themselves.

“Your worst f*****g nightmare.”

The boss swallowed, his face paling.

The Demon Lord stepped closer, his cloak trailing across the floor like spilled ink. His gaze dropped to the man’s hand, still tangled in Ali’s hair. His eyes narrowed, and his voice deepened, dangerous and cold.

“So I suggest,” he said slowly, each word carrying the weight of a threat, “you get your filthy hands off my mate before I break them off.”

Ali’s breath caught.

Mate.

The word rang in her ears, dizzying, confusing. She barely had time to process it before her boss, shaking, released her immediately. She stumbled back, clutching at her scalp where strands of her hair had torn free. Her body trembled, not just from pain but from the sheer intensity of the presence standing before her.

The Demon Lord stepped forward, looming over the boss, who was now pale and sweating, his bravado gone.

“You dare lay hands on her?” the Demon Lord growled. His eyes flared brighter, and the air grew colder still. “You think yourself powerful? That you can harm what is mine?”

“I—I didn’t know—” the boss stuttered, his voice cracking.

The Demon Lord’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s wrist with such force the boss cried out. The sickening sound of bones straining under pressure filled the air.

Ali, wide-eyed, stumbled forward. “Wait—stop!”

The Demon Lord turned his burning gaze to her, his grip still crushing the man’s wrist. His expression softened ever so slightly at her voice, but his eyes remained sharp.

“He dared to hurt you,” he said, as though that were reason enough for death.

Ali’s breath trembled. “Please… don’t kill him. Please.”

For a long moment, the Demon Lord did not move. The boss whimpered in pain, his knees buckling. Finally, with a guttural growl, the Demon Lord released him. The man collapsed to the floor, cradling his mangled wrist, his face twisted in pain and terror.

The Demon Lord didn’t spare him another glance. His gaze returned to Ali, scanning her for injury.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, stepping closer.

Ali swallowed, her chest heaving. “Of course I’m trembling—you can’t just—”

“I can. And I will.” His tone was sharp, but the words carried a fierce undercurrent of protectiveness. “Anyone who dares lay a hand on you will answer to me.”

Ali shook her head, her thoughts spinning. “Mate? Why would you call me that?”

His gaze softened in a way she hadn’t seen before. His voice, though still rough, dropped lower.

“Because that is what you are.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. The kitchen seemed to spin around her. The Demon Lord reached out, his massive hand cupping her cheek gently—so gentle it contrasted violently with the raw power he had just displayed.

“You don’t see it yet,” he murmured. “But I do. You were never meant for this world that chews you up and spits you out. You were meant for me.”

Ali’s heart pounded, her body caught between fear and something far more dangerous—something that made her chest ache.

Her boss scrambled to his feet then, backing toward the door, but the Demon Lord’s eyes flicked to him once more, freezing him in place.

“Leave,” he snarled. “And pray I never see your face again.”

The man fled without another word, his cries echoing through the kitchen as the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ali could barely breathe.

The Demon Lord’s hand dropped from her cheek, but his eyes never left hers.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Why are you doing this?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“Because you are mine. And you are coming with me, Ali.”

“But…” She tried to protest.

“It’s not what you think, alright?” He interrupted her gruffly.

“So you’re not trying to secretly steal my soul?” She murmured.

“f*****g hell, Ali. No. You’re my mate, it’s not a ploy. Why would I go out of my way to save you from that filthy man just to steal your soul? If I really just wanted your soul, I would’ve taken both yours and his, but I didn’t.” He huffed defensively.

“That’s really reassuring.” She scoffed softly. Sarcasm heavy in her tone.

The Demon Lord ignored the sarcasm. “Look, I mean it. I just to give you a better life. With me, maybe.” He said in an uncharacteristically awkward manner.

“I don’t even know your name.” She said.