Chapter 27- Control of a Devil

Her body was calling to him—those thick thighs begging to be spread, that soft stomach perfect for pressing down into the mattress while he mounted her from behind, those heavy tits made for grabbing while he pounded into her until she screamed.

He could do it. Right now.

She was unconscious. Defenseless. Her body was already primed—pussy soaked, nipples hard, skin flushed with arousal she’d never admit to.

It would be so easy to peel those panties down, spread her legs, and ’breed’ her. Mate press that thick body into the cushion of the bed and ravage her until she woke up mid-orgasm, confused and overwhelmed and completely ’his’.

Raven’s jaw clenched.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Then he turned away.

He grabbed the edge of the comforter and pulled it up over her body, covering her from chest to toe like he was tucking in a child.

Not because he was noble. Not because he gave a shit about consent in the traditional sense.

But because claiming her like this—when she couldn’t fight back, couldn’t ’hate’ him while he made her body submit—

That wasn’t interesting.

Raven leaned down, his hand bracing against the mattress beside her head as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

Soft. Gentle.

A mockery of tenderness.

"I hope you sleep well, Marla," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and intimate like he was whispering secrets to a lover.

Then he straightened and turned toward the rest of the room.

His eyes scanned the space with cold efficiency—dresser against the far wall, a small desk cluttered with papers, a bookshelf packed with academic texts.

Raven moved to the desk first, his fingers rifling through the scattered documents.

Bills. Lecture notes. Grading rubrics.

Nothing personal.

He pulled open the top drawer—pens, highlighters, sticky notes. The second drawer had folders labeled by semester. The third was locked.

’Interesting.’

Raven’s hand hovered over the lock for half a second before purple energy flickered around his fingers. The mechanism clicked softly, and the drawer slid open.

Inside were personal documents. Passport. Birth certificate. Old photographs.

Raven picked up the passport first, flipping it open.

’Marla Katherine Thornwood. Born: London, England.’

He set it aside and grabbed a manila folder stuffed with papers.

Bank statements showing a steady decline in family wealth over the past decade. Scholarship applications. Loan documents. A handwritten letter from her mother apologizing for not being able to help with tuition anymore.

Raven’s eyes skimmed the contents, his mind cataloging the information with mechanical precision.

’Family from London. Came to Prague for higher education. Lost their wealth—looks like her father’s business collapsed. She’s been supporting herself through teaching positions ever since.’

He found a few more photos—Marla as a teenager, standing beside an older couple who were probably her parents. Everyone smiling. Everyone looking comfortable in expensive clothes and well-maintained surroundings.

Before the fall.

There was a newspaper clipping tucked between two photos—an obituary for someone named Katherine Thornwood. Same last name. Probably a relative.

But nothing about trauma. Nothing about abuse or assault or any event that would explain why she hated men with the intensity her system profile suggested.

Just... a normal life. Ordinary. Boring.

’No interest in marriage. No romantic relationships listed in her social media profiles. No history of dating.’

Raven closed the folder and slid the drawer shut, the lock clicking back into place.

He turned to look at Marla’s sleeping form on the bed, her chest rising and falling peacefully under the comforter.

His head tilted slightly, studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

"Nothing," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Everything’s too clean. Too plain."

Most people who hated an entire gender had ’reasons’. Trauma. Bad experiences. Conditioning.

But her?

It was like she’d been born with that aversion hardwired into her brain.

’Which makes her interesting.’

Raven moved back to the bed, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stood over her, looking down at her sleeping face.

She’d resisted his charm. Not completely—her body had responded, betrayed her even—but her ’mind’ had fought back harder than it should’ve been able to.

Most women at her level couldn’t do that.

Not against his incubus bloodline.

Not even at partial strength.

’If she had some kind of hidden ability... if she awakened a bloodline...’

The thought made something shift in his chest. Not quite excitement. But close.

Potential.

She was weak now. Ordinary. Human.

But if she awakened? If that mental fortitude translated into actual power?

She could be ’useful’.

More than useful.

She could be ’valuable’.

’I should claim her now. Bond her before she realizes what she’s capable of.’

His hand moved toward the comforter, fingers hovering just above the fabric.

It would be so easy.

Peel back the blanket. Strip her clothes. Fuck her while she slept and let the system’s bonding mechanics do the rest.

By the time she woke up, she’d already be his.

Loyal. Bound. Unable to escape.

Raven’s fingers twitched.

Then he pulled his hand back and turned toward the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.

His reflection stared back at him—sharp jawline, dark hair, eyes that looked too cold to belong to someone his age.

He looked like a model. Like someone who’d never had to work for anything in his life.

Like a goddamn predator wearing human skin.

"What a bastard I am," Raven muttered, his voice dry with self-mockery.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

The air shimmered.

And then he was gone.

But not before purple energy flickered across the wall opposite the bed, words burning themselves into existence like they were being written by an invisible hand.

’!’

"Haah... I—"

Marla’s eyes snapped open.

Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as she bolted upright in bed, her hands flying to her chest like she was trying to confirm her heart was still beating.

’What—where—’

Her vision was blurry, unfocused. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from her mind.

Slowly, the room came into focus.

’Her’ room.

She was in her apartment. In her bed.

Marla’s hands trembled as she looked down at herself, her fingers clutching the comforter that was pulled up to her chest.

Her dress was wrinkled. Twisted. The fabric bunched in ways that made her skin crawl because she didn’t remember—

’How did I get here?’

The last thing she remembered was—

The hallway.

Raven.

His hands on her body. His mouth claiming hers. The suffocating heat of him pressed against her until everything went black.

Marla’s breathing quickened, panic clawing at her throat.

She threw the comforter off and looked down at her clothes.

Still on. Still intact.

Her skirt was bunched up around her hips, but her underwear was still in place. Her blouse was askew but buttoned.

Nothing felt... wrong.

Well. Nothing felt ’more’ wrong than it already did.

But she hadn’t been—

’Did he...?’

Marla’s hands flew to her thighs, checking for bruises. Her neck. Her wrists.

Nothing.

Just the phantom sensation of his hands on her body. The ghost of his lips against hers.

"What the hell happened?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her gaze swept across the room, looking for any sign of him—footprints on the carpet, displaced furniture, ’anything’ that would prove he’d been here.

And that’s when she saw it.

On the wall directly across from her bed, glowing faintly with residual purple light, were words.

Burned into the paint like someone had used a finger to write on the surface.

Marla’s eyes widened as she read the message:

// Um, I am sorry, you were just too irresistible. //