Prologue
The fluorescent lights of her bathroom flickered as Lia traced the outline of yet another bruise in the mirror, her trembling fingers hovering over the black and blue that marked her skin. At twenty-three, she had already spent five years trapped in a cycle of abuse that began when she was barely eighteen. Each relationship followed the same devastating pattern: sweet words and grand promises that dissolved into violence once she was too entangled to escape.
Her current prison came disguised as a modest two-bedroom apartment in the suburbs, where the walls seemed to absorb her silent screams. Ben, her latest tormentor, had perfected the art of psychological warfare. His rules were absolute: no independent outings, no friends, no life beyond the suffocating boundaries he had drawn around her existence. The mirror reflected back a shell of her former self – hollow cheeks, dull eyes, and skin that bore the evidence of his rage.
On the rare occasions she ventured outside, layers of clothing became her armor. Long sleeves in summer, high collars in spring – not just to hide the physical marks of his “love,” but to render her invisible to any appreciative glance that might trigger Ben’s explosive jealousy. Her world had shrunk to the size of their apartment, each room holding memories of different types of pain.
The weight of her existence pressed down on her chest each night as she lay awake, dreaming of escape through death’s merciful door. It was during one of her midnight internet spirals, seeking any form of escape, that she stumbled upon an ancient forum thread about incubus summoning. The page, spoke of Incubi and Succubi – creatures who could grant wishes in exchange for souls.
The list of Incubus read like a supernatural dating profile, each entry more intriguing than the last. But it was Malachai’s description that made her heart skip a beat: a towering figure with cascading dark brown hair like midnight silk, eyes that held centuries of wisdom, and a personality that promised both tenderness and strength. The combination of “cuddly” and “will kick someone’s butt if you need it” seemed almost too perfect for her situation.
The summoning ritual was deceptively simple. In the dead of night, while Ben’s snores echoed from their bedroom, Lia stood in the bathroom, her reflection ghostly in the dim light. Her whispered words seemed to hang in the air: “I summon Malachai. I give my soul to Malachai.” Three times she repeated the phrase, each utterance carrying the weight of desperate hope. As she crawled back into bed, careful not to wake the monster beside her, she prayed to whatever power might be listening for this one miracle.