Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – The Reunion (1)

The moment the butler moved to lead her deeper into the mansion, Erin felt it—a gaze.

It was faint, coming from a distance, yet what brushed against her skin was not human. She stopped mid-step, turning her head toward the direction of that heavy, clinging stare. She had felt this before, somewhere, sometime, a presence that snared her heart and would not release it.

She ought to go to the Duke, hear the reason he had summoned her. Yet her instincts clamored that the one who watched her from afar mattered more, far more than whatever the Duke intended to say.

“My lady?” the butler prompted gently, noticing her fixed stare into the line of trees.

But Erin, caught as if in a spell, pivoted abruptly.

“Tell the Duke something urgent came up. I had to return.”

She left the words behind like discarded armor and broke into a run, so fast the butler could not even raise a hand to stop her before she vanished from sight.

The gaze never left her. The closer she drew, the stronger it pressed upon her, no longer a whisper but a suffocating weight. Her pace quickened.

When at last her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, it felt inevitable. Her instincts screamed that whatever creature’s eyes had been upon her must be cut down, cleaved without mercy.

What had begun as a search to confirm the owner of that gaze became a hunt—a charge with killing intent.

She saw him standing on the cross atop a distant chapel roof.

Silver hair glowed under the moonlight, as if each strand was woven from threads of light itself. His long, gentle eyes tilted downward, softening his expression into something deceptively kind. And his eyes—those luminous green eyes—beautiful, mysterious, unforgettable.

Erin’s heart thudded, no longer with dread alone but with recognition.

“Let us meet again.”

The words of eighteen years ago echoed, as vivid now as the night they had been spoken. The demon.

He had not changed. Still beautiful, still smiling down at her.

Yet faced with his living presence after so many years, Erin found herself unable to act. Some primal part of her knew—she could not kill him. Not now.

“Little one.”

He who had mocked the gods by standing upon the holy cross now appeared before her in a blink, so near that his breath could have mingled with hers.

His hand lifted, reaching to cup her cheek. The instant his fingertips brushed her skin, her blood surged backward in her veins. A wave of nausea rose, tangled with a doubling of her hatred. Erin recoiled, stepping back hard, both hands tightening on the trembling blade. The sword quivered visibly, her grip shaking with the force of her loathing.

The demon, however, only glanced at his hand with faint regret, as though lamenting the distance she had forced between them, then looked back at her.

“It has been so long, and yet you greet me with sharpened steel. A little cruel, don’t you think?”

“Be grateful I haven’t already severed your neck,” Erin hissed, voice thick with venom.

“Eighteen years, and still you cling to hatred.” His smile bloomed, radiant, as he spoke again, “My little one.”

The endearment, dripping from his lips, twisted the knife in her chest.

Her grandmother—the woman who had raised her before that nightmare eighteen years ago—had always called her that, “little one.” To hear it now, from him, was desecration.

Erin ground her teeth, eyes blazing, but still he only looked at her with delight, his expression unshaken.

“You have no idea how glad I am,” he said softly.

That voice, gentle and kind, was exactly as it had been all those years ago.

Erin’s response was wordless fury. She swung.

The blade sliced the air with deadly force, but he caught it barehanded.

Blood welled from his palm, trickling scarlet, yet he merely smiled, eyes narrowing with quiet mirth.

“You’ve grown beautifully in the meantime.”

“Shut your mouth!” she spat.

She drew in a long, ragged breath, then swung again, pouring every ounce of strength into a blow meant to cleave both blade and captured hand in two. But in the instant she struck, he was gone—vanished behind her.

A chuckle rippled in the air, light and playful, as though he were merely entertaining a child.

The sound curdled her skin, made her breath hitch in ragged bursts.

A knight’s sword was never to be ruled by emotion. Rage and hatred only bred openings in one’s guard. Erin knew this—had been drilled in this truth since the start. Yet tonight she could not help herself. Her fury leaked into every motion, every strike, and he saw through it all.

Once more he caught her blade, once more he smiled, and this time he taunted her.

“You still cannot kill me.”

Erin’s glare sharpened, but rather than retreat, she drove her boot forward, slamming it into his abdomen. Holy force surged through the strike, enough to shatter lesser monsters and send them flying.

But the demon only laughed. His hand shot out, catching her ankle mid-kick. He leaned close, his whisper brushing her ear.

“My name is Gabriel. Call me that, next we meet.”

Before she could draw breath, her body was flung through the air like a ragdoll.

She slammed into the trunk of a tree, and darkness swallowed her whole.

“Commander!”

The call dragged her back. Erin’s eyes opened, heavy as stone.

Gabriel should have been there, standing before her, smiling as he named himself. But when her vision cleared, it was not the demon’s face she saw. She was back in her quarters. And at her bedside, watching with worry, was Ten.

Her breath came harsh, uneven, as she forced words through her dry lips.

“…How did I end up here?”

“The Duke of Ferr said you vanished,” Ten explained quickly, “so I searched for you.”

“…And the demon?” she pressed.

The moment she pushed herself upright, pain raked her body. Every bone felt as if it had been broken and clumsily set anew. She curled inward, teeth grinding against the ache.

Ten shifted anxiously, sweat breaking on his brow, his mouth working as though he debated what to tell her. Her eyes, sharp even through the pain, demanded the truth.

“When I found you, Commander,” he said at last, “there was nothing. No trace of anything else nearby.”

The words struck like a hammer to her skull.

“How glad I am you remember me.
You cannot kill me, not yet.”

That voice, gentle, caressing, wrapped in a face too beautiful to be real, and the overwhelming power with which he had mocked her. She had spent eighteen years running toward vengeance. And their reunion had ended in humiliation.

Erin tore at her hair, a ragged scream ripping from her throat.

Ten startled, catching her wrists, trying to calm her before she could do more harm. But her fury—decades of rage denied—was uncontainable. She thrashed, nails raking her own skin, until a thin cut opened across her cheek.

“Commander!” Ten seized her, pulling her into his arms, holding her down not with violence but with desperate restraint. His voice cracked with urgency. “You must rest first! Your body needs to heal!”

“…Did you say rest?” Erin spat the word, eyes wild as she glared at him.

His body flinched, but he did not release her. Carefully, gently, he pried her hands from her hair, speaking low and steady.

“It’s better than burning your strength on anger here. You’ll need it later.”

Her breathing slowed, though fury still smoldered. He was right—exhaustion now would only delay her recovery. And Gabriel would return. He would always return. One failure did not erase the certainty that one day, she would kill him.

The thought cooled her blood enough for her to let go. She shoved her hair back with a bitter motion, the strands sticking damply to her forehead.

Ten, watching her with a mix of awe and fear, drew a cloth soaked in warm water and gently wiped the sweat from her brow.

“…The man I remembered,” Erin said suddenly, voice hoarse, “he came to me.”

Ten’s hand froze mid-motion.

Erin’s eyes met his. Her tone dropped, steady, almost whispering.

“Your eyes. They were just like his. Annoyingly kind, as if filled with… affection.”

Color drained from Ten’s face. He turned his gaze aside quickly, but Erin caught his jaw in a rough grip and forced him to face her.

Brown hair, freckles across the bridge of his nose—nothing like Gabriel’s beauty. Nothing similar, except—

Except for the eyes. That same deep green.

And she could not unsee it. No matter how she tried, Ten’s gaze dragged her back to Gabriel’s.