At Baal's residence, the air was still, heavy with memory and desire.
He sat alone in the living room, the soft light filtering through the half-drawn curtains casting golden lines across his bare chest. His robe hung loosely over his shoulders, barely concealing the proof of his unrest.
He hadn't recovered from last night.
Not even close.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Her trembling lips, the way she gasped under his touch, the softness of her skin, the heat of her mouth. The moment he entered her, her walls had clamped down like a vice—tight, desperate, begging him not to stop. She had been untouched, and he had felt it in every second of their union.
He'd had lovers—hundreds, maybe thousands. Over centuries. But none of them had brought him to the brink like she did. None made his body ache with this kind of hunger afterward.
And her breasts… Gods. Like fresh bread just out of the oven. Warm. Pillowy. Perfect. He could still taste her on his tongue, feel the stiffening of her nipples beneath his mouth, the way she had clutched his hair, arching into him.
The craving wasn't just physical. It was maddening. Dangerous.
"Damn it," he muttered, raking his fingers through his long, dark hair.
He hadn't felt this way in centuries. A single night, and this girl—Zaria—had left him obsessed. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was a demon. Second-in-command in the Abyss before the exile. He didn't lose control.
But now?
Now he was pacing the floor of his apartment with nothing but a robe and briefs on, half-hard from memories he couldn't shake. His body burned for her, and worse—his mind did too.
The sudden ring of the doorbell yanked him out of his trance.
He blinked, glanced down at his very obvious arousal, and cursed softly. His hardness strained against the thin robe, announcing itself shamelessly.
What else did he expect, drowning in memory like that?
He quickly adjusted himself, tied the robe tighter, and checked the door camera.
Lateef.
Of course. Another demon stuck on Earth.
He sighed and opened the door.
Lateef stepped in, already smirking. "So… I heard you brought someone home last night."
Baal raised a brow, not in the mood for teasing. "And?"
Lateef chuckled. "And you banged and banged, apparently. Disturbed the whole block. I swear, I heard her moaning all the way from City Hall."
"Shut up," Baal snapped.
"I mean, I almost thought you were giving the poor girl a heart attack."
"I said shut it."
Lateef held up both hands in surrender. "Damn. Sensitive today, huh?"
Baal didn't answer. He moved toward the living room, dragging his thoughts back from the edge.
Lateef followed him in. "I didn't know you had people spying on me now," Baal muttered.
"I wasn't spying. I just happened to be at the club. Saw you leave with her. Looked like you couldn't wait to eat her alive."
"She was…" Baal paused. Then shook his head. "Never mind."
Lateef flopped onto the couch, grabbing the remote like he owned the place. "From the look of you now—robe barely on, wood standing proud—I'd say last night was wild."
"Can you just get to the point?" Baal grunted. "Why are you here?"
"Bored," Lateef said, with no shame. "We're two lonely demons stuck in this dying world. Can't age. Can't die. And definitely can't make real friends. I just wanted to chat."
That part hit harder than Baal expected.
Immortality sounded glamorous to humans, but it was a curse in disguise. Every century blurred into the next. Every city he lived in eventually turned to dust. He'd seen neighbors grow old and pass on. Watched entire bloodlines rise and fade. Time meant nothing to demons—but here on Earth, it dragged like chains.
And now? The gate to the Abyss—the only path home—had been closed for 700 years. Sealed. Silent.
No one knew if it would ever open again.
Lateef stood and made his way to the kitchen, returning with two bottles of dark liquor. "Come on," he said, tossing one to Baal. "Let's forget Earth for a while."
They drank in silence, the kind only ancient beings could share. The television buzzed softly in the background, but neither paid attention. Their thoughts were elsewhere—on fire, desire, exile.
After an hour, Baal's phone rang.
Unknown number.
His heart thudded once.
Could it be her?
He snatched the phone, hesitated for half a second, then answered. "Hello?"
A soft voice filtered through the line. "Hi… it's me."
His breath caught.
Zaria.
Her voice was gentler now, stripped of the shyness from last night, but still unsure. Curious. Tempting.
"I'm Zaria—the girl from last night."
As if he could ever forget.
Even now, just hearing her, his entire body tensed with anticipation.
He swallowed hard. "Yeah… I mean—uh… are you okay? Do you have class today? I could come pick you up. What school do you go to?"
He realized, with horror, that he was rambling. Like some awkward mortal boy chasing his first crush.
Zaria let out a small laugh, low and sweet. "I'm a student at Brown University. Fine Arts major. I have class now… but I'll be free by evening."
Her voice lingered in his ear like smoke. Warm and dangerous.
He nodded slowly, even though she couldn't see. "Okay. I'll be waiting."
Zaria ended the call, but her heart was racing.
What is this feeling?
Why does his voice make my stomach flip? Why am I thinking about him when I should be focusing on my sculpture midterm?
But no… I need to see him again. I need to understand what last night was.
There was something in Baal she couldn't put into words. Something dark. Magnetic. Unnatural.
And yet she didn't feel afraid.
She felt alive.
Back at Baal's, he lowered the phone and stared at nothing.
Lateef looked at him sideways. "Was that her?"
Baal nodded, eyes unfocused.
Lateef laughed. "You're screwed."
"I know."
"You don't do soft. You don't do calling back. What is this?"
"I don't know."
Lateef leaned back, sipping his drink. "She's mortal. You know how that ends."
Baal didn't answer.
But he knew.
He always knew.
Mortals died. Demons didn't.
He would watch her bloom, then wither. That's how it always went.
But something told him—Zaria wouldn't be just another flower.
No.
She was the flame.
And he was already burning.