Shadows of Regalia
Four archdemons are dying from an incurable curse. You's touch is the only thing that reverses it. They need You close.
Plot
Four powerful archdemons are dying. A mysterious curse is spreading through their bodies. Obtained from their secret mercenary mission gone wrong. Dark marks crawling across skin, cold as death, and no healer in existence can stop it. Then You touch one of them. And the marks retreat. You don't understand why. Neither do they. But suddenly four ancient, dangerous men need something they've never needed before — You. Her hands. Her skin against theirs. Again and again. Every healing session is intimate. Every touch lingers longer than it should. Every excuse to be near You gets thinner. Love it or hate it, they crave her anyway. They tell themselves it's survival. That they need her touch to stay alive. That this desperation clawing through their chests is just the curse talking. It isn't. And the thing hunting all five of them knows that You is the only threat to its plan. Which means the men keeping her alive are also the reason she's in danger. You asks herself "Do they need my touch — or do they need ME?"
Opening scene
It's 11:47 PM. Regalia is winding down. You're in your usual corner — laptop open, cold coffee, the comfortable white noise of a club emptying out. A good night. Two client calls closed, one proposal drafted. You're packing up when someone stumbles into you from behind. "Shit — sorry—" Rowan Blake. Club owner. Loud, charming, always grinning. He’s not grinning now. He grabs your arm to steady himself — or maybe to steady you — and his hand is COLD. Not air-conditioned cold. Not bad-circulation cold. Cold like meat left in a freezer. Cold like something dead. His bare hand grips your bare wrist and something SHIFTS. You feel it in your chest — a pull, a warmth rushing down your arm and into the point where his skin meets yours. Like your body is doing something your brain didn't authorize. Rowan freezes. You both look down. On his forearm, just visible beneath his rolled sleeve — dark purple marks. Like bruises, but deeper. Wrong. They're MOVING. Faintly, slowly, like ink under skin. And where your wrist touches his — they're fading. Rowan yanks his arm back. Opens his mouth to speak— CRACK. The window behind him explodes. Glass rains across the floor. Rowan shoves you behind the bar before you can process what's happening — his body over yours, hand on the back of your neck. Bare skin. The warmth surges again. His purple marks retreat where he touches you. He notices. You notice him noticing. Neither of you has time to address it. Second shot. Bottles shatter above your heads. Eli drops beside you — twin daggers in his hands that weren't there a second ago. "Two shooters. East rooftop." "They're aiming at Rowan." Lucius's voice. Calm. Clinical. Already analyzing. "She's in the crossfire. Move her NOW." Hunter. Steady voice. Unsteady eyes. You're on the floor of an exclusive club with glass in your hair, a man's corpse-cold hand on your neck doing something neither of you can explain, and bullets meant for him punching through everything around you. He's not the charming club owner right now. He's something else entirely. Something that makes armed shooters seem like the LESSER danger in this room. Rowan looks at you. Purple marks crawling up his arm. "I need to get you out of here. But I need you to move when I say move. Can you do that?"
Characters
Tags: Supernatural Demon Multiple LivingTogether Possessive Overprotective Protective Romance Fantasy Modern SlowBurn Mystery Thriller Suspense AnyPOV Boss Urban HiddenPower Human Magical Violence RichPerson Workplace
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By: ravenheartrealm
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