Foreplay Would’ve Been Easier
Chapter 3 of "A Little Rough, A Little Ruined."
This is Chapter 3 of a free romantasy serial.
Uptight demon prince. Marked midlife heroine.
Tension. Spice. Come for the yearning. Stay for the ruin.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 3: Maren (this post)
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Chapter 3: Maren
Damn it. I never got to have any fun.
The moment I discovered this demon could touch me? Arrow in the chest.
Screams broke out as Evander launched across the table, one arm locking around my waist as he hauled me beneath him. He shoved the table over and dragged us behind it, pressing my back to his chest as more arrows thudded into the wood.
"Friends of yours?" I asked.
“Is this how your friends treat you?” he growled, wrapping a hand around the arrow embedded in his chest and yanking it free. He grunted as the metal tore through his flesh. Maybe not the best idea to pull it out, but I supposed I would have done the same if I healed as quickly as demons did.
I clicked my tongue. “Only the best ones.”
Evander dropped the arrow as blood bloomed across his white shirt, then edged around the side of the table. He jerked back as another volley slammed into the barrier, splintering it inches from his shoulder.
“I’m impressed,” I drawled, resting an elbow on my knee. “You’ve only just arrived, and already someone wants you dead.”
“Not exactly a new experience,” he grimaced.
I picked up the arrow, turning it between my fingers before examining the tip.
No markings. And the head was ordinary steel.
Which meant this wasn’t Valmont. If it had been, the arrow would’ve been lined with sunsteel and spelled to the teeth. Besides, he had a meeting with Evander tomorrow. And in his eyes, money always came before murder.
Jealous? Yes.
Stupid? No.
He wouldn’t risk negotiations just to make a point. Not unless the point came with profit.
I turned to Evander. “So. Any ideas who sent the welcome gift?”
“Best guess?” He gritted out through clenched teeth. “One of the other demonarchies. They’ll want me out of the way to strike a deal with Valmont themselves. Lock up the sunsteel while they still can.”
“Reminds me of a gang lord I used to know,” I mused, balancing the arrow on my finger. “Tried to off his rival with a surprise hit. Failed. Ended up marrying her instead. She poisoned him on their honeymoon.”
I glanced at Evander. “Love is wild.”
His green eyes stared at me for a beat, then turned to scan the room. Half the patrons were still cowering under tables. One woman was sobbing into a cloth napkin. Someone kept wailing, Oh gods, oh gods, gods save us like the chorus of a bad opera.
“You’re a strange female," he observed. "Most of the ladies I know would’ve fainted.”
“Well, they don’t sound very interesting,” I shrugged. “Can you see where the arrows are coming from?”
He leaned out just far enough to look, pressing a hand to his wound. Another arrow hissed past, the blade grazing a clean line across his cheek before he ducked back.
Without thinking, I reached out, cupping Evander’s face to inspect the cut. His eyes burned into mine and I felt my cheeks flush. I looked away, fingers sliding down to peel his hand from his chest. “You should get this looked at," I said, fingers curling around his forearm as I inspected the wound. "You alright?”
“I’m fine,” he rumbled. “Barely missed my heart.”
I hummed. “Good thing you have two.”
He glared at me. “Second one doesn’t do me much good when it’s dormant.”
“Oh, right,” I said, eyeing the buildings across the way. “You need your fated female to get that one going, don’t you? Then you’ll get stronger. Take on a possessive, feral streak.”
I smiled wickedly. “I’d pay to see that.”
He scoffed, but it came out a little too breathless. “There,” he said, pointing. “The arrows are coming from that rooftop.”
I nodded, moving closer and tucking myself into his side, near enough to feel the heat of him. I leaned out to see past the table without exposing anything vital.
“Female, what are you doing?” he growled. “Get behind me.”
“Maren,” I snapped.
He blinked. “What?”
“My name. You asked earlier.”
I glanced up at him. “Figured I’d tell you, so you’d stop calling me female.”
He clenched his jaw as I conjured a blue flame in my palm—small at first, then stretching to life, its light licking over my fingers. It hovered there, spinning lazily, casting flickering light across Evander’s face. Turning the hard lines of him strangely beautiful.
I narrowed my eyes and turned my attention back to the rooftop.
“Be still,” I whispered to the flame.
Then I cast my hand forward.
The flame lifted and shot through the shattered window, curving into the open night. It streaked across the gap between buildings, trailing blue light through the dark, and struck the archer square in the chest. He jerked once. Then he lowered his bow, arms going slack, and stood there with his head tilted. Waiting like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut.
Evander's brows lifted a fraction. Not in pain. More like a what the hell have I gotten myself into.
I'd been thinking the same thing for centuries.
I brushed broken glass from my sleeve. "We should probably get out of here."
“Indeed,” Evander agreed, scanning the restaurant as we rose to our feet. He shifted subtly, stepping ahead of me, one arm extended to keep me behind him.
Such a gentleman.
Most of the patrons were still hiding under tables or crouched behind the bar. Which made the two figures stepping through the doors stand out all the more.
They had black horns curling back over close-cropped hair. Both wore dark, reinforced gear layered for speed. No crests. No insignias. Just matte-black knives strapped to their thighs and boots built for silence.
One was tall, with a scar slashed through his bottom lip. The other was shorter, stockier. He was chewing something, slow and bored, like no one had told him this was supposed to be a high-priority kill.
Their eyes scanned the room and locked on Evander.
They moved in sync.
Measured. Efficient.
This wasn’t rage. This was a paycheck.
I could’ve stopped them with a whisper. But I’d already used my power once—just a flicker of it. And I knew that if I pushed any further without Lord Valmont’s permission, the mark would take me down.
I slid a hand into the hidden pocket sewn into my skirts, fingers curling around a portal stone. My only one. A one-way ticket that I’d paid a fortune for. It was my way out if the eye ever closed again. Because the last thing I wanted was to collapse somewhere unprotected. Unable to defend myself.
I was tempted to use it. To get the hell out of here before things spiraled further.
But then I looked at Evander. And for some reason, I couldn’t bear to leave him.
One moment he stood in front of me, bloodied but steady. The next, he was surging forward to meet the threat like he didn’t care if the whole world came at him. Wind swirled around him, sweeping through broken glass and overturned chairs, the edges of his coat snapping behind him like a banner caught in a storm. His restraint shattered as he closed the distance. No hesitation. Just violence given permission to break free like a blade loosed from its sheath.
The air around him howled as he raised a hand and a blast of wind exploded outward, catching the scarred attacker mid-stride and hurling him backward. He slammed into a row of toppled chairs with a crash of splintering wood. Patrons screamed, scrambling to get out of the way.
The shorter merc reached Evander a heartbeat later, knife raised. Evander slipped past with a twist and drove an elbow into the merc’s ribs—hard enough to crack bone. The male stumbled, gasping as Evander swept his legs out from under him in the same breath, dropping him to the floor with a grunt.
The first mercenary staggered upright, slashing wildly. A thin trail of blood ran from the split in his bottom lip, turning the old scar raw. But Evander was already moving, pivoting into the strike like he’d seen it coming. He caught his wrist. Twisted. Drove his knee into the male’s gut—once, then again—before wrenching the knife free and slamming him face-first into a wall. The merc dropped to his knees, swaying, blood slicking down his face.
Evander’s hair had come loose from its tie, dark strands whipping around his face. His lips curled into a snarl as he stared down the wreckage of his attackers. He was controlled, yet devastating in his own brutal way.
"Stay down" he warned.
The shorter assailant scrambled upright with a roar, blade flashing as he charged. Evander spun the stolen knife in his hand and drove it straight into his stomach. He made a gurgling sound, cut short as Evander twisted the blade and ripped it free.
But the other mercenary wasn’t finished. He lunged, desperate now.
Evander caught him mid-stride, slammed him back into the wall, and drove the bloodied knife up beneath his ribs. All the way in. Then he dragged it down slowly before stepping back and letting the body slide to the floor.
It was over in seconds.
He turned toward me, bloodied chest rising, eyes still dark.
“Well, that was hot,” I purred, stepping over the mercenary clutching his guts. “That was either the best foreplay I’ve ever seen… or a warning. Either way, I’m listening.”
"Foreplay would have been easier," he grimaced.
“Mmm. But killing them got me there faster.”
His eyebrows shot up as he opened his mouth to respond, but the doors burst open again. And before I even registered he was there, a third mercenary stepped through. He flicked his wrist, and a blade flashed once in the light, the sigil-work etched into its haft pulsing red.
Evander spun toward the threat, hand lifting. Too late. Wind snapped between them, catching the blade midair and knocking it off-course. But it wasn't enough.
The blade hit and Evander grunted as it drove deep into his thigh, clean through muscle. His body jolted forward, leg buckling. He caught himself on the edge of an overturned table as blood poured down his leg in a dark stream.
And that was it.
Rage rose before thought could catch it.
“Enough,” I hissed.
My voice echoed through the restaurant as my fire surged outward—floor to ceiling, wall to wall, crashing like a wave. It rushed across the room in a single breath. Passing over the mercenary, over every body, every terrified face.
It wasn’t real fire. Just the shape my power took. The way I pictured it. Controlled it.
Everything went silent. A single wine glass toppled somewhere, rolled twice, then stilled.
My eyes would be glowing now. Ice blue as I held them in my grasp. I didn’t need a mirror to know.
I was in the throes now.
I exhaled, then turned to the new mercenary.
“Your knife,” I ordered, nodding toward one of the blades still strapped to his thigh. “Take it out.”
His eyes went wide as his hand moved without his permission, fingers unsheathing the blade with a jerk. He held it out to me, knuckles white, jaw clenched so tight I thought he might crack teeth.
One side of my mouth curled. “Slit your throat.”
His body trembled as the command landed. One arm twitched. His fingers flexed around the hilt as the blade angled upward, hovering near his neck. He stumbled back a step, breath catching. His lip curled into a snarl, but his arm kept moving. Inch by inch.
He tried to resist.
But soon, his lips began to quiver. His chest heaved as panic slipped into his veins.
That was the truth of my power. And it was a terrible thing.
Because if they were strong enough to fight it, strong enough to push back, then the command didn’t break. It turned to fear. Whispered in their minds, louder and louder, until there was only one way out: Give me what I wanted.
His hand rose.
Higher.
The blade shuddered against his throat.
And then he obeyed.
Steel slid through skin in a clean, practiced line. Blood sprayed across the floor and his legs gave out before the rest of him caught up. He hit the ground in a sprawl, limbs twitching once before falling still.
I turned my attention to the patrons around us. “Forget.”
They blinked slowly, like dreamers stirred from sleep, eyes gone glassy, minds already folding in on themselves.
By morning, they wouldn’t remember any of this. Not the glass shattering. Not the screams. Not the blood or the bodies. They wouldn’t even try to explain the wreckage.
They would dispose of everything. Sweep the shards away. Reset the tables. Move on. The way people always did when faced with something they were too afraid to see.
“What did you do?” Evander groaned, blood pooling beneath him.
My eyes snapped to his, breath catching. He should’ve been blinking like the rest of them. Blank. Compliant. Gone.
But instead—blood loss aside—he was clear-eyed. Lucid. And watching me.
This was bad.
Really bad.
My throat bobbed.
Okay. Think fast, Maren. He's bleeding out. He remembers. He can touch you.
“Maren,” Evander rasped. “Answer me.”
We had to get out of here.
I ran to him, dropping to my knees, careful not to jolt the knife still embedded in his leg.
Shit.
It had hit an artery. No wonder the blood wouldn’t stop. My heart sank as I took in the pulsing sigils etched into the haft. The blade was spelled, no question. I didn’t know what the magic was meant to do, but anything that lit up like that never meant good news.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the portal stone. It could only be used once, but it would take us straight to my house. I had medical supplies there. And enough wards and reinforcements to keep attackers out, for a while.
Evander growled low, then moved. One arm locked around my waist, dragging me against him. The other wrapped around the back of my neck, fingers splaying firmly over the mark.
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
I clutched the stone between us, its weight pressed between my palm and his chest. Why did I feel so drawn to him? Why couldn’t I walk away, when I’d done it to everyone else?
“Look at me,” he grated. “Tell me what you are.”
“No time,” I murmured, pressing the sigil on the stone and releasing my hold on the room. My power slipped back into me like a tide retreating from shore.
And that's when I hit the end of my leash.
Because I felt the eye begin to shutter.
I fought it, even as my strength drained out. The edges of my vision blurred, darkening at the corners as my hand clenched in his bloodied shirt.
“When we arrive,” I managed, each word heavier than the last, “go to the black chest of drawers. Healing tincture. Inside. Green bottle.”
“Maren, are you all right?” Evander’s arms tensed around me.
I managed a weak smile.
Then everything went dark.
And somewhere in that darkness, I heard him curse, hating how much I didn't want him to let go.
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“A Little Rough, A Little Ruined” © 2025 Kestrel Caim. All rights reserved.
This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission. Stealing stories is stealing souls. Don’t do it.
“That was either the best foreplay I’ve ever seen… or a warning. Either way, I’m listening.”
"Foreplay would have been easier," he grimaced.
“Mmm. But killing them got me there faster.”
This was just so much fun. You have a talent for keeping the tone light and violent at the same time without letting the humor ruin the stakes of the story. I am really enjoying it.
Beautiful