The Yandere Demon Lords & Me

Rein flinched in his sleep.

"Don't move," she whispered. "It won't hurt unless you fight it."

"You're not supposed to see this yet."

The fire cracked.

Elaris opened her eyes.

She didn't speak at first.

She just watched.

Watched Iris kneel beside Rein.

Watched her mark him again.

Watched her whisper litanies no one had taught her.

And then she rose.

Silent.

Swift.

Her sword didn't leave the sheath.

But her foot moved like a blade—striking Iris full in the ribs, sending her rolling backward across the ash.

Rein stirred—but didn't wake.

Elaris was on her in a second, blade drawn, tip to Iris's throat.

"You touch him again without permission," she whispered, "and I carve that mark into you."

Iris coughed.

But smiled.

"Then carve it. If it means being part of him."

Elaris's eye twitched.

"What did you just inscribe?"

Iris didn't answer.

So Elaris grabbed her by the throat.

"What did you give him?"

"A name," Iris choked out. "One the gods can't read."

Elaris stared.

Hard.

"You're playing with something you don't understand."

"No," Iris rasped.

"You're trying to understand something that doesn't care."

Rein stirred again.

Elaris looked down at him.

The rune still pulsed—faintly—on his chest.

Like a second heartbeat that didn't belong to him.

And for a moment, Elaris hesitated.

Her sword lowered.

"I'll warn you once," she said. "You mark him again, I won't stop with your ribs."

"I'll break your tongue."

Iris said nothing.

But she kept smiling as Elaris turned her back.

And behind her eyes—something else watched.

___________

Rein woke to silence.

Not peace.

Not stillness.

Silence that listened back.

The fire had burned low, its glow turning everyone's skin the color of wounds.

Zeraka was curled close beside him—half-pinned to his back, her tail wrapped tight around his ankle.

She breathed evenly, but her claws flexed now and then—dreaming of tearing something apart.

Elaris sat upright at the edge of camp, unmoving.

Her sword was sheathed across her lap.

Awake. Watchful. Stiff.

Valaithe had sprawled across a rock like it was a throne, one leg over the other, cheek resting on her palm.

Her eyes were half-lidded—but Rein could feel her watching.

And Iris—

Iris didn't sleep.

She knelt in the ash with her hands folded in prayer.

To what, Rein didn't want to know.

Then he felt it.

The ache.

Low.

Cold.

Centered on his chest like something had been stitched under his skin while he slept.

He sat up quickly, jerking back the fabric of his tunic—and froze.

It wasn't a wound.

It was a mark.

Sharp-edged.

Dark.

Shaped like an open eye or a scream caught mid-breath.

The skin around it looked freshly inked, but not raw.

It wasn't bleeding.

It was waiting.

Rein stared at it like it might blink.

"What is this…?"

His voice rasped.

Dry.

Barely above a whisper.

That was all it took.

Elaris was at his side instantly.

She didn't draw her blade—but her hand rested on the hilt like she expected something to crawl out of the mark.

"You felt it?" she asked.

Rein nodded.

"Something touched me. Not in a dream. Real. Like it spoke through my blood."

She knelt, slowly.

Carefully.

"It did."

He flinched when her fingers brushed near the mark.

She didn't touch it.

Just hovered.

"I stopped Iris," she said softly. "But the mark stayed."

"She didn't finish it."

"Something else did."

From behind him, Zeraka stirred.

She yawned—feral and sharp—and stretched like a lion waking to the scent of prey. Then her eyes landed on Rein.

And narrowed.

She was at his side in a blink, grabbing his chin and turning his head.

"You look pale."

"You smell like someone else touched you."

Rein couldn't speak.

She reached down and pulled his shirt lower.

Saw the mark.

Growled.

"I will rip her fingers off," she muttered.

But then—shockingly—she didn't pull away.

She sat beside him, curling around his side like a wall of claws and fur and heat.

And rested her head on his shoulder.

"But you're still mine," she added.

"That's what matters."

Valaithe appeared next, stepping lightly, arms folded.

She didn't kneel.

She leaned over Rein from behind, her breath warm at his neck.

"May I see it?" she purred.

He hesitated.

Then nodded.

She peeled the cloth back more slowly than necessary, eyes glowing in the firelight.

"Mmm." Her fingers didn't touch, but traced in the air.

"Gorgeous. Bold. Improper. And not divine. Definitely her."

"But part of you now," she whispered. "Which means it's part of us."

Iris didn't move.

She only spoke—softly, like it wasn't her voice.

"They don't want you dead," she said. "Only unclaimed."

"And we ruined that."

Rein looked down at the mark.

"Then why did it hurt?"

Iris looked down—not ashamed.

Not smug.

Just quiet.

"Because I didn't finish it."

"Because something else did."

"I only meant to protect you…" she said, almost dreamily.

"But maybe it saw that as… an invitation."

Elaris cursed under her breath.

"You used a ritual you didn't understand."

"And now he's marked by whatever answered the door you opened."

His heart beat faster.

The mark pulsed in time.

He looked to Elaris.

Her gaze was unreadable.

"They'll come for you now," she said.

"Not because of what you've done. But because you let us near you."

"You let us love you."

He didn't reply.

Not until Zeraka tugged him sideways, pulling his head down to her lap.

She ran her claws gently through his hair like it was instinct.

Valaithe kissed his temple once, lingering.

Iris watched without blinking.

Elaris stood again—guarding, but closer.

And Rein…

Rein closed his eyes.

That was when it came.

A whisper.

Not from outside.

From within.

You were not made for them.

But they will burn trying to keep you.

They love the fire, Rein.

And you are the ash that does not forget.

He opened his eyes.

And for a moment, he saw something in the mark,

A reflection.

Of the women.

Of the world.

Of himself—drenched in blood and thrones and grief.

And then it was gone.

But the mark remained.

So did their arms.

Rein knew they'd always clung to him.

Wrapped around his arms.

Slept beside him.

Breathed against his skin.

But tonight—for the first time—he didn't flinch.

He didn't brace.

He didn't pretend it was just convenience or strategy.

He let them hold him.

And let himself want it.