Wow, that was fast! Don't know if I'll ever manage to update so quickly again, but for time being, enjoy!

Slowly but surely, the cloud of smoke that surrounded the demon Sansa had summoned dissipated until only traces of it remained. Propped on an elbow with her wounded, aching hand pressed hard against her chest, Sansa watched him from her place on the floor with eyes wide with disbelief. Never in her life had she beheld such an imposing and terrifying being. Her body was reacting with visceral terror to his mere presence. The view of him, as well as the strong and alien psychic scent he emitted, were nearly making her sick with fright. She felt as if her blood had turned to ice in her veins. Every part of her was trembling uncontrollably and her breathing was coming in short to the point that she feared she might choke. This was no creature any human was meant to face during their lifetime, some age-old instinct told her. If she valued life, she had best flee and never turn back, it screamed to her.

The grimoire Sansa had used for her Evocation pretended all demons had once been human, long ago. If that was true, that one had been an abnormally tall man before he met his death, centuries ago. He had to be nearer to seven feet than six and was built like the most fearsome of warriors. He wore a pair of dark ancient-looking pants tied with a cord instead of a zipper – breeches these were called, Sansa remembered from all the period novels she had read over the years. Apart from that, he only had on a pair of equally ancient-looking dark boots which were held in place by straps and buckles.

His skin was a medium shade of grey, his chest and arms extremely muscular and dusted with coarse, dark hair. A pair of pointy black horns rose above his head and lank black hair fell down to his shoulders. One half of his face was horribly disfigured, covered with red and black twisted burns that went all the way to his collarbone and his left arm was similarly scarred. On his back was a large pair of black wings, alike that of a bat. Though they were retracted at the time being, they were undeniably impressive. Their joints rose as high as the top of his head with thumbs that seemed as sharp as knife blades at the top of them and the lower parts of the wings ended just below his hips. The demon was glaring at her with eyes that blazed, literally, the white in them yellowish and bright in the dimness of the room. Still the intensity of his stare was probably even scarier than all the rest of him and Sansa averted her gaze from the moment she met it.

"Who are you who broke my shackles?" he asked dryly. His voice was so very hoarse, like he had spent centuries breathing smoke instead of air.

Sansa's throat was tight and getting worse with every passing second. Though she tried, she found herself unable to form a single word. She had done all she could to prepare herself mentally for this first meeting, knowing a demon was sure to be a frightful sight. Her efforts had been vain, of course. It was one thing to look at illustrations of fiends in her grimoire and other books from her parent's occult library and another completely to have the real deal stand right in front of her. She didn't have the nerves for this, she realised in dismay. This whole Evocation had been a huge mistake.

"Speak!" the demon snarled, taking a step towards her. The candlelight fluttered with his abrupt movement and some of the sand of the pentagram on the floor flew from under his booted feet.

Her heart jumping in her chest, Sansa grew as stiff as a bow and sat up in a will to back away from him as much as she could without leaving the ground, yet she knew better than to disobey. "My... my name is Sansa Stark, high lord," she replied, her voice small and childish. Unable to look at his horrific face, she stared at his legs. The woolen breeches he wore did little to hide just how thick and solid his thighs were. They were as big as small trees, just as imposing as the rest of him.

"Sansa Stark," he repeated, her own name unfamiliar to her ears when spoken by this demon. "You're a witch? You sure don't look like one."

Swallowing hard, Sansa lowered her stare to the floor and closed her free arm around her legs, her injured hand pulsing like a second heart against her chest. "I... I have witch blood, high lord. The women in my family are all witches, but I barely have any Skill myself."

The demon snorted, a dry and grating sound. "Barely any courage too. The room is filled with the smell of your fear... Is it really you who called me forth?" he sneered.

Her eyes filling with tears, Sansa sniffed hard. Why, oh why had she ever done that indeed? "Yes, it's me... I'm… I'm sorry if I have bothered you, high lord... I just... I just..."

"Just what?" he hissed impatiently, sending Sansa in a fit of shaking.

Struggling not to start crying, she leaned her chin on her knees and shut her eyes. This was all so unreal; she felt as if she was in a dream, or more precisely, in a nightmare. "I… I wanted to be... to be a real witch like my mother and sister," she murmured.

The demon laughed at that and Sansa was sure she had never heard anything more lugubrious. "A real witch," he mocked. "You have a long way to go."

Silence fell over the room for a few long seconds. Although Sansa's gaze was still fixed to the ground, she could feel the demon's eyes on her, studying her attentively. Then suddenly, he began probing her with some sort of devilish supernatural sense, appraising her with it - mind, body and soul alike. She grinded her teeth all through his assessment, feeling violated and yet totally helpless against it.

When he finally withdrew his strange and unpleasant mental touch from her, Sansa jerked and exhaled violently before growing limp and panting in exhaustion.

"For all of your trembling and weeping, there's something there, buried deep within you. I have seen it, though it is atrophic at best," the demon commented, his voice low and husky. "But I shouldn't have doubted it. You managed to conjure me and break my shackles alright. One cannot be totally powerless and free a bloody devil," he rasped, touching one of the large metal bands he had around his wrists.

The swivel eyes after them had been broken, Sansa noticed as she glanced up at him. She remembered having read about that as she did her research on Evocation during the previous week, that demons were chained in the Seven Hells and that when a witch successfully summoned one, he became bound to her instead.

Sansa's gaze fell on the hand he was touching the band with and the view of it sent a shudder down her spine. It was huge and grey like the rest of him with fingers that gradually became black from the second knuckles and ended with long and pointy, black claws. Will I let him touch me with these hands, she wondered in revulsion. Somehow, she couldn't envision that she might really go ahead with this.

"Why don't you stand up and let me have a good look at you, hmm?" the demon demanded.

Sansa didn't have it in her to refuse him. Her legs unsteady under her, she struggled to her feet, still cradling her bloody hand against her. The demon approached her and she quavered under his inspection, keeping her stare glued to the floor. He was so very tall, like a giant towering over her. In her peripheral vision, she could glimpse the enormous, dark shape of him, the bottom of his wings, the pointy end of his fingers…

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he said as he walked around her, looking her up and down. Then, he leaned over her and took a deep whiff near her neck. "Hmm, and a virgin too," he remarked.

Sansa flinched, his proximity too much for her, but the demon closed his hand around her upper arm and pulled her to him. Even through the fabric of her nightgown, there was no ignoring the abnormal warmth of his palm. His claws were digging into her arm, just enough for it to sting, and Sansa winced, keeping her gaze lowered to his sturdy torso. His smell was strong and so odd: male sweat, a hint of animal musk and the stench of smoke all coming together in something that was clearly not human. All Sansa wanted was to run as far as she could from him, yet there was no way she even moved. She was too petrified for that and barely could stand on her two feet to begin with.

"I know it's you who called me of course, knew it from the second I arrived," the demon admitted. "I can feel it, smell it... You smell of maiden, but you have your own sweet psychic scent as well, you know. It's like flowers and honey. I could drink it like wine..." He paused to readjust his hold on her upper arm, yanking her even nearer. "You know what demons do to witches, don't you?" he asked, his voice hushed.

Sansa breathed in deeply, shutting her eyes at the horror of it. She knew what demons did to witches all too well indeed for having read about it in her grimoire. In it, it was called 'Fornication' and there was an intricate illustration of naked witches and well-endowed demons having group sex by a huge bonfire at the beginning of the chapter about it. The very memory of it made Sansa's blood run cold. "Yes, I know, high lord," she whispered anyway.

For some reason, her reply angered him. "High lord," he repeated, the words sounding like curses. "You've called me that a few times already. Don't know why. Do I look like a bloody lord to you? Just a moment ago, I was burning in the Seven Hells. I was nothing but pain and misery. You think there's anything lordly about that, huh?!"

"Of course not! I'm so sorry if I offended you. I-"

"Where does that even come from?"

"What?"

"That pompous title!"

"I... I read in my grimoire that it's how a witch is meant to address a demon as she summons him," Sansa explained in panic.

"Pfff! That's bullshit. I piss on titles. They call me the Hound whence I come from, you might as well do the same."

"Of course, whatever you want, my lor... I mean, no, I'm so sorry, I-"

"You can't stop yourself, can you? So fucking polite," the demon cut her roughly. "What sort of witch are you, peeping those pretty little words at me with that pretty little voice of yours." He sniggered then, the sound so very grating. "A little bird of paradise – that's what you are - conjuring a bloody demon. Imagine that! But your pretty words are wasted on me, girl." The demon spat on the floor by his side to show her what he thought of that. "Look at me, little bird," he ordered suddenly.

Even before Sansa had a chance to do as he bade, he pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted her face. His fingers were burning hot, same as if he'd been feverish, or perhaps more exactly, as if he'd been burning from the inside. Sansa met his blazing stare, too frightened to dare disobey and was oddly fascinated by the look of them, yellowish with grey, somewhat animalistic irises.

"Go on! Take it all in," he insisted and Sansa submitted and did just that.

Gods, but those twisted scars he had were gruesome to look at up close, the flickering light of the candles' flames and moving shadows only attracting more attention to the craters and deep cracks in them. While unmarred, the other half of his face was just as intimidating with its strong jaw, heavy brow and high cheekbone. His nose was large and hooked, his features gaunt and the grey of his skin very macabre. Over his head, his horns rose and in the background, Sansa could vaguely distinguish the shape of the upper joints of his bat-like wings.

"I'm not as pretty as you are, am I? Not sure what you expected when you summoned me. This is what you're going to have to deal with to get the power you're after. Can you bear it?"

"I... I don't know," Sansa answered honestly. A tear went rolling down her cheek and her lower lip began quavering as if she was about to cry.

That seemed to take him aback and he released her chin to narrow his eyes at her. His other hand was still closed around her arms, keeping her near. "You don't know? What do you mean?" he demanded, his mouth twitching.

Sansa looked down, ashamed of herself. "I'm… I'm not sure I can do this. For… fornication…" she whispered. "I don't think I can."

The demon, the Hound he had told her he was called, shifted in place, but with her eyes lowered, all Sansa could see was how the muscles of his broad chest stiffened. "It's a bit late to turn back, I hope you realise that," he said with unveiled irritation. "Should've thought about that before you called me forth. Nothing will make me go back down there, you hear me? I've had enough of all the bloody fire," he spat.

Sansa waited in silence, unsure what she should say to that.

Lifting a large hand, the Hound twisted a lock of her hair around his forefinger. "You freed me..." he started, his tone calmer. "I'm grateful for it of course, but your conjuration is not over. You cannot call a demon through Evocation and then, not complete your part of the deal once he's there. That's a dangerous game you're playing, little bird. Has no one told you of the appetite a demon has after he's been summoned?"

"I... I've read about it," Sansa breathed uneasily.

It was indeed one of the things she had learned from the Fornication chapter of her grimoire. What truly bound a devil to a witch was the act of copulation, another word the grimoire used for it. One couldn't hope to gain power without offering herself to the fiend she had called forth. As for the demon, he could not be fooled; he instinctively knew which witch had summoned him and would recognise her by her psychic scent between thousands of women. From what Sansa had read, it was as if her scent became imprinted into his very being and he would lust after her with the hunger of a starving beast, especially when he first arrived, for who knew for how long he had gone without having a woman. It could have been centuries.

What the grimoire had failed to inform her of was what happened if a witch changed her mind and decided not to sleep with the demon she had summoned. Would he be sent back to the Seven Hells? Would he be enraged and rape or kill her?

"If you knew, you should've been prepared for it. Why go ahead with this Evocation if you don't have the guts for it?"

Sansa decided to go for the truth. "I… I thought I could do it - I really did! - but I was wrong. You scare me too much. You were right before when you said I lack courage. I shouldn't have summoned you. It was a big mistake…" she said, her voice breaking and eyes filling with tears.

That seemed to displease him, yet the demon didn't raise his voice. "A mistake? Why would you say that?" he asked. His voice was low and rough, quiet in spite of its faint undertone of anger. "Didn't you tell me yourself you wanted to be a witch like your mother and sister? What about that? You didn't change your mind so soon, have you?" The hand he had around her arm released it and moved over to her shoulder, the other resumed stroking her hair. "It's just the fear speaking, but you won't always be scared. You'll gain the power you lack if go ahead with this. Giving up so near to your goal, now that would be the real mistake."

Sansa gazed up at him, surprised. Was he pleading with her? Why would he do that…? Unless… unless…

All of a sudden, she began wondering if she had not guessed right and that he'd be sent back to the Seven Hells if she did not have sex with him before daybreak. The Hound could overpower her easily if he wanted to - he was a good foot taller than her and certainly at least twice her weight - yet maybe her consent was necessary for their alliance to be sealed? If that was the case, then… then perhaps if she managed to free herself from his clutches, to escape and then, to hide herself from him until dawn, she could avoid having to lose her virginity to this creature… Except that was utter nonsense and she knew it. No one could flee a devil who'd been lured to this world by the promise of a willing mate, a mate whose psychic scent he could recognise anywhere. And even if she somehow achieved it, where would that leave her? Sansa would be exactly in the same unbearable situation she had been in up until today, only with a wounded hand and a partially burned room. This whole endeavour would have been utterly pointless…

"All that fear's not warranted. It's like poison, blinding you to the fact that I'm here to serve you…" the Hound added, each word spoken slowly, in a near murmur. "It's keeping you from realising what you have at hand here. Are you really going to let it stop you from getting what you want?" he rasped. His harsh features set in an unreadable mask, he was gazing upon her with those strange, blazing eyes. "You'll get used to the sight of me soon enough. That fear can be tamed, same as I can be for you."

The hand he had used to stroke her hair moved to her cheek and he softly caressed her there with his knuckles, wiping her tears away. One sharp claw brushed her skin as he did, the feel of it making her cringe. Could she really ever get used to this fiend? Sansa doubted it and yet, for all of that, the Hound was certainly right. In the end, he was only reminding her of what had been her own sentiment before her nerves had gotten the better of her: that her aspiration of becoming a real witch was well worth that one sacrifice. She needed to get a grip of herself. She would never achieve anything if she allowed her fear to control her. Sansa had been so resolute before the demon's apparition. She had been ready to go to any length to get the Skill she lacked. She couldn't let all of her efforts go to waste. Perhaps I can be brave, she mused, unconvinced. Perhaps I can do it…

"If you lay with me, you'll be more than a witch," the Hound continued. He leaned over her, bringing his face inches from hers. "You'd be channelling your strength through me directly from the Seven Hells and trust me, that twice accursed place is bursting with wasted energy that just begs to be freed. Once you learn to wield it, they'll be no stopping you. With time, you could become more powerful than any witch you know. No one would ever see you as that pretty little false witch anymore, the one with the blood but not a drop of Skill to go with it. Don't tell me that's not something you long for."

Once more, his words hit a nerve. Can he read my mind? Sansa wondered. Or were these things he had sensed when he probed her earlier? One way or another, she indeed had had enough of being disregarded by the men and women of her congregation. The frustration of being unskilled was a constant in her life, a bitter aftertaste at the back of her throat that apparently would never leave her. Sansa was tired of being laughed at behind her back by the other young witches of her circle. She wanted to be one of them.

Apparently sensing he was getting somewhere, the demon kept on going. "I'd be your willing slave, would do your bidding, as any faithful demon ought to when asked by his conjuror. How many people do you know that can say as much? That they have a devil at their beck and call?" he insisted.

Sansa glanced up at his horns, at the joints of his closed wings that rose behind him, at the sharp, black thumbs over them. "No one," she whispered. She bit at her bottom lip, a wave of aversion washing over her as the demon cupped her cheek with his huge hand. It was so warm, nearly burning her, and very calloused.

"There, little bird, you see?" he said, his lips curving in a faint smirk. "All you have to do to change your life forever tonight, is open your pretty white legs for me and let me take you like you promised you would when you recited the words of your summoning. It won't be as bad as you dread, I think you'll be surprised. Witches usually enjoy being fucked by their demon. I don't see any reason why you'd be different"

Sansa had read as much in her grimoire, yet she couldn't imagine she could ever take any sort of pleasure from being shagged by this fiend. Still, there was no way around it: she desperately wanted to be a witch like was her birthright and this was her only hope of ever achieving that dream. Besides, having such a fearsome devil at her service surely couldn't hurt either. She had opened a breach between this world and the Seven Hells and there was really no turning back after that. This has to be done, she decided, shivering like a leaf.

"Yes, I'll do it. I'll give myself to you," Sansa breathed, barely believing her own words.

The Hound bared his teeth in the most devilish grin she had ever witnessed and his eyes flashed with something like satisfaction. "Good, you won't regret it, Sansa Stark," he rasped.

Author's note: So, how was it? Pleaaaase be kind enough to share your impressions with me in the comment section if you liked it because this is such a crackish fic, lol! I NEED to know if people are on board! Thanks in advance! :D