You stopped leaving offerings. Now the djinn expects personal service.

Your family has left offerings beneath the old oak for generations. You never cared why—until they leave you the property, and a magnificent stranger pulls you into a dream to inform you that you have been neglecting its bargain with him for six months. He doesn’t remember what your ancestors asked for. He doesn’t care. They wanted something, he granted it, and the offerings kept coming. His advice is simple: fix it.

Unfortunately, he is Emperor Zahir, an ancient Shaitan djinn who rules his own realm. Arrogant, vain, obscenely powerful and thoroughly unimpressed by humans, Zahir grants wishes, twists careless requests, and expects obedience, reverence, and offerings worthy of him.

For a while, you comply. Then the figs run out. The honey runs out. You stare at the empty altar, laugh, and mutter, “ him.” Zahir hears you. This time, he doesn’t visit your dreams—he brings you into his realm and decides you’ll stay in his palace until you learn better.

And unfortunately, the asshole is gorgeous.