Page 13 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

My limbs shake uncontrollably. I’ve never seen a demon hound, never seen a creature so fearsome taken down like that. And I’ve certainly never seen so many dead elves—by our hands, or more accurately, by Daeva’s.

Daeva’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath. A faint tremor passes through him, as though the exertion has strained even his formidable powers. He steps away from the hound’s corpse, glancing at Jenna. “Can she walk?”

Cole nods vehemently, though worry lines his forehead. “We’ll manage.”

Daeva’s gaze flicks to the slope. “We need to leave. Reinforcements will come.”

I swallow. My mind whirls, trying to process the savage violence I just witnessed. “Where do we go?”

Without hesitation, Daeva points deeper into the forest. “Farther in. We can’t return to open ground now, or we’ll be caught in the next wave of riders.”

Silas helps me lift Jenna. She cries out as we jostle her wounded shoulder, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over me. She made a desperate gamble to escape, and this is her reward—an arrow in the flesh.

We limp up the slope on the opposite side of the ravine, avoiding the twitching elf who remains alive. Daeva glances at him, and for a moment I wonder if he’ll deliver a final blow. But the demon simply turns away, letting the survivor wallow in defeat.

The trees close around us once more, dense and disorienting. My legs threaten to buckle with each step, but fear compels me onward. The distant pounding of more hooves resonates somewhere behind us, and though the forest muffles the sound, it sends my heart racing anew. We’re a band of half-starved, injured slaves—how much more can we endure?

Eventually, we reach a stretch of forest where the undergrowth grows taller, the pine trunks thicker. Daeva guides us beneath a canopy of ancient branches that block out much of the weak daylight. The ground here is carpeted with centuries of fallen needles, giving it a spongy texture that silences our footfalls.

We pause by a stony outcropping draped with emerald moss, ringed by stunted bushes. Here, Daeva crouches to examine Jenna’s wound more carefully. I kneel beside him, ignoring the chill that seeps into my bones.

“She needs proper care,” Daeva remarks, sliding a hand near the injury without touching it. “The bolt likely tore muscle. She’ll be feverish if it’s not cleaned.”

I nod, glancing at Jenna’s pale face. She’s biting back tears, trying to remain brave. “We can’t exactly walk into a dark elf healer’s clinic,” I say softly.

He doesn’t respond to my bitterness, only sets his jaw. “I can do something to stave off infection. But it will hurt.”

Jenna looks at him. Her pupils shrink with fear, but she presses her lips into a tight line and nods. “Do it.”

Daeva closes his eyes for a moment, black tattoos shivering across his collarbones. Then he presses two fingertips to the bloody hole in her tunic. A hiss of steam and an acrid smell of burned flesh hits my nose, making me gag. Jenna screams, arching her back. Silas and Ryn struggle to hold her down.

After a few seconds, Daeva pulls away. The wound still looks raw, but the immediate bleeding has clotted, and there’s an odd sheen of frost or crystallized energy around the edges, sealing it. Jenna gasps, tears streaking her cheeks.

“What did you do?” Cole demands, half in awe, half in horror.

Daeva exhales. “Sealed the wound with cold. It’s not a cure, but it should keep her alive until we find real medicine.”

Jenna’s eyes flutter. She sucks in shallow breaths. “Th-thank you…”

He inclines his head, silent.

All around, tension coils. The others exchange wary looks, as though uncertain whether to be grateful for his power or terrified of it. Perhaps both.

I shift closer, keeping my voice low. “We need to keep moving, but she can’t walk far in this state.”

He studies me for a moment before answering. “I’ll carry her if necessary.”

“Can you?” Silas asks, not quite hiding the suspicion in his tone.

Daeva’s gaze cuts to Silas, and I tense. But after a heartbeat, he simply nods. “I can.”

“Let’s not linger,” I say softly. I glance at the canopy overhead. The forest is already dim, but I sense the sun’s progression overhead, dipping toward afternoon. If the elves search these woods systematically, it’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered again.

Daeva scoops Jenna into his arms with surprising gentleness. Her lips press together, pain etched in her features, but she allows it. The rest of us stand, each grimacing at our own aches and bruises.

We set off once more. The forest’s silence feels oppressive now. Every twig snap makes me jump, every rustle in the bushes sends my heartbeat skyrocketing. The adrenaline has left me shaky and lightheaded. Silas walks close, occasionally touching my elbow to reassure me—or maybe himself.

Ryn trudges behind, wincing with each breath from where that elf kicked him. Cole stays near Daeva, glancing at Jenna’s closed eyes. She’s half-conscious, but alive.

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