Page 19 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I take a careful step out, meeting the orc’s gaze. His eyes narrow in surprise at the sight of me—white-haired, black-marked. He snorts, raising his weapon. “Demon?” he growls in broken Common. “You look puny.”

My lips curl into a mirthless smile. “I’m more than enough for you.”

The orc glances around, suspicious of a trap. Behind me, I hear Silas shift, but I gesture sharply for him to stay hidden. The fewer of us they see, the less they’ll realize we have wounded.

The orc sneers, revealing jagged tusks. “What you want here?”

I sense an opportunity. Orcs don’t have the same alliances or enmities as elves, but they respect strength. “Just passing. We have no quarrel unless you make one,” I say calmly.

He snorts again. The second orc creeps closer, spear lowered. “We want toll,” he snarls. “What you pay us to pass?”

A toll for crossing their territory. Typical. The question is: do they want gold? Weapons? Or blood? We have neither coin nor a willingness to waste time.

I spread my hands, letting black flickers of power dance along my fingertips in a show of intimidation. “I have no gold. But I could give you something else.”

His grin sours, and I see greed flash in his eyes. “We no want worthless humans, if that’s what you offer,” he says, spitting at the ground. “You have weapons? Supplies?”

“We have little,” I admit. “Still, it might be enough.”

Behind me, I hear a muffled protest—Calla or Silas, perhaps. They realize we can’t spare anything. The orc with the crossbow shifts in his saddle, scanning the rocks. I sense the tension building. One wrong word, and they’ll attack.

I inch forward, letting them see the swirling markings on my arms. The orcs whisper among themselves, uncertain. Orcs are savage, but they aren’t fools. They recognize something unnatural when they see it.

Before I can speak again, the orc with the crossbow lifts it, pointing the weapon straight at my chest. My magic crackles, and in a swift motion, I fling a coil of black energy at him, but the angle is awkward. The coil slams into his mount instead. The beast shrieks, toppling sideways. The orc tumbles to the ground, letting off a wild bolt that ricochets off the stone.

The first orc roars, spurring his creature forward and swinging the mace at my head. I duck, slamming my palm against the beast’s flank. A jolt of dark energy ripples through it. The mount staggers, twisting sideways as the orc struggles to keep control.

Then the second orc lunges with his spear, nearly skewering me. I dodge, and the spearpoint scrapes across my upper arm, pain flaring. My blood, dark in the half-light, stains my torn sleeve. I grit my teeth, letting the adrenaline sharpen my focus.

Across the defile, Ryn emerges, brandishing a large rock in both hands. He heaves it at the spear-wielding orc’s back. It’s an act of desperation, but it makes enough noise to distract the orc. The orc twists around with a snarl, and that gives me a precious second. I drive my elbow into his ribs, channeling a pulse offreezing energy. Frost creeps over the plates of his armor, biting into skin. He howls, backing off.

The crossbow orc tries to stand, dazed from the fall. Silas darts out, tackling him around the knees. They crash to the mud, wrestling. The crossbow is knocked loose, but the orc is stronger. He yanks Silas by the hair, about to deliver a crushing blow.

Calla steps in with a broken branch, smashing it against the orc’s temple. The orc lurches, releasing Silas. I seize the moment—launching a tendril of darkness that snakes around the orc’s neck. He chokes, eyes bulging, and collapses in the mud.

The last orc, the one with the mace, rears his mount, glaring at me with open fury. “You pay in blood, demon!” He spurs the beast, charging forward. I brace, ignoring the pain in my arm. My power surges, swirling around me in a haze of black motes.

To my shock, the beast leaps the boulder behind me, heading straight for the cluster of mortals. Fear knifes through me. Jenna is there, helpless. Without hesitation, I summon a violent rush of energy. It crackles across the rocky ground, forming a barrier of sizzling black.

The orc’s mount hits that wall mid-leap. A thunderous impact. The mount squeals, flipping over the barrier. The orc is flung headlong, crashing into the stone with bone-snapping force. For a moment, he twitches—then goes limp.

Heart pounding, I glance at Calla and Silas. They’re splattered with mud, faces pale but alive. Ryn stands rigid, chest heaving, while Cole kneels by Jenna, shielding her. She’s still conscious enough to look terrified.

I let the barrier fade, staggering slightly. My entire body trembles with fatigue and pain. The slash on my arm burns, and the energy I expelled leaves me dizzy. But we’ve survived. That’s all that matters.

In the aftermath, the orcs lie scattered. One is definitely dead, the others unconscious or too broken to fight. Silasrecovers the crossbow with shaky hands, checking to see if it’s still usable. Ryn rubs the bruise on his shoulder, and Cole slumps in relief.

Calla’s eyes find me in the chaos. She steps over a broken piece of armor, lips parted. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” I say through gritted teeth, though each breath stings.

She frowns, crossing to me quickly. Her hands hover near the wound, uncertain. I nod, allowing her to examine it. She peels back the torn fabric, wincing at the gash. “We have some leftover silverleaf,” she murmurs, “but we can’t keep using it on every cut.”

I clench my jaw. “Just wrap it. We can’t linger here.”

Without argument, she tears a strip from the hem of her tunic and binds my arm with surprising gentleness, her hands quick and deft. My breath hitches at her touch, unaccountably distracting in the midst of the carnage. Silas watches with worried eyes, but says nothing.

Once she’s done, I turn to the group. “We have orc mounts now, if any can still be ridden.” My voice is sharp from pain, but the practicality stands. “We need to leave before the rest of their warband arrives.”

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