Page 20 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Cole steps gingerly around the fallen beasts. One is clearly dead, the other flanks are twitching. Only the crossbow orc’s mount remains, battered but alive. It bares yellowed teeth when Cole approaches, snorting in alarm.

“Not sure it’ll let us ride,” Cole says. “These beasts aren’t known to be gentle.”

I eye the creature, exhaling. In my better days, I might have coerced it with demonic will, but I’m drained. “Then we’ll carry on as we are.”

We scavenge anything useful from the orcs—some dried meat, a half-full canteen of questionable water, a few strips ofbattered cloth that might serve as bandages. It’s a grim but necessary task. While Silas and Cole rummage, Ryn lifts Jenna again, though he staggers under her weight.

“No,” I say, stepping in. “I’ll carry her.”

He eyes my bandaged arm. “You’re already injured.”

“I’m stronger than you. Don’t argue.”

He relents, letting me cradle Jenna carefully. She breathes in shallow gasps. Calla and Silas take point, crossbow in hand, while Cole and Ryn cover our flank. I keep myself ready for another surge of aggression—from elves, orcs, or anything else in this cursed forest.

As we start forward, Calla falls into step beside me, her cheeks flushed from exertion or lingering adrenaline. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice nearly lost in the wind.

“For what?” I murmur, though my heart stirs.

“For… protecting us again. You could’ve left when you saw those orcs, but you stayed.”

I don’t reply at first, focusing on the path. Then I glance down, letting our gazes meet. “I stay because I choose to.” The honest confession feels heavier than any blow.

She draws a breath, a flicker of warmth crossing her features. Despite the freezing air and the tang of blood around us, that moment resonates like an ember in the dark. Maybe we’re both lost souls, haunted by House Vaerathis in different ways. Yet here we are, forging a path of mud and desperation in a hostile land.

I shift Jenna’s weight in my arms and push onward, ignoring the sting in my own wound. The sky rumbles again—another storm brewing, or perhaps the remnants of the last. I sense no respite in this place. Our only certainty is that we have to keep moving, keep surviving. House Vaerathis hunts us. Orc warbands prowl these forests. And I harbor secrets that might tear us apart if revealed too soon.

But for now, I walk beside Calla, each step a defiance of the fate that once bound me. The forest swallows us in its misty hush, and I vow, in the silent depths of my mind, that I won’t stop until we find sanctuary—or until the last of my cursed power burns out.

5

CALLA

Ikeep my hand pressed firmly to my aching side, each ragged breath burning my lungs in the lingering aftermath of our clash with the orcs. The metallic scent of blood—some ours, some theirs—still coats the back of my tongue, and the forest around us feels unusually silent, as if nature itself holds its breath in the wake of violence. Daeva leads us at an even pace, though his stride seems more subdued than before. The makeshift bandage on his arm is stained a dark crimson in places, but he doesn’t complain.

The ground slopes downward, and I notice how the trees thin out, letting more patches of tired sunlight spill onto the pine-needle floor. Ryn limps at the rear, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder. Each time he does, my heart climbs into my throat, expecting to see some new horror. But so far, the only thing chasing us is the gloom of our own fatigue.

Beside me, Silas remains vigilant, crossbow clutched awkwardly in his hands. He’s never fired one before, but necessity and desperation have a way of turning novices into survivors. Cole helps him check the mechanism, occasionally casting worried glances at Jenna, who’s still cradled in Daeva’sarms. She’s conscious but listless, eyes half-lidded from fever and exhaustion.

It feels like days since we broke free from House Vaerathis, though in reality, it’s probably just a handful of them—each day crammed with more brushes with death than I care to tally. Between the elves, the demon hound, and now orcs, we’ve tested our luck enough. We desperately need a safe place to rest, to let Jenna heal, to let us all catch our breath without the threat of another ambush.

A faint sound catches my attention: the soft rush of water. It weaves through the silence of the forest, barely noticeable over the rasp of our footsteps and labored breathing. But it’s there—steady, promising. Water means we can clean wounds, wash away the dirt and blood, maybe even scavenge fish if we’re lucky.

“We’re close to a stream,” I murmur, glancing at Daeva’s profile. His silver-blue eyes flick toward me.

He nods, shifting Jenna’s weight in his arms. “Yes,” he says, voice subdued. “Let’s find it.”

The faint track beneath our feet merges into a narrower path, and the trees open into a small clearing where the sun filters in golden rays. Beyond that, I glimpse the gentle curve of a riverbank—rocks and pebbles worn smooth by flowing water. The river itself isn’t broad—perhaps fifteen strides across—but it looks clear and relatively calm. Relief bubbles up in my chest.

Silas exhales. “Thank the gods,” he mutters, quickening his pace. “If it’s safe enough to linger…”

Daeva lowers Jenna carefully against a mossy log at the boundary of the clearing. She stifles a groan, eyelids fluttering at the sudden change in position. Ryn and Cole rush to her side, checking her bandages. Her fever has subsided a bit, but she’s still so pale it makes my heart clench.

I step closer to the water’s edge. The river flows with a low, melodic whisper, carrying leaves and small twigs downstream.The bank is framed by smooth stones, some large enough to form a natural seating area or serve as a makeshift washing spot. If we’re going to make camp, this seems as good a place as any.

Daeva joins me, scanning the surroundings. He’s quiet, though his gaze roams methodically—he’s not just admiring the view. He’s checking for threats. It’s easy to forget how dangerous this land is until you see that caution etched in his features again.

“Should we risk a fire?” Cole calls from behind, still kneeling next to Jenna.

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