Page 41 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Her eyes flick up to mine, a small spark of hope there. But I can’t let warmth linger, for fear it’ll open the floodgate of everything I’m hiding. “That’s enough for now,” I say curtly. “We’ll find a place to rest, then resume tomorrow.”

She nods, swallowing whatever reply hovered on her tongue. We gather our things, tension smoldering between us. Another day ends, her muscles aching, my mind churning with too many thoughts left unspoken.

By the fifth day, we establish a rough rhythm: travel for half the morning, searching for a new area to practice or a vantage point to ensure we’re alone, then train until she’s at her limit. The nights pass in a swirl of silent standoffs—sleeping near each other, but not touching, not discussing what we shared. I see the disappointment cloud her gaze, feel it in the bond when she tentatively draws close, only for me to deflect with a reminder: “It’s just the contract.”

I can’t bear to elaborate. Each time I try, my chest squeezes with the weight of half-formed confessions.It’s more than the bond. I crave you. I want your light.But I refuse to burden her with such vulnerability. She’s bound to me already—it would be cruel to entangle her in emotional shackles too.

Yet the unspoken tension simmers. I catch her watching me with guarded longing when we set up camp at twilight. I sense the friction in her smile when she musters a polite question, only for me to brush it aside. We’re caught in a cycle of distance, broken only by training. The fight is our language, a safer exchange than words.

On the sixth day, I decide to test her further. We find a secluded glade surrounded by towering pines. Pale sunshine filters through the canopy, illuminating the mossy ground. Birds call overhead, oblivious to our strife. I set my pack aside and roll my shoulders.

“All right,” I say, voice echoing among the trunks. “We’ll spar again. But this time, if you manage to land a solid blow on me, I’ll grant you a wish. Any single request, within reason.”

Her eyes light with cautious excitement. “A wish?”

“Yes,” I confirm. A subtle challenge thrums in my tone. “If you beat me, I’ll honor your request, no matter what it is.”Though I pray it’s not something that unravels my secrets entirely.

She nods, swallowing. I see her determination spark. “I’m ready.”

We face each other. She squares her stance, knees bent slightly, while I loosen my shoulders, scanning her posture for openings. Then, with a flicker of silent agreement, we leap into action.

She lunges first, swinging a short blade I gave her earlier—a dull practice knife, but the weight is real enough. I parry with my forearm, pivoting aside. She tries to twist around my defense, her movements quicker than before, honed by days of drills. Yet I remain faster. I block each strike with fluid efficiency, guiding her momentum away from my core.

“Focus,” I taunt, stepping back when she overextends. “Don’t rush.”

She grits her teeth, eyes blazing. Her power crackles along her arms—she yearns to use the shadow magic, but she knows the fight’s rules. Instead, she channels adrenaline into speed. She crouches low, feints left, then slashes right, nearly catching me by surprise. I jerk away, a ripple of satisfaction at her improvement. But not enough.

Seizing an opening, I spin behind her, hooking my arm around her torso. She gasps, blade pinned uselessly at her side. For an instant, her back presses to my chest, and the bond hums with a precarious charge. My pulse stutters, recalling the shape of her body so intimately entwined with mine just nights ago. She stiffens, fury and desire warring on her face.

“Let me go,” she snarls.

I comply, pushing her off. She staggers, regains balance, and whirls, lunging again. Our knives clash in a flurry of quick thrusts. She tries a bold upward slash, but I block and respond with a light rap to her knuckles. Her grip falters momentarily, but she recovers, glaring at me.

“You keep holding back,” she accuses, voice trembling with frustration.

“You haven’t given me reason to do otherwise,” I shoot back. “If I fought in earnest, you’d be pinned in seconds.”

Her cheeks flare. “Then fight me for real!”

I narrow my eyes. “Be careful what you wish for.” Nonetheless, I shift my stance, deciding to apply more pressure. I come at her from the side, forcing her to pivot quickly. She parries twice but leaves her flank open. I slip inside her guard, elbow brushing her ribs. She yelps, staggers. I catch her wrist, twisting just enough to disarm her without snapping bone.

She hisses in pain, dropping the knife. I release her, stepping away. “Yield,” I command, breath a tad heavier than I’d like to admit.

She bends, snatching her blade again, ignoring my order. Frustration contorts her features, and a swirl of black aura gathers around her fingertips, as if her demonic side threatens to burst free. But she halts, remembering the rules. She can’t use magic in this spar.

“Damn it,” she curses, flinging the practice blade aside. She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, pacing in a tightcircle on the moss. “I can’t land a hit, no matter how hard I try. It’s hopeless.”

My voice softens. “It’s not hopeless. You’re improving daily. But I’ve had centuries of combat experience?—”

“Centuries,” she echoes, bitterness creeping in. “How can I ever catch up to that?”

I watch her, noting the slump of her shoulders, the shimmering tears in her eyes she refuses to let fall. A pang of regret twists in my chest. My harshness is driving her, but also hurting her.I can’t coddle her if she wants true strength, though.

“You may never equal my skill,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But you can become strong in your own right. Strong enough to defend yourself, to protect others if needed.”

She inhales shakily, meeting my gaze. “That’s all I want,” she whispers. “To not feel helpless, to never be at someone’s mercy again.”

Something tightens in my throat.I understand that feeling too well.I close the distance, fighting the familiar rush of heat from even this simple touch. “Keep training,” I say, voice turning gentler. “You’ll fail a thousand times, but you only need to succeed when it counts.”

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