Page 43 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I draw in a cautious breath, scanning the valley floor. The late afternoon sun glares in my eyes, but I make out shapes moving along a narrow track—an armed caravan, perhaps six or seven figures on foot, herding a group of smaller silhouettes. My heartbeat kicks. The smaller forms wear tattered clothes, some limping, some shackled. Slaves. My mouth goes dry.

A knot forms in my stomach.How many times did I trudge along a path just like that, head bowed, the whip at my back?My pulse quickens, anger simmering.

Daeva notices the flush in my cheeks, the tension in my jaw. His voice is low and edged with warning. “Calla. Don’t get involved.”

I tear my gaze from the caravan to glare at him. “They’re slaves—humans, from the looks of it.Ourpeople.”

He doesn’t blink. “We can’t save every mortal who suffers in Protheka. We have more pressing goals.”

It’s the same response he’s given me countless times whenever we come across injustice. Each time, it chips at the fragile bond between us, stirring resentment. The frustration I’ve carried these past days—over our training, his dismissals, the tension after that night of blood and lust—clashes with the memory of my own enslavement. My jaw clenches.

“You don’t care?” I ask, voice taut.

His eyes flick away, revealing nothing. “Their plight isn’t our priority. Interference risks drawing attention.” He gestures pointedly at the valley. “We can bypass them unseen.”

My throat tightens. “I won’t leave them.” Before he can argue further, I drop low, ducking into the scrub. A faint hiss of exasperation escapes him, but I’m already crawling away from the ridge line.Let him sulk,I think furiously. My blood hums with righteous anger, so fierce it drowns out caution.

I scramble down the rocky slope, sticking to shadows. I’m vaguely aware of Daeva hovering behind me, though he keeps his distance. The caravan is slow, forced to match the stumbling gait of its captives. As I draw closer, I see the captors are indeed dark elves—eight or nine of them, all female, clad in House Vaerathis colors. My heart stutters.Vaerathis? The very same family that enslaved me?

Bile rises in my throat. My mind snaps back to the endless corridors, the whip’s crack, Lord Kaelith’s sneer. Fury blazes, fueling the dark power stirring in my veins. I grit my teeth, waiting behind an outcrop, letting them pass by so I can count their number accurately.Seven armed elves,I confirm.About four or five humans shackled together…

My stomach roils. Some of the humans appear near my age, others older, their eyes dull with exhaustion and despair. All female. The brand on one woman’s forearm is hideously familiar. A Vaerathis mark.No,I vow.Not again.

I risk a quick glance over my shoulder. Daeva lurks twenty strides behind, crouched behind a thorny bush. His face is impassive, but I sense a swirl of tension through our bond, as though he’s coiled to intervene if I do something catastrophically foolish.I probably am,I admit silently. But that doesn’t stop me.

I wait until the caravan files past my position. Then, summoning a breath, I slip from my hiding spot, creeping behind the rearmost guard. My heart pounds, adrenaline surging.Focus, Calla. Don’t lose control.If I unleash magic blindly, I might slaughter them all—something I’ve done once already, and the memory haunts me. But I can’t let them continue this slave train unchallenged.

The guard at the back is armed with a short sword. Her pointed ears are half-covered by a burgundy hood that bears the Vaerathis crest. She leads one of the enslaved women by a chain. The woman stumbles, and the guard snaps, yanking hard, nearly toppling her.

That’s all I need.Now.I surge forward, clamping a hand over the guard’s mouth and jamming my dagger against her neck. She stiffens, muffled shock escaping her throat.

“Don’t make a sound,” I whisper fiercely. “Or your life ends now.” My heart drums with savage intensity. I can feel the pulse of demonic power beneath my skin, itching to lash out. But I keep it at bay for the moment, channeling my fear and fury into a controlled threat.

The guard’s eyes widen, but she’s well-trained—she tries to jerk aside, reaching for her sword. I tighten my grip, slicing her throat shallowly in warning. Warm blood trickles over myfingers. A muted rasp of pain escapes her. The human captive looks on in stunned silence.

“Release the chain,” I hiss. She doesn’t comply fast enough, so I twist the dagger. Her breath hitches, and she fumbles to unhook the metal. The captive tears free, stumbling back with eyes wide.

My victory is short-lived. Another guard notices. A sharp bark of alarm cuts through the air. A flurry of movement follows: dark elves rushing forward, the enslaved humans recoiling in confusion. My hostage tries to elbow me. I duck and drive my dagger up, ending her with a grim slash. She crumples in a heap, blood slicking the dirt.

No turning back now. The rest of the guards converge, swords out, faces contorted with rage. Two of them stay near the front, corralling the remaining slaves behind a wagon. The other four form a half-circle around me.Outnumbered, again, I think, but my blood sings with dark adrenaline.

One guard snarls, “It’s her—the Vaerathis runaway. The mortal slave who escaped with that demon!”

My pulse leaps.They recognize me.Another guard exclaims, “We have orders to bring her back. The master wants both the demon and his summoner.”

Hatred flares.Master? They must mean the patriarch, or perhaps the entire House that hunts me.My body trembles, recalling endless punishments. “I’m no one’s property,” I snarl, letting the demonic power coil in my chest. A faint swirl of shadow crackles around my forearm.Just enough… Don’t lose control.

With a yell, they attack. Steel glints in the sunlight. I dodge a sweeping blade, sinking low into a stance Daeva drilled into me. My foot hooks around the guard’s ankle, sending her toppling. Another swings from behind. I spin, parrying with the battereddagger. The blade screeches as it meets metal, jarring my arm. I grit my teeth, pushing the second guard off-balance.

A third lunges, chanting something. Magic flares from her palm—a crackling ribbon of purple energy that sizzles across the space between us. I barely roll aside, the blast scorching the dirt.Dark elf sorcery.My eyes narrow.So be it.I unleash a pulse of my own magic, letting it surge from my fingertips. It collides with her chest, sending her flying into a wheel of the wagon. She hits with a sickening crunch.

I pant, heart racing. Two guards remain within striking distance; the other two are near the wagon. The clamor is too loud—I can’t keep track.Where is Daeva?

As if in answer, a feral growl echoes across the road. Daeva appears from behind the wagon, cloak flaring, black markings rippling along his arms. He’s chosen that moment to strike, apparently deciding he can’t remain idle. Magic crackles around him, dark and ominous. The guards near the wagon spin, eyes wide with terror.

“Your House Vaerathis wants me?” he hisses, voice resonant with lethal anger. “They should’ve sent more than a handful of you.”

A slash of chaotic power lances from his outstretched hand, ripping into one guard with unstoppable force. The other tries to flee but Daeva intercepts her, hooking her blade with a single fluid motion and twisting it free. She staggers, fear etched in her features.

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