Page 44 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I blink, forcing myself to refocus. The two guards flanking me seize advantage of my distraction. One charges from the left, blade angled for my ribs. I sidestep, bracing my wrist to deflect, but she’s quicker than I anticipate, steel biting into my shoulder. Pain flares hot. I stifle a cry, retaliating with a vicious slash. My dagger carves a shallow cut across her abdomen.

She gasps, stumbling, but her companion leaps in. I barely block the blow, arms shaking under the force.I need more power.The darkness beckons, seductive and potent. My vision blurs with red.Do it. Use it.

My lips peel back in a snarl. I let the demonic energy surge, ignoring the voice that warns me to hold back. Shadows coil around my arm, seeping into the dagger, turning the blade’s edge black with writhing magic. The next time the guard lunges, I slash—and the blade slices through her sword as if it’s made of parchment. Her eyes widen in mortal panic. I follow through, hacking into her torso. She collapses, choking.

The final guard behind me curses, spinning away from my savage strike. She tries a retreat, but I lunge, hooking her chainmail with my free hand. Shadows swirl around my fingers, hungry. With a roar, I siphon the life from her, just as I did that night in the wilderness. She lets out a final, tortured scream. Blood vessels burst across her face, and her body goes limp.

A heady rush of stolen vitality floods me, sending tremors down my spine. My breath shudders with the euphoria of borrowed strength.Stop,some rational part of me screams.Don’t lose yourself.I wrest the power back under control, letting her corpse slump to the ground.

The sudden hush that follows is broken only by ragged breathing—mine, and the slaves’ whimpers. Four guards lie dead or near-death around me, and the others, presumably, have fallen to Daeva. My blood chills.We survived…

I whirl around to see Daeva gripping a battered dark elf by her collar, magic crackling ominously around his wrist. Her face is twisted in pain, yet she spits curses at him. A flash of black tattoos covers his forearms, swirling in a mesmerizing pattern. My stomach lurches:He’s letting the demon in him feed.

“Tell me more about this order,” he demands, voice lethal. “Why does Vaerathis want me?”

She coughs, blood trickling down her lip. “The House… the old master… He’s close to reclaiming his youth,” she rasps, malice bright in her eyes. “He needs you to complete the ritual. The human is your tether. She’ll ensure you don’t… resist.”

My heart stutters. “What do you mean by that?” I move closer, ignoring the ache in my wounded shoulder. “Explain.”

The elf’s gaze flicks to me, contempt curling her lips. “You freed him from the mirror,” she sneers. “You’re the key. Our master will use you to bind him during the final ceremony. He wants both of you delivered?—”

She breaks off in a strangled cry as Daeva tightens his grip. “Shut up,” he growls, releasing a surge of power that leaves her gasping. “You know nothing.”

She spits blood at his feet. “If you kill me, more will come. House Vaerathis will never stop. They have your essence, demon. They always did. And her soul is just another piece in the puzzle.”

Rage twists Daeva’s features. With a snarl, he flings her aside. She collapses in a broken heap, chest barely rising. I stare, mind reeling.So they truly want me, and him… for some new ritual.My thoughts spin, recalling the half-truths Daeva told me about his curse, his thirst for revenge.He left out a lot, didn’t he?

The slaves remain huddled behind the wagon, eyes wide with terror. My anger shifts to compassion. I hurry over, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, grabbing the chain that binds them. One woman flinches, expecting cruelty, but I force a gentle tone. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re free now.”

I find the locking mechanism and slice through with a thread of shadow magic. They gasp, stepping back in awe and fear. “Go,” I urge. “We won’t harm you.” A wave of relief surges in me when they stumble away, some muttering thanks, others too dazed to speak. They vanish into the wilds, likely fleeing to the nearest settlement.

Daeva stands motionless amid the carnage, the last dark elf’s ragged breaths fading by the second. My entire body thrums with leftover adrenaline, the swirl of questions thickening. I glare at him, chest tight. “You heard what she said. Something about using me to bind you. About finishing a ritual that grants immortality?”

His face is a mask of stony fury. “She was delirious, spouting Vaerathis propaganda. Don’t believe everything.”

I bristle, stepping forward. “Don’t lie to me,” I snap, voice trembling with anger. “She recognized us both. She said your old master needs us.Why?What does he plan to do?”

His jaw works, eyes dark with conflict. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Itdoes,” I insist, hand curling into a fist at my side. “You’re planning something. You always were. And now they want me, too. I have a right to know.”

He meets my gaze, the bond between us pulsing with tension. I feel the swirl of guilt and desperation in him, though he tries to hide it. “Stop asking,” he says coldly, turning away. “We have to move before others come.”

Something in me snaps. The old wounds from our training, from him dismissing my worth, flare up. “You can’t keep treating me like a pawn,” I hiss, voice cutting. “You owe me the truth!”

He spins, eyes flashing. For a moment, raw pain surfaces in his expression, then he locks it down. “I owe you nothing,” he grits out, though the tremor in his voice betrays him. “I’mprotectingyou.”

I scoff, heart pounding. “Protecting me from what? Myself? Or the knowledge that you plan todie? Because it sure sounds like the House wants to finish a ritual that leads to your death—and apparently mine, too!”

He flinches as though struck. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!” I nearly shout. The wind whips dust across my boots. “Tell me why they need us both. Why youwere in that mirror, why this ‘ancestor’ still lives—any of it. For once, let me in.”

He stares, silent, a thousand unspoken words burning behind his eyes. The air between us crackles with leftover magic, the stench of blood from the dead elves. Something in him quivers, as if he might finally yield. Then, with a hiss of breath, he looks away.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “Not now.”

Rage floods me. The bond thrums with my frustration, but he refuses to meet my gaze. I throw my hands up, letting a few sparks of dark power flicker off my fingertips. “Fine,” I bite out, voice unsteady. “I’m done prying answers out of you. If you won’t share them willingly, maybe I’ll find them myself.”

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