Page 45 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Without waiting for a reply, I stalk away from the carnage, ignoring the throbbing in my shoulder. The setting sun casts elongated shadows across the dusty road. Daeva calls my name, but I don’t turn. My entire being trembles with anger and a deeper hurt.I gave him my soul. I risked everything, yet he still shuts me out?

I trudge up the slope, away from the massacre. Once at the top, I find a hollow behind a craggy boulder and collapse there, pressing my hand to my bleeding shoulder. The cut isn’t deep, but it stings. My heartbeat echoes in my ears.So House Vaerathis wants to bring me back, to control him? A final ceremony to claim immortality? Is that the same ritual that created him as a demon?

Memories swirl: the cursed mirror, the catacombs, Daeva’s vow for revenge.He wants to kill the ancient elf who betrayed him.Could it be the same “master” who’s ordering these scouts to retrieve us? Likely. My throat tightens.But how does that tie to me?

Tears sting my eyes, a potent mix of confusion and fury. The taste of old fear lurks beneath my anger. If Vaerathis truly huntsme, I might lose everything—my fragile freedom, my friends, the powers I’ve only begun to wield. Or worse:Daeva might still plan to sacrifice us both if it means destroying his foe.

I lean my head back against the rock, swallowing hard. Night approaches, chill creeping in. Eventually, the shuffle of footsteps signals his arrival behind me. I sense his presence before he speaks: the bond faintly thrumming, a dark whisper in my blood. I keep my eyes on the horizon.

He stands there, silent for a moment. Then he exhales. “Your wound,” he murmurs. “Let me see.”

My chest constricts with warring impulses. I want to lash out, tell him to leave me alone. Another part yearns for the comfort of his touch, the way he bandaged me in the past, the quiet gentleness lurking under his harsh front. Reluctantly, I pull the torn fabric aside, exposing the cut. Blood mats my sleeve.

He crouches, producing a strip of cloth from his pack. The tension weighs heavily as he cleans the wound, careful but efficient. My breathing hitches at the sting, though his hands are steady, emanating warmth. When he finishes, he binds it, tying the cloth snugly around my shoulder. The closeness sends flickers of memory—his arms around me, the heat of his lips.Anger coexists with longing, an agonizing combination.

We remain in tense silence. Finally, I lift my gaze, finding his eyes. “Why won’t you tell me?” I ask softly. “Is it so terrible that I can’t handle it?”

His jaw clenches. “You want honesty?”

I nod, heart hammering.

He breathes once, staring at the bloody cloth in his hands. “If I complete the ritual—if I kill the old ancestor—the magic might end me as well.” His voice is low, each word weighed with care. “I was cursed with him, bound to his life. If he dies, so might I.”

I swallow, that old dread surfacing. “You said you wanted to die,” I whisper. “That you longed for an end to your existence.”

His eyes flick to me, pained. “Maybe I do. But… there’s more. If the ceremony restarts… you’re tied to me, Calla. Our contract. You—” He falters, as though the words physically hurt him. “You might be dragged down with me.”

A cold wave crashes through my body.So I might die if he proceeds.My thoughts race. “Then… you can’t do it. You can’t finish the ritual.”

He flinches, heartbreak flickering in his gaze. I realize he’s caught between vengeance and what he feels for me—though he’d never admit it. “House Vaerathis might not give us a choice,” he mutters. “They want to bind me, use you to control me, and force the ritual to their advantage. Possibly to restore their old master’s youth, or to twist it to a new purpose. I don’t know.”

My lips part, horror twisting my stomach. “You… you knew this was a risk all along?”

His silence is answer enough. Fury surges again. “So you were prepared to drag me into your death wish? Did you ever plan to tell me I might die for your revenge?”

He meets my eyes, something raw in his expression. “I didn’t want you to be involved at all,” he admits, voice catching. “I tried to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away, hoping you’d leave, break the bond or… anything. But it’s too late, isn’t it?”

Tears blur my vision. The longing, the confusion, the anger all collide in my chest. I stand abruptly, ignoring the twinge of pain in my shoulder. “Yes,” I whisper. “Too late. We’re bound, and House Vaerathis hunts us. So we face this together, or we’re doomed.”

He rises as well, looming close. The bond pulses, a mixture of heartbreak and fierce protectiveness swirling. “Calla…” His voice trembles, heavy with apology and unsaid emotion. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. He’s never offered me an apology before. His dark lashes lower, and I see the tormentin him—fear of losing me, fear of living, fear ofeverything. My heart aches. Despite my anger, I crave to comfort him. But a wedge remains between us.

I draw a shaky breath, lifting my gaze. “Then promise me something,” I say, voice trembling. “No more secrets. If House Vaerathis is determined to bring us in, if you’re planning some final showdown with your old master… I need to knoweverything. We decide together.”

He inhales, a storm in his eyes. “I promise to try,” he says at last. “But some things… they’re not easy to share.”

My lips press tight. “We’ll figure it out.” The final word cracks with exhaustion. My entire body sags, worn from the fight, from the emotional upheaval. The sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving the world cloaked in dim twilight.

He stands there, uncertain. Then, with surprising gentleness, he reaches out, fingertips brushing my uninjured arm. “You’re bleeding through the bandage,” he notes quietly. “Let me rebind it before we?—”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Always patching me up after a fight, aren’t you?” I search his face. “What if I want more than that from you?”

His breath catches, the bond thrumming. For a heartbeat, it feels like he might gather me into his arms, bridging the gap. But that flicker of closeness shutters quickly. He steps back, gaze tortured.

“It’s dangerous,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “I can’t… you know the bond complicates everything.”

Pain lances through me. “I’m aware.” I exhale shakily, letting him check the bandage in silence. My eyes roam over his face, seeing the shadows carved by centuries of curses. “Let’s go,” I say wearily when he finishes. “I want to put distance between us and any survivors who might call for reinforcements.”

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