Page 47 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I recall the black hunger that flares whenever I unleash my power. The way I devoured life from my enemies. My heart clenches, but I set my jaw. “I’m not afraid,” I whisper, refusing to let dread consume me. “We face it together, or not at all.”

He bows his head, a troubled acceptance in his posture. We finish our paltry meal in silence, each lost in thoughts of the uncertain path ahead.

By dusk,the sky opens in a drizzle, soaking the plains in cold, miserable rain. We find shelter under a craggy overhang, building a feeble fire from damp twigs. My teeth chatter as we huddle near the flames. Daeva sits close enough that our arms occasionally brush, sending jolts of awareness through me. The bond thrums softly, an undercurrent of warmth in the dreary dampness.

I recall how once, I would have seized that contact, leaning into him, hoping for comfort. But the revelations weigh heavy. I settle for letting our shoulders touch, a small show of tentative truce. His presence banishes some of the cold.

In the firelight, I study the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes. Something inside me softens. Despite our conflicts, I can’t deny how deeply he’s fought to protect me—even if his choices remain bound in secrecy and regret. I consider pressing him for more details about the House’s exact plans, about the ritual, about how he truly feels. But the day has worn me down, and the fear of another argument holds me still.

Night falls. The rain intensifies, drumming on the rocks. At some point, I drift to sleep against the stone, lulled by exhaustion and the slow crackle of the flames.

A nightmare finds me: I’m back in Vaerathis, shackled to a mirror that glows with vile power. Daeva is on the other side, hands pressed to it, eyes hollow with despair. Dark elves chant around us, their voices echoing off cold marble floors. The old ancestor cackles, his withered frame gleaming with unholy magic. Then the mirror cracks, sending shards of black glass raining down, each one carving into my flesh as I scream Daeva’s name.

I jerk awake, heart hammering, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead. The rain is still pouring, the fire low. My shoulder throbs, and I stifle a cry. Daeva’s crouched nearby, on watch as usual, eyes flicking to me in concern.

“You cried out,” he says softly.

I press a trembling hand to my face. “Just a dream.”

He doesn’t speak further, but in the silence, I sense his empathy. My breathing steadies. I wrap the cloak tighter around me, leaning my head back. The wind howls, and in a sudden flash of lightning, I glimpse Daeva’s expression—a raw mixture of guilt and protectiveness that tugs at my heart.We can’t keep going like this, dancing around the truth.

But for tonight, neither of us knows how to break the cycle. We remain in the half-light of the dying fire, each haunted by shadows. Outside, the storm rages, and somewhere beyond, House Vaerathis hunts for us, determined to finish the ritual that might claim us both.We’re not heroes,I remind myself, echoing his old words.Just two cursed beings, stumbling through a world that wants us destroyed or enslaved.

Yet, despite the bleakness, a defiant spark lingers in my chest:We’re not alone.The bond ties us in ways more potent than fear. Whatever secrets remain, I refuse to let them tear us apart.He chose me once,I recall, lips curving in a wry smile. Even if he won’t say it, even if he insists it’s just the contract, I know there’s more in his eyes than cold detachment.

Eventually, the rain begins to ease, and my eyes drift shut again, lulled by the rhythmic drip of water. Tomorrow, we’ll press onward, searching for ancient answers. Tomorrow, I’ll stand by him, demanding honesty and forging my own path to strength. And if House Vaerathis dares to cross us again, let them see the fury of a mortal who won’t be caged—and a demon who might yet choose love over death.

Until then, I cling to the fragile promise we’ve made: that we will try, together, to shape our fate.

12

DAEVA

Iwake to find the remnants of our meager camp shrouded in half-light. Dawn hovers on the verge of the horizon, casting weak rays across the jagged ruins ahead of us. The wind carries the faint reek of old magic—sharp as ozone, laced with decay. It prickles along my senses, and a part of me tenses in anticipation. I glance toward Calla, who huddles near the smoldering embers of our dying fire. Her face is drawn, exhaustion bruising her eyes. We both know this place might hold answers—or fresh dangers.

We’ve come so far to reach these rumored ruins. Each step cost us blood and breath. Now, just within sight of the crumbled walls and collapsed spires, the final stretch weighs on our resolve. A hush hangs over the shattered remnants of what was once a grand fortress—or maybe a temple. The stone is dark, veined with some mineral that gleams in the pale dawn. A single arch juts from the rubble, reaching for a sky thick with bruise-colored clouds. It looks ominous, a monument to a forgotten age.

Calla’s gaze flicks to me. Despite our earlier tension—the secrets I’ve clutched, the argument that still simmers—there’sa determined glint in her eyes. She rises, wincing at the slow-healing wound on her shoulder. I feel a tug at my core—the bond that insists I shield her, even if I can’t always explain why. My heart twists with conflicting urges: to guard her from everything, and to keep her at a distance so she never learns the darkest shadows of my past.

She nods once, silently asking if we’re ready. I return a brief nod, and we break camp with minimal words, each lost in thoughts of the unknown. We descend a slope strewn with broken columns, stepping carefully over scattered debris. The air buzzes with old ward-traces, as if the land itself remembers the magic that once thrived here.

Up close, the ruins are a disappointment. The outer walls are little more than rubble, and the interior is a collapsed skeleton of pillars and archways. We walk among the wreckage, dust swirling at our feet. There’s no sign of hidden libraries or arcane vaults—no crypts containing secrets of demon curses. Just endless heaps of stone. I ball my fists, frustration gnawing.

“This place is… destroyed,” Calla murmurs, voice hollow. She runs her hand over a crumbled column, letting fine grit slip between her fingers. “Nothing left.”

I swallow the surge of bitter anger.Another dead end.For days, I’ve been half-telling her that these ruins might yield a clue to sever our bonds from Vaerathis, to break the tether that could kill us both if the ancient ancestor completes his ritual. Yet it appears we’ve arrived too late—or the rumors were false from the start.

Calla watches me, shadows in her eyes. I sense her disappointment, a mirror to my own. “What now?” she asks softly.

I exhale, scanning the lifeless expanse. “We look deeper,” I say, though my voice wavers with doubt. “Sometimes, the real secrets lie beneath the surface.”

She gives a weary nod. We pick our way through the rubble in silence, searching for any sign of a cellar or substructure. The wind stirs, carrying a faint echo—like a sigh from the past. I clench my jaw, trying to focus. No point in despair. We must try every corner.

We find a corridor half-buried by collapsed stone. Calla squeezes through a gap, and I follow, cursing the jagged edges that catch my cloak. We step into a small courtyard littered with shattered statues, their features worn to anonymity. A sense of ancient power, long dormant, clings to the stones. But no path leads down, no hidden stair that might hold forbidden knowledge. My hope fades.

Then, a faint sound pricks my ears—distant footsteps. I stiffen, glancing sharply at Calla. Her eyes widen, confirming she hears it too.We’re not alone.I motion for her to stay low, creeping behind a toppled column. She follows, breath shallow.

Through a gap in the debris, I see them: dark elves, at least nine or ten, fanning out across the courtyard. Their armor glints with the Vaerathis crest. My blood runs cold.They tracked us here.That means we’re in peril. House Vaerathis won’t stop until they drag us back to that ancient tyrant.

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