Page 55 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I lead her around a final cluster of bushes. The roar of water grows, drowning out the rustle of pines. We emerge into the clearing, sunlight reflecting off the rippling surface. It’s no grand waterfall—barely more than a tumbling stream from a cliff—but the peaceful setting feels like another world compared to the gloom of the hut.

“Now we’re here,” I say softly, halting at the water’s edge. A breeze carries a fine mist that kisses our faces. “The sun hits the falls at an angle—makes a little rainbow in the spray.”

She sucks in a breath, turning her bandaged gaze upward. “A rainbow,” she echoes wistfully, her voice tight with longing. “I wish I could see it.”

Pain knots in my throat. “I wish you could, too.” I gently slip an arm around her, guiding her forward until her boots touch the damp stones near the water’s edge. “Feel the spray on your skin… Hear the rush of the water.”

She reaches out, tentative. A soft laugh escapes her, tinged with tears. “It feels… alive,” she says. “Cold and invigorating.” She tips her face toward the cascading droplets. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answer, my chest tight. I’m looking at her, ignoring the actual scene. The pool sparkles, but nothing can match the fierce glow in her expression when she experiences even a shred of happiness. I push the guilt aside—this moment belongs to her, to us.

We stand there in silence for a while, letting the water’s music envelop us. She raises her arms slightly, as if embracing the waterfall’s mist. I catch a glimpse of the faint bruises on her wrists, the flecks of dried blood near her bandages. Even so, herlips curve in a smile, and I realize how radiant she can be, even blind and wounded.

I clear my throat. “There are butterflies,” I say, noticing a pair flitting near the wildflowers by the bank. “Two, maybe—blue wings with black edges. They’re dancing by the blooms.”

She turns her head. “Describe them?” she murmurs again.

I watch the delicate insects flutter among purple blossoms. “They’re small, about the size of your thumb, their wings shimmering in the sunlight. They flit from flower to flower, tasting nectar. They almost look like little shards of the sky come to life.” A short laugh leaves me, a foreign sound in my own ears. “I… well, I’m not used to describing such things.”

Her face softens, a melancholic smile forming. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For telling me. I can almost imagine them… tiny living jewels.”

A hush settles. My gaze drifts to her face, noticing how tension lingers around her mouth despite the fragile smile.She tries to be strong for me.She senses my scrutiny, turning toward me. “Daeva?” she whispers. “Are you… all right?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m—managing.” It’s a half-lie, but I try to sound reassuring. “What about you?”

She hesitates, tilting her face toward me. “It hurts,” she admits, voice trembling. “My eyes, my shoulder… everything. But I’m more worried about you. I know you’re pushing yourself. We only have a few days left, and?—”

Guilt flickers. I hush her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Don’t. This moment is supposed to be about us, without the ghosts of Vaerathis haunting every breath.”

Her lips part, tears shining behind her bandage. “Yes,” she murmurs, nodding. “Yes, just… us.”

The water sings as it tumbles over the rocks, the sunlight warm on our skin. I guide her to a mossy flat stone at the pool’sedge. We sit, legs brushing. My heart pounds. It’s been so long since we had anything resembling peace or normalcy.

She draws in a shaky breath. “Daeva… there’s something I want to say.” She hesitates. “I’ve been thinking about it for so long, but it feels… complicated now.”

My pulse quickens. “Tell me,” I urge softly.

She lifts her bandaged eyes toward me, a slight tremor in her chin. “I… I love you.” She releases a shaky laugh, tears leaking down. “I know we have a contract, and maybe the demon bond confuses everything, but it’snotthe magic I’m in love with. It’s you. You, with your scars and your regrets and your protectiveness. You gave me freedom, gave me a choice when I had none.” Her voice quivers. “Even though it cost me my sight, I… I don’t regret staying.”

Emotion slams into my chest.Love.A concept I barely dared dream about. For centuries, I lived in shadows, cursing the world, cursing the day I was sacrificed. Now, this mortal woman—blind and battered—speaks the word like a vow. I swallow hard.

“I… I don’t know what love is,” I finally say, my throat tight. “Once, I was a human boy who believed in hope, in trust. Then the sacrifice took all that away.” A shiver courses down my spine, memories of that mirror’s prison, the centuries of emptiness. “But if there’s something real in this cursed existence, some feeling that outshines magic and fate… then it must be you, Calla.”

Her breath catches. A watery smile trembles across her lips. “Daeva…”

I brush my fingertips across her cheek, being careful of the bandages. The bond between us resonates, not the savage lust triggered by battles, but a gentler pulse of yearning and devotion. “Let me,” I whisper, leaning in.

She meets me halfway, our lips brushing in a tentative kiss. It’s soft, tentative at first, our hearts laid bare in a way that goes beyond the demon’s hunger. A wave of warmth floods me, every nerve alight with tenderness rather than violence. Calla’s tears mix with the salt of my own. I part her lips gently, deepening the kiss, pouring all my pent-up regret and longing into that moment.

She sighs against me, tangling her fingers in my hair. The waterfall’s roar fades to a distant hush, leaving only the beat of our hearts and the rustling breeze. My hands slip around her waist, drawing her close. She arches into me, unafraid despite the darkness claiming her eyes.

Time slips away. She clings to me as if I’m her anchor, and I hold her as if she’s my lifeline.We’re both so scarred, so unsure.But in this moment, we cling to each other, forging a shelter from the storm of fate.

We break apart, gasping for breath. A flush warms my face, an echo of the passion that once flared in blood-soaked nights. But this time, it’s gentler, deeper. She murmurs my name, her lips brushing my jaw, and I shiver at the intimacy. My hand drifts to the clasp of her torn tunic. We pause, hearts thundering, and she nods slightly. We slip from the frayed confines of our clothing, letting vulnerability speak where words fail.

The world is a blade’s edge tonight—sharp, precarious, a breath held too long in the dark. Then, with a sigh that shivers between us, it shatters. Calla’s body is heat and hunger beneath me, skin slick with sweat and the cool kiss of river mist. The slide of her is like a prayer I’ve forgotten how to speak, my voice rough with disuse, my hands trembling as they trace the map of her.

"Slow," she whispers, her voice frayed at the edges, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Please—slow."

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