Page 63 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

My throat feels strangled.She loves me.In front of these people, in front of my own battered conscience, she declares it. I gather my breath, my voice hoarse with emotion. “Calla,” I murmur, “I once thought I was nothing but a weapon of vengeance, shackled by an ancient curse. Then you came, forging a bond that wasn’t about chains but choice. Even in your blindness, you see me better than I see myself. I vow to guard your hope, your spirit, just as you’ve guarded my lost soul. If the world tries to tear us apart again, I’ll stand between it and you—forever.”

A hush falls, broken only by a few soft sniffles among the gathered crowd. Calla’s tears mingle with blood, and I cradle her cheek, wiping them gently. She leans into my touch. My own eyes burn with unshed tears.

Silas lifts a small leather thong—simple, but carefully knotted. “We have no rings, but we made these tokens.” Hesets them on the table, then picks up one. “Calla, hold out your hand.” He ties the thong around her wrist, murmuring, “A sign of union.” Then he ties a matching thong around my wrist. The cords are plain, but each sports a little carved bead shaped like a leaf, signifying rebirth.

After a moment of quiet reflection, Silas grins sheepishly. “I guess that’s it. You’re, uh, married.” Awkward applause ripples. Laughter and cheers rise from the crowd—a small celebration, but earnest. My chest feels ready to burst.

I pull Calla into my arms, pressing my lips to hers. It’s a gentle kiss, suffused with relief, love, and a final acceptance that we’ve chosen each other beyond curses and mortality. She trembles, returning the kiss with equal fervor. The crowd whoops and claps, a joyous sound that echoes through the clearing. For a moment, I let go of every fear, every memory of Vaerethis’s darkness.

We break apart, breathless. She clings to me, a luminous smile lighting her face. “We’re married,” she whispers, voice quaking with awe.

“Yes,” I reply, voice just as unsteady, “and I won’t let anything undo that vow.”

A short while later, the communal meal unfolds around us. People pass wooden bowls of stew, meager but warm, and share scraps of dried fruits. Someone finds a battered lute, strumming a tentative tune that morphs into a cheerful melody. Children dart among the huts, shrieking with laughter, chasing each other in a game that tosses flower petals in the air. Even the battered remnants of House Vaerethis’s guard—those who defected—join in, relief etched on their faces. The war is over, the old tyrant banished.

Calla and I sit under a pine tree at the clearing’s edge, letting the flickers of sunlight filter through the needles. She leans against my shoulder, absentmindedly running her fingersover the simple thong on her wrist. I stroke her hair, feeling the closeness of her body, the heat that’s always simmered between us. Soon, the festivities will wind down, people returning to their tasks or sleeping off the day’s excitement. My heart throbs with a new, deeper desire—to share a private moment, as husband and wife, away from watchful eyes.

She senses my tension, tilting her face toward me. “Daeva?” she says softly, her voice a gentle caress.

I brush a lock of hair from her bandaged forehead. “Yes?”

Her cheeks flush, a delicate pink. “Can we… slip away? Just for a bit?”

A wave of warmth floods me, recalling how we last made love by the waterfall in a moment stolen from the world. Now, as newlyweds, the memory sets my pulse racing. I stand, offering her my hand. She rises too, leaning on me for guidance. We murmur a quick farewell to Silas, who winks conspiratorially, stepping aside. My lips curve at the realization that even he supports our private escape.

We walk deeper into the forest, weaving among pines until the sounds of celebration fade. Birds trill in the canopy, and the afternoon light filters in gold-green rays. Eventually, we find a small grove near a trickling stream. Leaves scatter on the mossy ground, forming a soft bed. The hush of nature wraps around us, intimate and calm.

I help her settle onto the moss, bracing her as she lowers herself. Her breathing quickens, matching my own. I kneel beside her, brushing my fingers through her hair. The tension of the last month melts into a tender hush. She tilts her chin up, offering me her lips in a silent plea. I oblige, pressing my mouth to hers, slow and reverent.

She exhales into the kiss, her hands finding my shoulders. The memory of our shared nights, our fierce embraces, floods me. But this time, the stress of curses and looming battlesdoesn’t overshadow the moment. We are husband and wife—no mirror-bound menace, no House controlling our fate. Only the forest’s quiet watch as witness.

Her lips part, allowing me deeper access. Heat blooms in my chest, sweeping away lingering aches. Carefully, I lower her onto the moss, mindful of her bandaged eyes. My hands drift to the ties of her simple tunic. She shivers but nods, and I loosen them, grazing my palm over her scarred skin. She lets out a soft sigh, arching into me.

“Daeva,” she whispers, voice trembling with raw emotion. “We’re free, aren’t we?”

My throat constricts as I plant a tender kiss on her jaw. “Yes,” I breathe, letting my mouth travel down her neck. “Free to love each other without fear.”

Her arms enfold my waist. My body responds, warmth pooling in my core. Each touch is a pledge, each kiss a vow. Her small sounds of pleasure quicken my pulse. The forest hushes, as though giving us the privacy we crave. Our clothes peel away, baring old wounds, fresh scars, and the honest vulnerability of our battered bodies.

Yet in each other’s arms, there’s no shame—only hunger, only worship. Her fingers skate over the ridges of my demon’s markings, tracing the raised scars like scripture. Every touch is a confession: I see you. I want you anyway. Her breath shudders as she maps the hard planes of my abdomen, the brutal history written into my skin. I let her explore, my cock already stiff against her thigh, aching for the wet heat I know she’ll give me.

When my mouth finds her collarbone, she gasps—sharp, sweet—and I drink the sound like a man starved. Her skin tastes of salt and pine, of tears shed in the dark. Mine. My teeth graze the delicate curve, and she arches into me, her pussy grinding against my hip in a silent plea.

"Daeva—" Her voice fractures.

I silence her with a kiss, deep and claiming. Her nails dig into my back, scoring fresh marks over the old ones. Pain sparks bright behind my eyelids, but it’s nothing compared to the slick, molten need between us.

"Tell me," I growl against her lips. "Tell me what you want."

She doesn’t speak. She shows me.

Her hand slides between us, fingers trembling as they wrap around my cock, guiding me to her entrance. The heat of her is intoxicating, her breath hitching as the head of me presses against her slick folds.

"Please—" Calla’s whisper is ragged, desperate. "Don’t make me wait any longer."

The first press is torture—her cunt so fucking tight, so wet, clenching around me like she’s been waiting centuries for this. I groan, forehead pressed to hers, teeth gritted as I sink deeper, deeper, inch by unbearable inch, until there’s no space left between us, until she’s gasping my name like a prayer.

"Gods—" Her voice is a broken thing, her nails biting into my shoulders. "You feel— impossible. Like you were made for me."

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