Page 52 of Demon's Bane

And, as much as I don’t want to admit it, the only thing that’s got me feeling any kind of settled is the demon at my side.

Rhett’s strength is an anchor, the flare of his wing behind me is a shield, and the hard determination in his expression is the fortitude I need to keep my own head up and my eyes forward. I try not to pay any attention to the gawking or to anything but the path in front of me.

It’s a damn shame, too, because I’m painfully curious about his village.

It’s beautiful here, with more towering mountains rising on either side of the pine-forested valley. The houses are all made of sturdy timber, similar to how log cabins are built back in the human realm but with taller walls and wider doors, obviously built for larger-framed, winged inhabitants.

The few cabins sprinkled on the edge of the village multiply into more tightly packed rows of houses, leading into otherstreets with structures that look like storefronts with the quick glances I get of them.

It all leads to a wide-open town square with a pavilion in the center made of a raised wooden platform, and timber posts holding up a roof to protect from the elements. The square is edged with more shops, filled in one corner with what looks to be a market of some sort, and bustling with demons.

That bustling, however, gets slower and slower as we pass.

“Sorry for all the staring,” Halla says with a disapproving frown to a particularly determined young demon girl standing on her tiptoes to try to see me around Rhett’s protective wing.

The girl scampers off, and I attempt a smile. “It’s alright. I don’t imagine witches are very popular around here right now.”

“You imagine correctly,” she says, snorting a laugh. “Not with everything that’s been—”

“Joan has nothing to do with that,” Rhett says disapprovingly, and Halla and I share a brief, amused look over just how cantankerous he sounds.

Halla looks a lot like Rhett. With the same dark hair and rough-hewn features, it’s easy to tell they’re siblings.

The three of us head toward the pavilion, where a few demons are gathered around a wide table spread with maps and papers. As we step onto the platform, one of the demons—a male who’s nearly as big and broad as Rhett—turns to face us. His eyes narrow when he sees me, and he steps forward, blocking my view of the table with his body.

“Who’s this?” he asks Rhett, like I’m not even there.

Rhett tenses beside me. “This is Joan. She’s here to help us. And Joan, this is Tyvar, my cousin.”

Despite Tyvar’s size and stature, I can’t see much more of a family resemblance. His features are smoother, a bit more soft-edged than Rhett’s and Halla’s, framed by closely cropped light brown hair.

“You bring a witch to our village? Now? Considering everything that’s happened?”

Rhett’s next words are laced with a faint growl. “As I said, she’s here to help us.”

Tyvar snorts derisively. “And here I thought you were the smart one in the family, with all your travel and study. And you’ve been taken in by one of them? A Crescent witch? She’s more likely to—”

“Sheis right here,” I cut in. “And I have nothing to do with whoever’s been stealing from you.”

Tyvar bristles at the interruption. “I have a hard time believing that, witch.”

A growl breaks from Rhett’s throat, and there’s nothing faint about it this time. Harsh, rumbling, an unmistakable warning.

A few of the demons who had been gathered around the table turn to see what the commotion is, and when I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder, I see that even more have stepped out from their houses or wandered into the square to get a better look.

Fear tightens my throat, and I look at Rhett for reassurance that all of this is… alright, that things aren’t about to go very, very bad for us.

I don’t find any.

Tension radiates from every inch of him, and that growl in his chest gets louder as his gaze roves over the approaching demons.

“Goddess grant me peace,” Halla groans. “Can we take it down a damned notch? Perhaps hear her out before turning this into some sort of brawl?”

Her words deflate some of the tension in the air, though Rhett’s defensive posture doesn’t loosen. I grab his hand and he glances down at me, expression softening for a moment as he curls a wing around my back.

Tyvar’s eyes narrow, darting back and forth between the two of us, and he’s just opened his mouth to speak when a new voice calls out from behind us.

“I’ve heard my son is home.”