Page 2 of Once Upon a Demon’s Heart

“Venrey,” I whisper for my chestnut mare. She trots over obediently and stares at me like she knows I’m up to no good. “You’re not going to like the journey we have ahead of us.” I pat her neck before getting the saddle strapped.

The air is brisk tonight, making chills move across my arms. I shiver as I lead Venrey by the reins out of the stable.

I don’t have time to ride around the perimeter of the city, so going straight through the courtyard of the royal gardens will be necessary.

I won’t be hidden like I want to be, but this is the quickest way.

I wince passing the empty flower beds. When I was a child, I remember Alzhor being a much prettier place.

Much has changed since the war began thirty years ago.

I hold my breath as we make our way across.

Venrey’s hooves seem ten times louder than they’ve ever been before, making my teeth clench tighter with each step.

I dare to look back when we reach the end of the courtyard and thankfully don’t see any lights on in the windows. A grin spreads over my lips.

I should’ve run away sooner. If I knew it was this easy, I would’ve. Although I think part of me still had hope we could win the war.

But you can only die so many times before all of your hope is stolen away.

I ride the rest of the way out of the cold, winter fallen kingdom, keeping my hood up in case any early birds are awake.

The evening guards don’t bat an eye at me since I’m disguised as a civilian.

Thankfully, many of our townsfolk work in the surrounding villages and fields at odd hours.

By the time Venrey steps into the open meadow outside the silver gates, we’re at a gallop.

Tall dry grass rimmed in frost bends as the wind blows.

Alzhor never gets more than a dusting of snow, but still, my cloak isn’t nearly thick enough for this time of winter.

I only need to make it into the forest of Florum before I’m in the clear to start a fire.

So, I ignore the icy throb that runs through my limbs and tighten my grasp around Venrey’s reins.

I finally dismount after we’ve ventured deep into the woods and allow a relieved breath to exit my lungs.

Florum is a forest made of the thickest trees in all of Faultore, making it damn near impossible to build a fire unless you bring wood from elsewhere. The height of the branches creates zero visibility, making it safe to have a fire without fear of being spotted by enemies.

The canopy is so dense that it’s almost pitch black in here. If not for the glowing toadstools and luminescent vines that drape along the branches, it’d be impossible to navigate the forest without alternate sources of light.

It would’ve been nice if I had the ability like the children of Apollo, God of the Sun. They can light small areas as if they themselves are lanterns.

Most demigods fear these woods. They believe this land to be cursed, but I’ve snuck off and explored here since I was eleven and I’ve only encountered one living thing in all that time.

A demon child, maybe a few years older than I was at the time.

He was the first demon I met, and I regret our brief time together terribly.

He was kind to me, but the four dead demigods that were found that night in Florum ignited the war between our kingdoms. Two demon corpses were found that night as well.

No one ever found the boy’s body after that night, but I saw his dull eyes; his impaled heart.

He was dead and no amount of weeping or praying brought him back.

My hands clench at my sides as I force the memories from my mind. I think of him often, wondering if his fate would’ve been different if I hadn’t of stumbled upon him that night.

Since then, Florum has been a hollow forest, filled with only shadows and gloom.

The house mother always said the earth of this forest clings to things that happen within it.

“ The spirits of the forest remember much more than we credit them. ” She would chide us.

But sometimes I think fear is the only curse there ever really was here.

A curse to keep the forest untouched and quiet, as it is. I don’t mind curses like that—the ones that protect things. Much unlike the one I’ve fallen under.

Even Venrey pulls nervously at the reins, trying to urge me to turn back. I’m tempted to release her so she can return home, but I need a horse if I want to get distance from the attack that’s coming, and she’s better off with me unless she wants to face the battle in one week’s time.

The luminescent plants indicate when night has fallen as they will dim much like the sun until they barely offer any light. It’s almost pitch black beneath the trees by the time I find my usual camp site and finally have a fire going.

I’ve been storing wood in a hollowed trunk for years now, using this place as a reprieve during my short days off from duty sometimes but I can never seem to locate it quickly.

It’s easy to let your mind believe that the trees move in here.

Playing tricks on weary travelers, manipulating things they shouldn’t.

That thought makes a cold shiver run down my spine. The last thing I need are moving trees.

Venrey neighs and flashes me with wild eyes as I return with another pile of wood. I straighten and give her a stern look.

“Would you stop—” My mouth snaps shut immediately as I notice a masculine figure sitting by the campfire.

My hand is on the hilt of my sword in the next second, but before I can withdraw it, a voice as smooth and haunting as a rainstorm says calmly, “I’m no threat to you.

Why don’t you share a bowl of soup with me since I’m borrowing your fire?

” He doesn’t even look over his shoulder at me. He’s perceptive.

I raise a brow at Venrey, and if horses could raise brows I’d swear she was giving one back. Who is this man? He bears no weapon and doesn’t have an ominous air about him, so he doesn’t pose any immediate harm to me. His attention is solely set on the cauldron he’s stirring.

Slowly, I push my sword back into its hilt and walk carefully around the campfire so I can see who’s found me. Is it a demigod? Did someone in the knights’ wing see me leaving last night? They wouldn’t think to find me here of all places, would they? I worry my lower lip.

The man wears a bulky, black cloak and matching leather pants.

Each sleeve is lined with golden embroidery that dips and swirls into elegant arches and arrows.

The gloves match in color and style, sharing the gilded thread with an added emblem of some sort that is printed over his knuckles in plated gold.

A royal merchant maybe? At least he isn’t wearing a suit of armor, so I know he’s not a knight in our army or the demon’s for that matter. I let out a relieved sigh.

I move to stand on the opposite side of him, watching carefully as he pulls the pot off the fire and stirs something inside.

His hood hides his face, allowing me only a glimpse of his chin.

How long was I collecting wood for him to have enough time to make an entire meal?

I scold myself, quickly shaking the thought before he notices me studying him closely.

He glances up.

My heart stops the moment his smile curls at the ends of his lips.

Eyes as golden as the sun meet mine. His hair is as dark as a starless night.

Tendrils of his ebony hair fall over his forehead and barely reach his eyes.

His jawline is sharp and defined—on his left side, a red scar curves along his cheek bone.

The olive tone of his skin matches mine, perhaps a hint darker.

He must be from the northern mountains, likely a demigod, or perhaps a human. I’d know more if I could see his ears.

Anything I had on the tip of my tongue vanishes. I’m left staring at him like I’ve just seen one of the gods themselves in the flesh.

His grin grows at my delayed response and fangs appear just over his bottom lip. My eyes widen, and I instinctively reach for my sword again.

He is no god.

He’s a demon.

Only a select few of the demons are known to drink the blood of demigods.

And it is said that they are to be feared the most. Many of the stories have been lost through history—it’s been decades if not centuries since there has been a report of seeing a blood-drinking demon.

Honestly, we believed that they were extinct, what with their food supply dwindling and all.

He takes in my expression slowly. His smile loses a bit of its warmth at my hostile glare before he lets out a low chuckle.

“I’m only here to have a meal. No need to wear yourself out going through scenarios in your head,” he says with a laugh before completely dismissing me as a threat altogether. My cheeks warm at the insult.

“You’re a demon .” My voice trembles despite my best efforts.

I’ve killed hundreds of them. To the extent that I can no longer sleep peacefully at night.

So why do I fear him? He caught me off guard, but that can’t be why.

I reassess him, focusing on the thick muscles that cord down his neck and forearms. He’s nearly as tall as I am sitting down.

A chill rolls through my bones. He’s stronger than any of his kind I’ve faced in battle.

Every living being on Faultore has essence that they release naturally.

Our soul essence, as we call it in Alzhor.

When trained properly, anyone, even demons, can sense another being’s soul essence.

And this demon’s essence is overbearing.

He’s dangerous. It’s a gut feeling that makes my palms clammy.

“And you are a demigod. Do you not eat food?” His condescending tone puts a tick in my jaw.

“What is your name, demon?” I demand, loosening the grip on my sword, though I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to sit down and converse civilly with him or not.

“Kalel, and yours?”

Kalel. What an odd name for a demon.

“Alira.”