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8

DAEVA

I linger in the shadows of the settlement gate, hood pulled low over my brow, cloak draped around me like a funeral shroud. Evening light slants across the dusty courtyard, illuminating only the tips of my boots. The rest of me remains hidden in darkness—a necessary precaution. Though these humans are not as oppressive as the dark elves or as savage as orcs, I know the mark of a demon invites suspicion. If they recognized the tattoos swirling across my arms and the faint aura that clings to me, they’d probably bar me from entering altogether.

But I can’t stand too far away. Calla’s presence tugs at me like an invisible cord, and I can’t let that tether stretch too thin. Because of our bond, I sense her worry, her exhausted relief at having found a scrap of safety. I almost feel her heartbeat in my own chest. My emotions coil tight with a mix of protectiveness and dread, a perpetual undercurrent since we sealed our contract in that stolen kiss.

My gaze sweeps the settlement. It’s little more than a wide clearing surrounded by crude wooden walls. A few huts line the perimeter, each topped with straw roofs. A central area holds a communal fire pit, though no flames crackle there at the moment. People wander past, eyes flicking curiously toward the cluster of newcomers—my traveling companions—while I remain back in the gloom.

I watch as Silas, Cole, and Ryn negotiate with a local official, a stout man wearing tattered furs, presumably some kind of village leader or head guard. Jenna stands a pace behind them, leaning heavily on Ryn’s arm. Her fever has returned, leaving her face pale and drawn. I resist the impulse to step forward and offer my magic. It would only raise more questions if I revealed my nature now. And we have no currency to speak of, no coins for lodging, so I assume the others must bargain with leftover trinkets or labor.

Calla stands near them, arms crossed around her middle. She glances toward me occasionally, a silent flick of her gaze through the crowd, as if searching to confirm I’m still there. I tug my hood lower in answer, letting the edge of a half-smile curl my lips unseen. Her worry seeps into me, a faint echo. My chest tightens with the knowledge that I put her in this predicament: bound to a demon, forced to wander the wilds, risking her relationships for a contract I can’t easily break.

The village leader gestures broadly, muttering something about a small house on the outskirts. Silas gives him a curt nod, and a moment later, the group steps back from the conversation. I melt into the folds of my cloak and slink forward just enough to hear their quiet words.

“House on the edge of the settlement,” Silas mutters, his voice laced with relief and a hint of leftover hostility. He runs a hand through his tousled hair. “We can stay there as long as we keep to ourselves and don’t cause trouble. We’ll need to help with menial tasks, maybe gather firewood or hunt if we can find anything.”

Cole nods. “Better than nothing. Jenna can rest.”

Jenna swallows, forcing a small smile. “Thank you.”

Ryn rubs her shoulder. “Let’s get you inside.”

Calla’s eyes drift toward me again, and I sense a faint stirring in my chest: a mixture of gratitude and guilt. I gave them a chance to reach this place alive. But at the same time, Silas’s sideways glare tells me he’d rather I vanish. He doesn’t speak it aloud, not in front of Calla. However, the tension in his posture is unmistakable. He grips the crossbow at his hip like it’s a promise.

They begin walking, heading down a narrow pathway that leads between low huts toward the outskirts. I trail after them, staying half a dozen paces behind, letting the swirl of my dark cloak and the shadows keep my features hidden. The settlement’s residents cast curious, sometimes fearful looks. A man with a scarred face glances at me twice, sniffing as though he smells something off, but he says nothing. Perhaps he simply thinks I’m an unsociable traveler.

Within minutes, we reach a ramshackle house perched at the farthest edge of the village, near where the walls curve inward to meet a rocky slope. The structure is small—two rooms at most—built of uneven planks. A single door stands crooked on leather hinges. It’s hardly a fortress, yet it’s a roof, a place for Jenna to rest.

Once the door opens, the musty scent of stale straw and damp wood greets us. Ryn helps Jenna inside, where she sinks onto a low wooden bench. Cole and Silas begin examining the space: a hearth with no fire, a single table, and missing shutters on the window. Calla stands near the threshold, scanning the interior. The faint flicker of a single lantern reveals dust dancing in the air.

I linger on the doorstep, my hood casting my face in shadow. They’ve no reason to thank me out loud; I contributed nothing to these negotiations. Silas obviously keeps track of that fact, given how he avoids meeting my eyes.

Cole sets down his pack. “We’ll need to fetch water, see if there’s a well or stream. Maybe scrounge for some food tomorrow.”

“We can manage,” Ryn agrees, voice subdued. He eyes Jenna with concern, then crosses to her, checking her brow. “You hanging in there?”

She nods weakly. “Better than this morning,” she whispers.

Silas finally looks at me. His words come out flat. “We’re settled, for now.” A pause, tension radiating off him. “Thank you for… everything.” The gratitude is forced, barely concealing his desire to be rid of me.

I keep my voice low and impassive. “You’re welcome.”

Calla shifts from foot to foot, catching the anxious undercurrent. I can’t blame her for noticing. The bond thrums between us, and I feel her wariness spike. Even after sealing our contract, I haven’t told her everything. There’s my ancient enemy, the one who cursed me centuries ago, still out there. As long as I remain in Protheka, that threat looms. If it finds me, it might find her —the one person who stands to break my isolation. The thought sends cold dread through my veins.

But she’s bound to me now. I need her warmth like a starving man needs bread. In her eyes, I glimpse a glimmer of unwavering humanity, the kind I lost long ago. Being near her is like standing close to a hearthfire after a thousand years in the cold. I won’t sever that link, can’t even if I wanted to. Yet the consequences of my presence in her life are vast.

I clear my throat, turning my gaze on the group. “You have shelter,” I say quietly, crossing my arms beneath my cloak. “That was the goal.”

Cole gives a short nod. “Yes. We can figure out next steps after we rest.” He sounds tired but genuine.

Silas’s jaw flexes. “So… what now? You staying, or are you going to vanish off into the night as usual?”

I sense the challenge in his tone. A surge of annoyance flares beneath my ribs. This settlement is a convenient respite for them , but for me… it’s a trap. Humans will eventually notice the peculiarities around me—my lack of breath, the unnatural aura if I remove my cloak, the swirl of demonic power I can’t fully contain. Better if I depart. But the bond to Calla is unbreakable. She has to come with me, or else the contract might twist her soul in my absence. Not to mention, I can’t protect her from afar. Nor do I want to.

Anger ignites in Silas’s eyes. He steps closer, voice low but dangerous. “Leaving? You’d take her with you? We only just arrived.”

He’s guessed my intention. I can see how his hand drifts near the crossbow, but it remains at his side for now. Tension crackles in the cramped space, drawing Cole’s and Ryn’s attention. Calla inhales sharply, worry radiating through our bond.

I set my jaw. “I have matters to attend to outside these walls,” I reply, voice tight with restrained emotion. “I won’t remain in this place for long. And yes, Calla must accompany me. It’s part of our… arrangement.”

Calla shoots me a stricken look. She’s known I’d eventually leave, but hearing it stated so bluntly in front of everyone cracks the veneer of peace we’ve clung to since entering this settlement. Damn this tension. I swallow, trying to control my voice from trembling with the swirl of contradictory emotions: desperation, guilt, fear of losing her, and fear of harming her if she stays.

“What arrangement?” Silas demands, focusing on Calla now. “You’re truly going to follow him, out into the wild? We only just got you somewhere safe.”

Calla’s hands curl into fists at her sides, eyes darting between me and Silas. “I—I have to,” she says softly. “It’s the only way to protect you. All of you.”

Silas’s face twists with disbelief, then betrayal. “Protect us? He’s the one who threatened your soul, right? He’s the one who demands a price. How is leaving with him better than living here?”

Her voice shakes. “Because the contract is sealed. I can’t just… pretend it doesn’t exist. He can’t either.”

A cold spear of shame pierces me. They’re discussing me like I’m a plague. Perhaps I am. Silence grips the room for a moment. Even Cole and Ryn, though not outwardly hostile, share uncertain glances.

Jenna, from her bench, lifts her head. “If Calla’s certain, we have to respect it,” she says, her voice hoarse. “She… she saved me, saved all of us. Let her decide her path.”

But Silas’s anger won’t be quelled so easily. “You’d do that, Calla? Walk off with this demon, leaving us behind, all so you can… what? Pay off a debt in blood?”

She flinches. I sense her despair through our bond, as if a sharp needle pricks at my chest. She’s hurting because of me. My anger stirs, directed at Silas’s scathing tone, but more at myself for causing this rift.

Without warning, Silas jerks into motion, crossing the room in a few swift strides. He pivots, leveling the crossbow at me. My eyes narrow behind the hood, darkness stirring in my blood. The swirl of demonic power flares in response to the threat, and I feel the old instinct to kill or be killed whisper at the back of my mind.

“Silas, don’t!” Calla yells, stepping forward.

But Silas’s finger tightens on the trigger, terror warring with fury in his gaze. “I won’t let you take her away,” he snarls. “If you’re gone, she’s free from the contract, right?”

“Stop it!” Cole barks, surging forward to grab Silas’s arm. But Silas shakes him off, pure desperation fueling him.

Everything slows. The crossbow fires with a twang that cuts through my eardrums. Reflex alone saves me. I twist sideways, letting the bolt whistle past my hood, embedding itself in the wooden wall behind me with a dull thunk . My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I want to tear him limb from limb for daring to attack. Another part recognizes Silas is just a frantic mortal, terrified of losing the woman he cares about.

He doesn’t wait. He’s already reloading with trembling hands. This time, my power surges before he can aim. A coil of black energy crackles around my arm, lashing forward to knock the crossbow from his grip. He gasps as it skitters across the floor. But in his desperation, Silas lunges at me with a dagger, face contorted in rage.

“Silas, no!” Calla’s voice breaks, echoing in my head.

I bare my teeth, raw fury sparking. He’d kill me if I let him. My cloak flares as I dodge, then I seize his wrist in a crushing grip. He cries out, the dagger clattering to the ground. My other hand snakes toward his throat, a lethal reflex. For a heartbeat, I see my claws raking across flesh, tasting the kill.

“Daeva, please!” Calla’s plea slices through my rage.

I freeze, Silas’s wrist pinned in my grip, my fingers hovering at his neck. The demon inside me rumbles for blood, but Calla’s presence is a bright flame staving off darkness. She’s behind me, her fear pummeling my senses. If I kill Silas, I kill part of her heart. I can’t— won’t —do that.

Slowly, I release Silas’s wrist, stepping back. He staggers, rubbing at bruised skin, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Cole and Ryn jump between us, unsure whether to restrain Silas or shield him. Jenna leans against the bench, horror etched on her features.

I spin away, forcing my breathing to steady. The recoil of my near-violence leaves me shaking inside. I sense Calla’s trembling as well. She rushes forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her voice trembles with relief. “Thank you for not hurting him,” she whispers.

Silas collapses to his knees, fists clenched, staring at the ground in abject misery. “I… I’m sorry,” he rasps, though I’m not certain whether he’s speaking to me or Calla. “I can’t watch you leave with him. I can’t.”

Calla kneels beside him. “I’m so sorry, Silas,” she murmurs, her eyes glistening. “But this is my decision.”

He exhales a ragged sob, burying his face in his hands. Cole and Ryn hover, uncertain how to console him. Tension hums in the room, thick enough to smother us all. I remain rigid, every muscle coiled with leftover adrenaline. My mind spins with the realization: if I stay a moment longer, I might lose control. The demon inside me roars for space .

I glance at Calla, and she meets my gaze, understanding. This settlement, these mortal entanglements—it’s too volatile. She sees in my eyes that I won’t remain here. She stands, a faint tremor in her posture, and crosses to my side.

“Silas,” she says softly, though he refuses to look up. “I have to go. If I stay… it only puts you in danger. That’s the truth.”

Jenna tries to protest, voice shaky, but Cole hushes her. Ryn steps forward and says gently, “At least give us a chance to say goodbye properly?”

Calla’s lips part, grief shining in her eyes. “We don’t have time,” she whispers, though her heart aches. I feel it like a twisting knife in my gut, echoing through our bond. I’ve made her break their hearts for me.

Without another word, I turn, cloak swirling, and push the door open. The last rays of sunlight streak across the threshold. Calla follows, footsteps hesitant but resolute. Silas lifts his head at the sound, tears bright in his eyes. He doesn’t move to stop her this time. Instead, heartbreak etches his features as he chokes out her name: “Calla…”

She pauses, tears slipping down her cheeks, but then steels herself. “Goodbye,” she whispers, voice cracking.

I step out, letting the door swing shut behind us with a hollow thud.

Night falls swiftly as we leave the settlement behind. Torches flicker along the palisade, but we slip into the darkness unchallenged, no guard stopping us. Perhaps the watchmen are too occupied or too afraid to question me. The road leading out is little more than a faint dirt track, winding into the wilderness of Protheka. My cloak billows around my legs, and Calla walks a pace behind me, arms wrapped around herself.

I sense her turmoil. My own emotions churn violently—anger, regret, a searing guilt for how this parted her from friends who cared for her. Yet there’s also a fierce possessiveness, an irrational need to keep her close, to ensure no one else tries to claim or kill her.

After a time, the path curves, and we find ourselves trudging across a rolling expanse of grass beneath a moonless sky. Stars scatter overhead like shards of broken glass. The wind gusts, carrying the distant cry of nocturnal beasts. I sense the tension in my shoulders, and I know Calla feels it too. We share a bond. My anger might spill into her mind if I’m not careful.

She lifts her voice into the quiet. “Where are we going?”

I keep my eyes forward, unable to face her just yet. “Away,” I say curtly. “I can’t… remain in one place. We have to keep moving.”

“Daeva,” she persists, “you said you’d look for a way to free me from the contract. Is that where we’re headed?”

I exhale shakily, bitterness creeping in. “Yes. There might be hidden knowledge in the old ruins scattered across Protheka, or among certain wanderers who dabble in forbidden magic. I can’t promise anything, but I… must try.”

Silence. I sense her pulse quicken. “But what if I don’t want to be free?” she asks softly.

That simple question slices me raw. My steps falter, rage flaring unexpectedly. How can she say that? She should want her freedom above all else. I’m a demon, for the gods’ sake. I spin on her, eyes flashing with residual fury.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” I snap, voice echoing across the grassland. “You’re a mortal. This contract will ruin you. I can’t—” My words hitch, because part of me loathes the idea of letting her go. Yet I press on, spitting the words. “I can’t watch you waste your life chained to a demon. I won’t be around forever, and if you rely on me, you’ll die soon enough or lose your humanity entirely.”

She reels, shock etched on her face. “But?—”

“You’re weak,” I bite out, the old cruelty of demonic nature rising unbidden. “Fragile. A fleeting spark. I can’t hold your hand through every storm.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Her face pales, eyes brimming with hurt. A dagger of self-loathing twists in my gut.

At once, I see how I’ve wounded her. My chest constricts. She’s not weak—she’s brave and resilient. She overcame slavery, faced orcs and waira, sacrificed everything to save her friends. Even now, she fights for the right to stand at my side.

But my fear is uncontrollable. If my ancient enemy resurfaces, she’ll be a target. She’ll suffer, or worse. I can’t let that happen. Yet I can’t bury that fear enough to speak calmly.

Calla’s lips tremble. “I thought…” She looks away, tears gathering. “I thought this contract bound us. That we were in this together.”

The anguish in her voice scalds me. I’m trembling with a fury I can’t fully articulate. “We are,” I grind out. “But it’s a mistake. A demon’s bond kills everything it touches.”

She flinches. I hear her breath hitch, and the bond between us resonates with her despair. I want to comfort her, to gather her close, but my thoughts are a tangled snarl of guilt, longing, and an unspoken terror of letting her see the darkest corners of my existence. I can’t let her know about my immortal foe, about the curse that might crush us both.

“I’m sorry,” I force out, forcing my hands to relax instead of balling into fists. “I… I didn’t mean?—”

Her face crumples, and she turns away from me. “No,” she whispers, hugging herself. “You did mean it.”

Shame claws at me. I step forward, but she takes a step back. My mouth opens, desperate for the right words, but nothing comes. The tension in my own chest is too thick. My anger, frustration, and protective instincts tear at my sanity. The contract tugs us together, but I can’t reconcile how much I might endanger her.

With a growl of self-directed fury, I spin on my heel, striding away several paces. “I need… a moment,” I say, voice shaking. The bond thrums as I distance myself physically. Calla’s heartbreak slams into me, a dull ache. Each step tears at me, but I can’t remain so close or I’ll unravel further.

The grass swishes around my boots. Farther away from her, I can almost breathe. The night wind slaps against my cloak, as if scolding me. I stare at the dark horizon, shoulders tense. I can still feel her behind me, the faint warmth of her soul, the raw hurt in her chest that echoes my own regret.

I rake a hand through my white hair, cursing softly under my breath. How did I become this monster that snaps at every perceived vulnerability? It’s not what I wanted. Once, I was human—before betrayal turned me into something else. I still carry that memory like a festering wound. And now I’ve forced Calla into a bond that might end the same way.

I close my eyes, anger at myself roiling. She deserves better. The sting of that realization is almost unbearable. She gave me her soul, trusting I’d keep her safe. Instead, I spit venom because I’m terrified. Terrified of losing her, or destroying her by letting her stay. Terrified of repeating the cycle of pain my centuries have inflicted on anyone close to me.

The hush stretches. I try to calm the raging sea inside my head, listening to the night calls of distant creatures. After a long, ragged moment, I force a low exhale. I must apologize properly. Must try to explain, at least in some small way, that her presence stirs up a tempest of emotions I can barely contain. That the thought of losing her or seeing her harmed by my old foe—someone so dangerous even I fear them—keeps me on edge constantly. But I can’t reveal that enemy’s identity yet, not without endangering her further.

Steeling myself, I start to turn back toward Calla, prepared to kneel at her feet if that’s what it takes for her to forgive me. But I hesitate, uncertain if my presence will only worsen the raw wound I’ve inflicted. My fingertips tremble, hungry for her forgiveness, for the balm of her voice. She might push me away. And if she does… I deserve it.

Another shuddering breath escapes my lungs. The sky stretches vast and empty above, starlight offering no comfort. My eyes sting with unshed anger and regret. Even if we find a way to break the contract, would it mean losing her forever? The idea carves a hollow ache inside me. But I can’t keep her enslaved. She should be free to choose her life, not shackled to a demon with a cursed past.

With an unsteady resolve, I move a few steps nearer, though still out of her reach. She stands where I left her, arms wrapped around her torso, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. My heart twists at the sight, but I keep my distance. Let her gather her composure. Let me gather mine. We are bound by magic, but right now, we are separated by the havoc of fear and pain.

Tomorrow, perhaps, we’ll find a calmer moment to speak—to mend this rift or at least place a balm on the wound. But for tonight, the darkness claims us both. And I remain on the edge of it, swirling in my cloak of guilt, silently cursing my own cowardice, my inability to share the deepest secret lurking in my shadows. If she knew the danger that stalks me, that might soon stalk her …

But no. Not yet.

Wind whips across the grass, sending it rippling like a dark ocean. The stars watch, distant and uncaring, as two souls bound by demon law drift in the night, each battered by truths too heavy to speak. Tomorrow, I vow, I’ll find a way to soothe her. For now, I stand alone, my back to her trembling figure, the bond throbbing with an ache I can scarcely endure. And in that ache, I realize how deeply I need her light—and how unworthy I feel to keep it.