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9

CALLA

I keep my distance from Daeva as we trudge across the moonlit plains, my hands tightly clutching the straps of my pack, shoulders bowed against a wind that carries the lingering scent of autumn. The night stretches endlessly ahead, and my mind churns with raw thoughts, replaying the harsh words he threw at me hours ago. He’s a silent silhouette several paces in front, hood drawn low over his white hair. Though the bond thrums—an unrelenting thread of awareness—I feel as if a yawning chasm stretches between our hearts.

I can’t ignore the sting of his accusation: that I’m weak, that I’m only going to chain him down with my mortality. It cuts deeper than any physical wound, because I surrendered my soul to him, believing we shared a mutual need. Yet, perhaps he’s right: compared to his centuries of power, I am fragile. A liability. Still, the memory of that single, heated kiss we shared, when I sealed my contract, reminds me I’m not worthless. He wanted me, needed me. Or so I believed.

Step after step, we push on. I’m exhausted, but the tension crackling beneath my skin won’t let me rest, not while our last conversation hangs unresolved in the air. Occasionally, Daeva glances back, the lamplight from distant stars catching the faint shape of his jaw under the hood, but he never speaks. I feel the echo of his mood: conflict, regret, a swirl of anger that he’s trying to tamp down. I sense he’s hiding something crucial from me, a secret that spurs his desperation to keep me at arm’s length. Fear, perhaps, or an old enemy he refuses to name.

Eventually, the plains give way to a rocky slope dotted with twisted trees. Shadows drape the landscape, weaving an ominous tapestry around us. My boots crunch over loose gravel. A cluster of jagged boulders juts out, creating a natural cave-like formation in the hillside. Daeva stops, lifting a hand for me to see.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” he says in a low voice. “We’ll move on in the morning.”

I nod, lips pressed together. The space between us seethes with unspoken tension. Clinging to battered pride, I follow him inside the rocky shelter. It’s large enough that we can hunker down out of the night winds. The walls are rough stone, carved by time and water, with a low ceiling at the rear. It smells faintly of dust and old soil. A short way in, there’s enough room to stand upright without scraping our heads.

Without a word, we set about making a rudimentary camp. He gathers scattered sticks and lights a small fire with an effort of his demonic power, something quick and unobtrusive—just a faint flicker of chaotic magic that ignites the wood. Normally, I might have stared, enthralled by the graceful control of his abilities, but my heart’s bruised. I keep my gaze on the kindling until the flames catch and warm the cold stone.

We sit on opposite sides of the flickering fire, the glow dancing over our faces. My arms wrap around my knees as I lean back against the stone wall, wishing I had the nerve to confront him about everything. But we’re both too raw. Maybe tomorrow. Sleep might ease these wounds.

“You should rest,” he finally says, voice guarded. “I’ll keep watch.”

His tone brooks no argument, but it’s not unkind. I let my head nod in acknowledgment. Words hover on the tip of my tongue— Am I truly that worthless in your eyes? —but I can’t bring myself to say them. Instead, I scoot a little farther from the flames, curling up near a flat outcropping of rock that forms a makeshift pillow. I keep my back half-turned to him, heart heavy. His own presence radiates across the cave, reminding me that physically, we’re close, yet emotionally a world apart.

In the flicker of half-sleep, my mind conjures the image of him trapped in that cursed mirror, centuries of solitude etched into the lines of his face. I recall the hollow look in his eyes when he first emerged, how he stared at me as if I were a miracle he didn’t believe in. He lived in darkness for so long, I remind myself. Maybe that’s why he’s pushing me away. He doesn’t know how to trust—or love—freely anymore.

Eventually, my exhausted body claims me, and I drift into a restless slumber. The crackle of the fire dulls into white noise, and my last coherent thought is a wish that dawn might bring even a fraction of clarity between us.

I wake suddenly to the chill of the night and the insistent pressure in my bladder. The fire has dwindled to low embers, casting the cave in shadowy half-light. I blink groggily, pushing myself up on shaky elbows. Daeva is nowhere in sight, though I sense the tether of our bond faintly—he must be outside, possibly scouting the area.

Stifling a tired groan, I rise and pick my way around the dying fire. I slip beyond the cave entrance, bracing against the cold air that stings my cheeks. The moon has emerged from behind thick clouds, drenching the boulders in a silver wash. I move a short distance away for privacy.

After I finish relieving myself behind a rock, I shake my head to clear the remnants of sleep. My breath steams in the crisp air, and I tilt my chin up to the moon, letting that pale glow ease my frayed nerves. Would it be so hard for him to trust me?

A sudden rustle of movement behind me jolts my thoughts. I spin, heart leaping into my throat, expecting to see Daeva. Instead, my gaze collides with the slim silhouette of a dark elf, half-lit by moonlight. My veins ice over. The figure’s pointed ears, elongated limbs, and mocking grin reveal his heritage in an instant.

He’s not alone. Three others melt from behind the boulders, forming a loose ring around me. My pulse jackhammers. Dark elves—here, in the wilderness?

“Well, well,” the first elf purrs, voice dripping with condescension, “what have we here? A stray human, all alone in the middle of the night?”

I back away a step, scanning for any sign of Daeva, cursing myself for venturing so far. Where is he? The bond thrums, but I don’t sense him close enough to intervene immediately. My heart beats faster, adrenaline pumping. “I’m—just passing through,” I manage, trying to steady my voice.

One of the elves laughs, a cruel sound that makes my skin crawl. “Oh, we know humans. We keep them as slaves back in our estate. We can always use more.” A scimitar gleams in his hand, reflecting the moonlight.

“Stay back,” I warn, though my voice shakes. A part of me wishes I had a weapon, but I carry only the dull knife for cooking. Daeva, please, my mind calls silently. Hear me.

They move in, smirks spreading like wolves scenting blood. A harsh command barks from the largest elf—a whipcord-thin figure with a scar slashing across his face. “We’ll have some fun first,” he sneers. “Then we’ll see if you’re worth taking.”

Fear lances through me, but it twists into defiance. I turn on my heel and bolt, mind racing. If I can just reach the cave or find Daeva, I have a chance. Rocks slip underfoot, threatening to tumble me. My breath comes fast, heart thundering as I scramble over uneven ground, moonlight spinning the shadows into a maze.

Behind me, the elves give chase, laughing, almost playing with me. I stumble on a loose stone and nearly fall. My cheeks burn with shame at the memory of Daeva’s words: weak… fragile…

Somehow, I keep moving, but my pursuers are swift, their footfalls unnervingly quiet. I must scream, I realize. I suck in a breath, letting out a shout that tears my throat: “Daeva! Help!”

The echo reverberates, but I’m not sure how far it carries. Another elf leaps in front of me, blocking my path. He swings the flat of his blade at my legs, forcing me to skid sideways to avoid it. I stagger, heart clenching. They’re herding me away from the cave.

“Run, little human,” one jeers, voice echoing among the rocks. “We love a good chase.”

They strike like cats batting a mouse, letting me slip past only to corner me again. My lungs burn with cold air. My mind reels, searching for an out. Where is Daeva? Does he hear me?

A stone catches my toe, and I go sprawling, scraping my palms on sharp gravel. Blood oozes where the skin tears. Pain jolts up my arm, but I force myself to stand, adrenaline roaring. Before I can sprint anew, the scarred elf grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. I cry out, tears stinging my eyes.

He leans in, rancid breath washing over me. “Let’s see how well you beg,” he murmurs, blade pressing to my throat. “Or would you prefer to amuse us first?”

An icy terror grips my spine. They’re mocking me, tormenting me—like a cat with a wounded bird. My lips tremble, but a spark of anger flares. I won’t beg. I thrash, trying to elbow him, but he’s too fast, twisting my arms behind me. Pain blooms across my shoulders. Another elf snickers, pressing the tip of his blade to my side.

“Careful,” the second says. “We don’t want to damage her too much.”

My heart roars with combined terror and fury. I think of Silas, of Ryn and Jenna, of Daeva’s scalding words. I refuse to be prey again— I am not a slave. A strange static crackles in my veins. My pulse thunders, and the tingle under my skin spreads, reminiscent of the way I feel Daeva’s power. But this is stronger, more primal. I can’t contain it.

The scarred elf loosens his grip, intending to taunt me further. Snarling, I rip free, ignoring the slice of pain as his blade grazes my arm. I spin to face them, rage igniting my bloodstream. “Get away from me!” I scream, voice raw.

Laughter echoes. “Does the little mouse have claws?” the scarred elf sneers.

An ember of darkness flares inside me. It’s as though invisible threads tie me to the ambient night, fueling me. A memory surfaces: Daeva told me demon influence might grant me power. Now, a well of black energy pulses under my skin, hungry and turbulent. The bond with him stirs, even though he’s not here—perhaps it’s his chaotic magic resonating in me. My breath catches as power surges hot in my chest.

An elf lunges, trying to pin me again. This time, I raise my palm, and a crackle of dark energy leaps from my fingertips. He’s slammed backward with a ragged gasp, colliding with the rocks. Shock contorts his features before his head lolls.

The others freeze, wariness flickering in their eyes. “Magic? A human can’t?—”

I let out a low, furious laugh, hardly recognizing my own voice. “I can,” I snarl, stepping forward. Something in me roars to see them cower. The crackling darkness intensifies around my hands, curling like serpents of living shadow. Each breath fans the flames of my rage. They hurt me, they threatened me—now they will suffer.

One elf tries to flee. I flick my wrist, and a tendril of blackness snaps out, ensnaring his leg. He stumbles, screaming. Without conscious thought, I yank him closer, my muscles trembling under the rush of raw power. He howls in terror as I draw near, energy crackling. If I feed on him, will it make me stronger? An insidious voice in my mind urges me on. He deserves it, they all do.

His panic-laced eyes meet mine, and I unleash that dark power, letting it spill into his chest. A twisted sensation follows, as if I’m siphoning life from his body. He jerks, mouth agape, color draining from his skin. A dark thrill courses through my veins, exhilarating and horrifying. Part of me screams to stop, but the fury overshadowing my fear is too strong.

The elf collapses, twitching, and I stagger backward, chest heaving. My entire body hums with new strength, like I swallowed raw lightning. The third elf leaps at me, sword raised. I pivot, that savage power swirling around my fist. With a single strike, I knock the blade aside and slam my palm to his chest. Another rush of stolen vitality floods into me, sending a dizzying wave of euphoria through my head. More…

He collapses in a ragged heap, eyes rolling back. My breath comes in ragged gasps, heart pounding with savage triumph. Am I a monster now?

The scarred leader remains. He stares at me with open horror, sword trembling in his grip. “You demon bitch,” he spits, voice cracking. “Stay away?—”

But I’m already moving. My mind is half-lost to this dark rage. I lunge, ignoring the slice of his blade across my shoulder. The pain is distant, overshadowed by the drug-like rush of chaotic power. My hand clamps over his chest, and I wrench more life from him, feeding that twisted magic swirling inside me. He shrieks, body convulsing, until I fling him aside, letting him crumple with eyes wide in deathly shock.

Silence falls, punctured only by the rasp of my breathing. A cold wind sweeps across my cheeks. The four elves lie motionless on the ground, each chest barely stirring or completely still. My pulse thrums with the stolen life force, almost pleasurable in its intensity. I inhale the night air, reeling from what I’ve done.

Then I hear a familiar roar from behind—a flash of black movement. Daeva arrives in a frantic flurry, landing among the fallen elves with lethal grace. His hood is thrown back, white hair gleaming in the moonlight. His eyes dart from me to the bodies. Shock etches his features, disbelief momentarily freezing him mid-step.

“Calla?” he breathes, voice thick with concern and awe.

I stand amid the carnage, chest heaving. The darkness inside me subsides to a slow burn, but my skin still crackles with remnant energy. My vision swims with the aftereffects of that stolen vitality. I want more. The thought horrifies me, yet it also smolders in my belly, stirring an unexpected hunger.

“They attacked me,” I whisper, voice tremulous. “I couldn’t— I had to fight.”

A low, inhuman growl resonates in Daeva’s chest. He whirls, noticing one elf half-stirring, reaching feebly for a blade. With an angry snarl, Daeva finishes him in a blur of demonic power, snapping the elf’s sword arm and hurling him into a boulder. Then he turns back to me, dark tattoos coiling along his arms. The final threat gone, the night falls silent once more.

His gaze rakes over me: hair disheveled, clothes torn, cuts lining my arms. But deeper than that, I sense his shock at the aura of magic enveloping me. The bond between us flares, and I taste his swirling emotions—admiration, fear, desire.

“You… used my power,” he murmurs, stepping closer with deliberate slowness. “You siphoned their life force… how did you?—?”

“I don’t know,” I manage, voice quivering. “It just happened. I felt them hurting me, and I… snapped.”

His eyes flick to the bodies strewn around us, then back to me. For a moment, no words pass, only the electricity in the air. I killed them, or came close enough that their survival is uncertain. My entire body still pulses with that savage high, blood sizzling. My mind whirls with confusion and a new, burning sensation low in my stomach—like the raw fury of the fight has turned into something else.

Daeva steps nearer, concern etching his features. “Calla, are you hurt?” He lifts a hand to hover near my cheek, eyes searching.

I press my lips together, trembling. The cuts on my arm sting, but not as sharply as the hunger pounding inside me. Our bond resonates with unbridled energy, and I see it mirrored in his gaze. The violence of battle, the demonic magic surging in my veins—somehow it’s morphing into a molten desire that spirals out of control. My breath shudders, and the moment I catch the raw intensity in his silver-blue eyes, I realize I’m not alone in this madness.

He seems caught off guard by the arousal flaring in our tether. I see his throat bob. He senses it. He wants me. Despite the turmoil mere hours ago, the primal need overshadowing everything else demands release.

I lick my lips, stepping closer. My heart pounds as I catch the faint tremor in his body, the way his fists clench at his sides. “Daeva,” I whisper, a husky edge to my voice. “I—I can’t stop this feeling.”

His eyes darken, shadowed by longing and conflict. “You’re under the influence of… the power,” he says, voice strained. “It’s twisting your adrenaline.”

“Maybe so,” I murmur, taking another step. Our bodies almost touch, the air between us crackling. “But I know I want you.”

He inhales sharply, eyes flaring wide. I sense his furious desire, reined in by a thin thread. The memory of our bond’s tension, the earlier arguments, and the swirl of jealousy and fear now combust into a fierce magnetism. He sets his hands on my shoulders, half-intending to push me away, but the moment our bodies meet, the bond ignites. My breath catches at the heat of his touch, electricity dancing along my skin.

“Calla,” he groans, voice torn. “We shouldn’t?—”

I lift onto my toes, pressing my lips to his in a bruising kiss that tastes of blood and fury. He freezes for a split second, then surrenders, responding with desperate hunger. Our mouths collide, tongues sliding together in a frantic clash. I moan against him, fingers digging into his chest, feeling the firm planes of muscle beneath his shirt.

He exhales a ragged sound, hands sliding around my waist, hauling me tight against him. The world blurs, overshadowed by the savage tangle of our mouths, the smell of sweat and ozone from spent magic. My body hums with need, and the bond pulses, echoing each frantic heartbeat. Every breath fans the flames of desire, as though the fight and the kill unleashed something primal in us both.

“Calla,” he gasps, breaking the kiss long enough to stare into my eyes. His pupils are blown wide, face flushed with want. “This is madness. We?—”

I clutch his tunic, cutting off his words with another feverish kiss. He meets me halfway, devouring my mouth with the same ferocity I poured into killing those elves. The cave that once stood between us cracks beneath this unstoppable force of shared hunger. I sense the tension of conflict in his aura, but lust and the bond overshadow his reservations. We can’t hold back.

His fingers claw at my shirt like he’s starved for the feel of me, all rough impatience and trembling need. I don’t bother with finesse—I yank at his cloak, sending it slithering to the ground as we crash down among the rocks. My skin sings under his touch, every scrape of his calloused hands a brand. He traces the cuts along my arms, his touch equal parts worship and punishment, and when his teeth graze my collarbone, I arch against him with a gasp.

Fuck.

The taste of him—smoke and salt and something darker—floods my mouth. I want to devour him. I want his cock pressed against my thigh, want his fingers buried in my pussy, want him to ruin me right here in the dirt.

Time fractures. The night is nothing but the slick slide of skin, the ragged hitch of his breath, the way his hips grind against mine like he’s already imagining how deep he’ll split me open. Between us, the bond thrums, molten and vicious, turning every touch into a promise, every moan into a prayer.

His kiss is a bruise, his tongue a claiming. I rake my nails down his back, savoring the way he growls, low and filthy, against my lips. This isn’t just hunger—it’s possession. The same fire that had us tearing through enemies now has us tearing at each other’s clothes, desperate to feel the heat of bare flesh.

And then his hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back as his other hand slips between my thighs. His fingers drag through my slick, teasing, torturing, before plunging inside with a groan. “Oh, you’re dripping,” he rasps, and I bite his shoulder to muffle my cry.

We don’t speak. We don’t need to. The way his cock throbs against my hip tells me everything—how badly he wants to be sheathed inside me, how hard he’ll fuck me when he finally gets there.

"Yes, finally," he growls, his voice rough as gravel, fingers digging into my thighs hard enough to bruise. "This is the me you want, Calla. You want all of me. Now you take it."

And then he does.

No sweet preamble, no gentle testing of waters—just one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. I cry out, my back arching off the jagged rocks beneath me, my nails scraping down his sweat-slicked shoulders. "Gods—fuck—Daeva!"

He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He owns the stretch, the delicious burn, setting a punishing pace from the first second. My pussy clenches around him like a vice, greedy, needy, and he snarls against my throat, "That’s it. Squeeze me just like that, Calla. You feel so good, no one does it like you. Fucking choke on my dick."

I lock my legs around his hips, heels digging into the hard muscle of his ass, urging him deeper. "Harder, Daeva. Take me, make me yours," I gasp, my voice breaking as he slams into me again, knocking the air from my lungs. "I said harder?—"

"You’ll take what I give you," he bites out, but his hips snap forward anyway, driving into me with enough force to make my vision blur. The rocks bite into my back, sharp and unforgiving, but the pain only sharpens the pleasure, each thrust sending sparks up my spine.

The air is thick with the smell of us—sweat, sex, the primal musk of skin on skin. There’s the stench of blood in the air, heigtening my senses. His rhythm is relentless, his cock hitting that perfect, torturous spot inside me with every stroke. I’m clawing at him now, gasping, begging, my thighs trembling as pleasure coils tighter, tighter?—

"You close?" His voice is a dark rumble against my lips, his breath hot and ragged. “Calla, come with me. Take all that I give you, suck me dry… “

"Y-Yes—"

"Then come," he orders, biting down on my lower lip as his hips piston faster. "Come all over my cock. Let me feel how you want me."

The command snaps the last thread of my control. Pleasure detonates, white-hot and electric, ripping through me like a wildfire.

“Daeva!” I scream his name, my body convulsing around him, and with a guttural groan, he follows me over the edge, spilling deep inside me in hot, pulsing waves.

For one endless, breathless moment, we’re fused together—nothing but tangled limbs, shared pulse points, the wet slide of skin on skin. His forehead drops to mine, our panting breaths mingling, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks.

When we finally collapse, wrecked and gasping, I drag my fingers through the sweat-damp hair at his nape and press my lips to the wild hammering of his pulse.

No words.

None needed.

This—the bruises, the bite marks, the way my body still trembles around him—this is the only truth that matters.

In the aftermath, the dark night envelops us, and I feel a flicker of uncertainty creeping in. I wonder if we’ll wake to regret, or if this moment can carry us closer instead of pushing us apart. For now, his arms around me feel like an anchor, and the bond pulses with comforting warmth, as if reassuring me we share more than conflict and pain.

Closing my eyes, I let exhaustion wash over me, lulled by his heartbeat and the lingering pulse of demonic power. For the first time since we left our friends, I feel a measure of safety in his embrace, even though we stand on the precipice of something far more dangerous than either of us could have imagined.

Come morning, we’ll confront our actions, our secrets, and the fear lurking behind Daeva’s eyes. But tonight, we lie together under the indifferent moon, blood and sweat drying on our skin, bound by a contract deeper than flesh—and a bond that might be the closest thing to salvation either of us has ever known.