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14

DAEVA

I stand at the threshold of the crumbling hut, inhaling the crisp morning air. My side still aches with every breath, and the faint burn of venom lingers under my skin. Yet the day feels strangely alive—cool wind brushing through the withered trees, fragile sunlight peeking through the canopy. Behind me, I hear Calla stir, her breath catching as she pushes to her feet. We’ve spent so many hours—or days?—in the dimness of that shack, recovering, planning, avoiding the inevitable.

Now, we have only a handful of days before we must return to House Vaerathis and face whatever monstrous scheme awaits us. But in this sliver of time, in our battered state, we have each other. She stands by my side, blindfolded with stained bandages, posture tense but head held high. For someone who’s endured so much, she radiates a quiet determination that stirs something protective in me every time I look her way.

I glance down at her. “Ready?” I ask softly, my voice carrying the edge of worry that never leaves me. She’s asked for something small, yet it feels enormous given our circumstances.

She lifts her chin, unseeing eyes hidden behind the cloth. “Yes,” she says, her lips curving in a faint smile. “Take me to the waterfall. Just… let’s be normal for a day.”

Her voice trembles, laced with hope and heartbreak. My heart clenches at the fragility of her request. Normal, in a life such as ours, might be a cruel illusion. But if this is what she wants—what she needs—I won’t deny her.

“I’ll lead,” I murmur. “Hold my hand.”

She nods, sliding her slender fingers against my palm. A jolt of warmth passes between us, the bond thrumming with our shared resolve. Carefully, I guide her from the hut’s rickety porch onto the narrow path that winds through the pines. The morning sun glimmers pale overhead, cutting through drifting wisps of low mist. The air smells of dew and damp earth—a pleasant scent despite the tension in my chest.

We walk slowly. Every few steps, I pause to warn her of a stray root or uneven stone. She stumbles once, and my arm darts around her waist to catch her. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but she sets her jaw and keeps going, refusing to yield to her blindness. I admire that resilience—she’s lost her vision, yet not her spirit.

After a short trek, the silent forest gives way to the distant rush of water. Calla’s face shifts, her head tilting as she listens. She breathes a soft gasp. “It’s close,” she says, wonder slipping into her voice.

“It’s just beyond that bend,” I confirm, my own spirits lifting at her excitement. “There’s a small clearing around it—moss, stones… quite pretty.”

Her grip on my hand tightens. “Describe it more,” she whispers. “Tell me what I can’t see.”

A pang tugs at my chest. She shouldn’t have to rely on my words to witness beauty. Still, I muster a gentle tone. “The trees thin out ahead, giving way to a circle of smooth boulders. The waterfall is maybe twice your height, pouring from a rocky ledge overgrown with creeping vines. The water cascades into a wide pool that sparkles green and gold under the sun.”

I lead her around a final cluster of bushes. The roar of water grows, drowning out the rustle of pines. We emerge into the clearing, sunlight reflecting off the rippling surface. It’s no grand waterfall—barely more than a tumbling stream from a cliff—but the peaceful setting feels like another world compared to the gloom of the hut.

“Now we’re here,” I say softly, halting at the water’s edge. A breeze carries a fine mist that kisses our faces. “The sun hits the falls at an angle—makes a little rainbow in the spray.”

She sucks in a breath, turning her bandaged gaze upward. “A rainbow,” she echoes wistfully, her voice tight with longing. “I wish I could see it.”

Pain knots in my throat. “I wish you could, too.” I gently slip an arm around her, guiding her forward until her boots touch the damp stones near the water’s edge. “Feel the spray on your skin… Hear the rush of the water.”

She reaches out, tentative. A soft laugh escapes her, tinged with tears. “It feels… alive,” she says. “Cold and invigorating.” She tips her face toward the cascading droplets. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answer, my chest tight. I’m looking at her, ignoring the actual scene. The pool sparkles, but nothing can match the fierce glow in her expression when she experiences even a shred of happiness. I push the guilt aside—this moment belongs to her, to us.

We stand there in silence for a while, letting the water’s music envelop us. She raises her arms slightly, as if embracing the waterfall’s mist. I catch a glimpse of the faint bruises on her wrists, the flecks of dried blood near her bandages. Even so, her lips curve in a smile, and I realize how radiant she can be, even blind and wounded.

I clear my throat. “There are butterflies,” I say, noticing a pair flitting near the wildflowers by the bank. “Two, maybe—blue wings with black edges. They’re dancing by the blooms.”

She turns her head. “Describe them?” she murmurs again.

I watch the delicate insects flutter among purple blossoms. “They’re small, about the size of your thumb, their wings shimmering in the sunlight. They flit from flower to flower, tasting nectar. They almost look like little shards of the sky come to life.” A short laugh leaves me, a foreign sound in my own ears. “I… well, I’m not used to describing such things.”

Her face softens, a melancholic smile forming. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For telling me. I can almost imagine them… tiny living jewels.”

A hush settles. My gaze drifts to her face, noticing how tension lingers around her mouth despite the fragile smile. She tries to be strong for me. She senses my scrutiny, turning toward me. “Daeva?” she whispers. “Are you… all right?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m—managing.” It’s a half-lie, but I try to sound reassuring. “What about you?”

She hesitates, tilting her face toward me. “It hurts,” she admits, voice trembling. “My eyes, my shoulder… everything. But I’m more worried about you. I know you’re pushing yourself. We only have a few days left, and?—”

Guilt flickers. I hush her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Don’t. This moment is supposed to be about us, without the ghosts of Vaerathis haunting every breath.”

Her lips part, tears shining behind her bandage. “Yes,” she murmurs, nodding. “Yes, just… us.”

The water sings as it tumbles over the rocks, the sunlight warm on our skin. I guide her to a mossy flat stone at the pool’s edge. We sit, legs brushing. My heart pounds. It’s been so long since we had anything resembling peace or normalcy.

She draws in a shaky breath. “Daeva… there’s something I want to say.” She hesitates. “I’ve been thinking about it for so long, but it feels… complicated now.”

My pulse quickens. “Tell me,” I urge softly.

She lifts her bandaged eyes toward me, a slight tremor in her chin. “I… I love you.” She releases a shaky laugh, tears leaking down. “I know we have a contract, and maybe the demon bond confuses everything, but it’s not the magic I’m in love with. It’s you. You, with your scars and your regrets and your protectiveness. You gave me freedom, gave me a choice when I had none.” Her voice quivers. “Even though it cost me my sight, I… I don’t regret staying.”

Emotion slams into my chest. Love. A concept I barely dared dream about. For centuries, I lived in shadows, cursing the world, cursing the day I was sacrificed. Now, this mortal woman—blind and battered—speaks the word like a vow. I swallow hard.

“I… I don’t know what love is,” I finally say, my throat tight. “Once, I was a human boy who believed in hope, in trust. Then the sacrifice took all that away.” A shiver courses down my spine, memories of that mirror’s prison, the centuries of emptiness. “But if there’s something real in this cursed existence, some feeling that outshines magic and fate… then it must be you, Calla.”

Her breath catches. A watery smile trembles across her lips. “Daeva…”

I brush my fingertips across her cheek, being careful of the bandages. The bond between us resonates, not the savage lust triggered by battles, but a gentler pulse of yearning and devotion. “Let me,” I whisper, leaning in.

She meets me halfway, our lips brushing in a tentative kiss. It’s soft, tentative at first, our hearts laid bare in a way that goes beyond the demon’s hunger. A wave of warmth floods me, every nerve alight with tenderness rather than violence. Calla’s tears mix with the salt of my own. I part her lips gently, deepening the kiss, pouring all my pent-up regret and longing into that moment.

She sighs against me, tangling her fingers in my hair. The waterfall’s roar fades to a distant hush, leaving only the beat of our hearts and the rustling breeze. My hands slip around her waist, drawing her close. She arches into me, unafraid despite the darkness claiming her eyes.

Time slips away. She clings to me as if I’m her anchor, and I hold her as if she’s my lifeline. We’re both so scarred, so unsure. But in this moment, we cling to each other, forging a shelter from the storm of fate.

We break apart, gasping for breath. A flush warms my face, an echo of the passion that once flared in blood-soaked nights. But this time, it’s gentler, deeper. She murmurs my name, her lips brushing my jaw, and I shiver at the intimacy. My hand drifts to the clasp of her torn tunic. We pause, hearts thundering, and she nods slightly. We slip from the frayed confines of our clothing, letting vulnerability speak where words fail.

The world is a blade’s edge tonight—sharp, precarious, a breath held too long in the dark. Then, with a sigh that shivers between us, it shatters. Calla’s body is heat and hunger beneath me, skin slick with sweat and the cool kiss of river mist. The slide of her is like a prayer I’ve forgotten how to speak, my voice rough with disuse, my hands trembling as they trace the map of her.

"Slow," she whispers, her voice frayed at the edges, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Please—slow."

And Gods, I obey.

My cock finds her pussy with a reverence that aches, the first press of me into her so excruciatingly gentle it steals the breath from my lungs. She gasps—a fractured, broken sound—and her lips part against mine, her exhale a hymn against my mouth.

"You feel—" Her words dissolve into a moan as I sink deeper, my hips rolling in a rhythm older than time. "Oh— oh, you feel like?—"

"Tell me," I growl, my voice raw. My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing the tears already spilling from her sightless eyes. "Tell me how I feel."

She arches beneath me, her nails biting into my shoulders. "Like coming home," she chokes out. "Like— Gods—like finally being whole."

Her fingers tremble over my skin, tracing every scar, every ridge of old violence, reading me like a psalm written in blood. She doesn’t need sight to see me—not when her touch unravels me, when her breath against my throat is the only scripture I’ll ever worship.

I kiss her wounds in turn—the bruises, the split skin, the places where the world has carved its cruelty into her. My mouth is a confession, my tongue an absolution. I worship her like this, with lips and teeth and whispered promises, until her body is trembling beneath mine, until her cries are the only thing I hear above the roar of the waterfall.

This isn’t fucking.

This isn’t the desperate, teeth-bared rutting—the kind that left us bloody and hollow, two animals seeking solace in the dark.

No.

This is ruin.

This is the walls coming down, stone by stone, until there’s nothing left but her breath against my throat, my name a ragged plea on her lips. The waterfall howls around us, relentless, deafening, but all I hear is her—the hitch in her voice when I sink deeper, the way her body clutches at me like she’s drowning and I’m the only air left.

"Look at me," I murmur against her mouth, though I know she can’t. Still, her lashes flutter, her face turning toward mine like a flower to the sun. "Look at me when you come."

And she does.

Her climax crashes over her like a storm, her back bowing, her thighs tightening around my hips as she shudders beneath me. Her cry is muffled against my skin, her tears cutting through the dirt on her cheeks—blood and salt and something too raw to name.

Mine fall too, lost in the dark tangle of her hair as I follow her over the edge, my groan swallowed by her mouth, our hearts hammering the same broken rhythm.

Every thrust is a vow. We’re still here.

After everything—we’re still fucking here.

After, we’re wrecked. Sprawled in the moss, limbs tangled, breaths ragged as the river’s pulse. She presses her face to my chest, her bandages damp with tears and the ghost of my touch. I stroke her hair, my hands unsteady, and let the quiet wrap around us like a promise.

The night is soft now, the blade’s edge dulled, the world stitched back together in the aftermath of us.

We are ruin. We are alive. And in this moment, that is enough.

Three days until House Vaerathis. Three days until hell. But here, now—there is only her. Only this. And for a stolen moment, it’s enough.

Eventually, the chill of the morning seeps into our skin, reminding us we can’t stay entangled forever. Gently, I help her back into her tattered clothes, pressing a soft kiss to her brow. She lingers against me, fingertips resting on my lips as though memorizing my face. My chest aches with tenderness and sorrow at the same time.

When we’re dressed, we remain seated on the moss, water droplets glinting on our arms. I draw her into my lap, ignoring the dull throb of my injuries. I cradle her in my arms, and she rests her head against my collarbone.

She speaks first, voice quiet. “Thank you. For… for letting us be normal, if only for a moment.”

I press my cheek to her hair. “Thank you for wanting that with me.” A fragile smile tugs my mouth. “I never thought I could feel anything like… like real connection again.”

She draws a shaky breath. “I was so frightened. I— I still am. But if this is all the time we have left, I don’t want regrets.” Her bandaged eyes lift toward me. “I love you, Daeva.”

My heart constricts, that unfamiliar word stirring both warmth and fear. I rest my forehead against hers. “I… love you too,” I manage, voice catching. “I don’t know if I can ever repay what you’ve given me, but I can… at least promise to try.”

She cups my cheek. “That’s all I need.”

We linger in the hush, the waterfall’s symphony swirling around us. Then, a conviction settles in my gut, heavy and certain. The vow I’ve been skirting around for days now crystallizes. I can’t let this contract doom her. I won’t allow the House to manipulate us. I swallow, gathering courage.

“I’ve decided,” I say, voice trembling with intensity. “I’m going to destroy our contract—forcefully, if I must. I’ll cut my bond to that ancient tyrant. Even if it means burning in an inferno. Even if it means I’ll never reincarnate. I’ll do it.”

She stiffens. “But… the consequences. The ancestor is tied to you. If you die?—”

I hush her, pressing a finger to her lips. “I can’t keep letting you bear the cost of my curse. This has to end. The old elf wants to complete the ritual for immortality, but I’ll tear that tether to pieces, with or without a ‘safe’ ritual. I’d rather face oblivion than watch you vanish.”

Her lip quivers. “But you— what if you vanish instead?”

“I’ve lived too long already,” I whisper, anguish clawing my throat. “You gave me a reason to keep going, but if it means you pay for my revenge… That I cannot bear.”

A tear of blood trails down her cheek. “We’ll find a way,” she insists, voice shaking. “But if you do this… let me help.”

I press my mouth to hers softly, longing to shield her from every horror. “You already are,” I murmur. “Your presence is my strength.”

She sniffles, nodding. “Then let’s face Vaerathis and carve our path in the tapestry you spoke of.”

I hold her close, the sunlight warming our backs. The water churns, a gentle lullaby. My heart hammers with the enormity of the vow I just made. I sense destiny swirling, and I pray that I can sever the chain binding me to that ancient fiend without dragging Calla to her doom. We’ll defy every law of magic and fate if we must.

We stay like that for a time, letting our breathing sync. She leans her head on my shoulder, and I rub soothing circles along her back, mindful of her wounds. The moment is painfully sweet—like the calm before a final tempest. I memorize the softness of her hair, the flutter of her heartbeat, the quiet determination in her posture.

At length, the sun climbs higher, the reality of our mission pressing in. We have limited days to recover, to gather what meager resources we can, then travel to Vaerathis to save her friends and confront the ritual. We can’t remain in this idyll forever.

I stand, helping her up. “We should head back,” I say gently, though I hate the idea of leaving this fleeting paradise. “We’ll need to prepare.”

She nods, letting me guide her away from the water’s edge. Her blindfold is damp from tears and spray. “Thank you,” she whispers, “for giving me a moment… to feel alive.” A shaky laugh escapes her. “Despite everything.”

I squeeze her hand. “Let’s find a way to hold onto that feeling, no matter what horrors come next.”

She leans into me, limping slightly, but resolute. We walk back through the pines, the forest punctuated by birdsong. My wounds burn with every step, yet a surprising lightness dwells in my chest. I love her , I think, the words both exhilarating and terrifying. Maybe that love can fuel my final stand against the House that shaped me into a demon.

We return to the hut, the door squeaking in protest as we enter. Dust motes swirl in the shaft of sunlight that penetrates the holes in the roof. Calla turns her bandaged face upward as if sensing the shift from bright forest to shadowy interior. Her expression flickers with nostalgia for that brief freedom by the water.

I guide her to a seat near the hearth, rummaging for something to feed the fire. My injuries scream for rest, but we have too little time. She sits quietly, one hand tracing the battered floor, perhaps recalling the fleeting serenity we just shared.

Then I kneel beside her, letting the flicker of flames cast dancing shadows. “We have days—less than five, likely—to ready ourselves,” I say. “We’ll gather what supplies we can. We’ll rest. I’ll hunt if possible, might try to find herbs to lessen your pain… and when we leave, we’ll have a plan. Not just to surrender to Vaerathis’s demands.”

She nods, bandaged eyes unwavering. “We’ll fight, side by side,” she answers. “Even if the cost is everything.”

A pang of pride and sorrow hits me. What a fearless soul she has. I rest my forehead against hers, inhaling the faint scent of water and blood. My vow burns hotter: I will break this contract or die trying, ensuring she walks free—even if my own future is ashes. She’s lost her eyes, but not her hope. My chest tightens with renewed resolve.

We settle against each other, discussing bits of strategy in hushed tones. She asks about positions in House Vaerathis, about old passages I might recall. My memories are a hazy swirl, but I share what little I know: possible lesser-guarded entrances, the layout of corridors, antechambers that once stored arcane relics. She listens intently, occasionally pressing me for details, her voice steady despite her injuries.

Night descends slowly, and the creeping dread of our confrontation grows. Outside, the wind rattles the forest. I stoke the fire, mindful of how many logs remain—just a few, pilfered from the dead pines out back. We must conserve them for warmth. At least tonight, we have each other’s presence. The memory of her lips, her soft moans by the waterfall, lingers in my mind. I cling to that intimacy like a shield against the storm that approaches.

She dozes off, head on my shoulder. I slip an arm around her, letting her rest. In her sleep, she whimpers sometimes, tears of blood seeping anew. My heart aches. I can’t do anything but hold her and vow to rid her of this agony. I’ll tear the House down. I’ll tear fate itself if I must.

Much later, when the fire has dwindled to embers, she stirs awake. I feel her trembling, sense the flicker of her fear through the bond. I whisper comfort, pressing a kiss to her temple. In the gloom, I hear her murmuring, half delirious, about the reflections that haunt her blind eyes—memories of a mirror, of an ancient sacrifice, of a future not yet written.

I tighten my hold, letting her know she’s not alone. “Sleep,” I urge. “I’m here.”

She settles, her breathing evening out. I remain watchful, ignoring my own weariness. My mind whirls with the decision I’ve already made: to forcibly break the contract. A thousand questions swirl— how to do it, what magic I must invoke, what final toll it might take on me. No matter. Calla comes first. She’s chosen me, trusted me with her last shred of faith. I refuse to let her demise be the price of my vengeance.

Eventually, exhaustion claims me, but the vow burns bright in my chest, a blade in the darkness. Tomorrow, we’ll prepare. We’ll plan. Then in five days, House Vaerathis will see that they can’t chain us anymore. Whether we all burn or we carve a new destiny, I hold Calla to me, letting the warmth of her body remind me of why this fight matters.

Outside, the wind carries the distant hush of water from the waterfall, as if echoing the memory of our stolen joy. It lulls me into a restless sleep, haunted by images of a final confrontation. But amid those nightmares, I find a sliver of hope, anchored by the quiet strength of the woman in my arms. We might be broken, but we choose each other—and that choice might just be enough to shake the foundations of fate.