Page 38 of The Demon and the Burning Girl (Prothekan #2)

Emotion clogs my throat, making speech impossible. A wave of gratitude and heartbreak floods me, so intense I can’t hold back. I cling to him, tears hot on my cheeks, trembling from the aftershocks of our desperate union. He strokes my hair in tentative comfort, as if uncertain how to soothe.

Time drifts in the hush. Rain begins to fall through the broken roof again, soft patters echoing in the cavernous hall.

I press my ear to his chest, feeling the slow thud of his heartbeat.

Each beat is a reminder that our time is borrowed.

If the prophecy is true, I might never share another day with him without paying the ultimate price.

He kisses the top of my head, voice rumbling in my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, raw guilt seeping through. “I dragged you into this. If I’d killed you at the ritual?—”

Rage snaps through me, and I jerk back. “You think I’d rather be dead than… this?” My voice wobbles, but anger sparks. “No. I choose life, Malphas. No matter how broken it is. Don’t dare assume killing me then would be mercy.”

He winces, swallowing. “That’s not what I— I just wish I’d known the cost. I wouldn’t have pinned my hope on you so readily.”

The admission stings, but sorrow overshadows it. “You needed me as your lifeline. And I— I needed someone to show me I wasn’t powerless. This is what we get.”

A hush settles. Guilt and despair weigh heavy, overshadowing the intimacy we just shared. I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the warmth that flared between us for one bright moment. Now all that remains is the chilling knowledge that I might have to die to break his chains.

He releases a slow exhale, fangs baring in frustration.

“I refuse to let you sacrifice yourself,” he repeats, steeling his jaw.

“Prophecy or not, we’ll find a different path.

The monarchy can be undone by other means.

We’ll keep searching for relics, for a sorcerer wise enough to unravel that vow.

I’ll tear the monarchy limb from limb if I must. But you are not a lamb to slaughter. ”

Tears glimmer in my eyes again, gratitude and heartbreak colliding. I’m disinclined to argue. A flicker of hope struggles in my chest, warring against the grim text I read. Could we truly cheat fate?

At length, we gather the tattered remnants of our clothes. He helps me stand, body stiff from the strain of fighting and heartbreak. The temple’s gloom thickens as storm clouds blot out the daylight. I shiver, pulling my coat around me, ignoring the tears and rips from our frantic encounter.

He glances at me, guilt twisting his features once more. “Are you in pain?”

Physically, I ache in a thousand ways—bruises from fighting, the rawness from our desperate lovemaking. But the deeper agony is mental. “I’ll survive,” I say quietly. “We both will, until we figure this out.”

He nods, stepping forward to peer through a gap in the wall. Rain cascades, forming puddles in the courtyard. “No sign of the monarchy’s hunters,” he mutters. “We might have a little while before they track us here.”

I nod, feeling exhaustion weigh on my bones. Hopeless or not, we must keep moving soon. We can’t linger in a half-collapsed temple with no supplies. My stomach growls faintly, reminding me that hunger’s also a threat.

He turns, horns silhouetted by a flash of lightning. “I found some dry wood in a side chamber. If we conjure a small flame, we can at least warm ourselves a bit. Wait here.”

I watch as he disappears into the shadows, marveling at the fact that even battered, he refuses to yield. Something about that unwavering grit stirs my battered spirit. The monarchy might have fate on their side, but we have our shared refusal to kneel.

Left alone, I sink onto a broken column, hugging my knees. The echoes of what we did still vibrate through my body—tender bruises, the taste of his lips. Why must it be overshadowed by the dread of losing everything? Another tear slides down my cheek, and I wipe it away with shaky resolve.

He returns with splintered timber in his arms, setting it in a small pile under a sheltered alcove. With a flick of his claws, he summons a trickle of black flame, igniting the wood. We sit close to the flickering fire, soaking in the minimal warmth. The rain intensifies outside, thunder rumbling.

For a long while, we’re silent, our gazes locked on the flames.

I replay the archivist’s words in my mind— When the scion of the Abyss emerges, the binding of countless souls shall break.

Or else all demonkind shall be yoked anew.

And the runes carved into that tablet, demanding a life exchange. It’s not fair.

Malphas breaks the silence first, voice low. “I know your heart is heavy. Mine is too. But we can’t let despair consume us. There must be a path we haven’t yet seen.”

I look up, seeing the determination etched across his bruised face.

The glow of the fire accentuates the hollows under his cheeks, the molten lines along his neck.

My chest tightens. “What if there isn’t, Malphas?

What if the monarchy kills us before we find an alternative? What if the only way is… is me?—?”

He reaches out, brushing my knuckles with a clawed fingertip.

The gesture is oddly gentle. “I don’t have answers,” he admits softly.

“But I won’t let you face this alone. Even if it means I must tear down the monarchy’s temples, I’ll do it.

We’ll find a spell, a relic, or a sorcerer who can reshape the ritual. That’s my vow.”

A broken laugh escapes me. “You and your vows. That’s how you got into this mess in the first place.”

He grimaces, but there’s a flicker of rueful humor in his eyes. “Perhaps. But I’d rather vow to stand by you than serve a King who never deserved my loyalty.”

Those words create a swirl of emotion in me. I can’t voice the gratitude that floods my heart, so I just nod, blinking back fresh tears. “Thank you.”

Another hush settles, the fire crackling softly. The temple’s broken arches frame sheets of rain. The swirling gloom presses in, a reflection of the despair that lingers despite our closeness. My body hums with the memory of our frantic encounter, overshadowed by heartbreak.

Eventually, Malphas rummages for a scrap of cloth, offering it to me. “Try to rest if you can,” he suggests. “I’ll keep watch until we move.”

I accept the cloth, wrapping it around my shoulders.

My limbs ache with bone-deep fatigue, but my mind churns with fear.

Slowly, I lean against his side, letting my eyes drift shut.

His tail wraps around my ankle in a strangely protective gesture, as if anchoring me.

For a moment, the storm’s lullaby and the warmth of the little fire soothe me into a light doze.

In that half-sleep, images flicker: the prophecy’s words etched in stone, Malphas’s fortress reduced to rubble, the monarchy’s relentless pursuit. My breath catches, nightmares creeping. I jolt awake, heart racing. Malphas’s arm tightens around me, a silent question in his gaze.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, though my chest hurts. “Just… restless.”

He nods, understanding too well. We remain pressed together, neither fully asleep nor truly awake, suspended in a fragile moment where the entire world seems to hold its breath.

The storm rages, the broken temple stands sentinel around our fragile union, and somewhere beyond, fate awaits with a cruel ultimatum.

Eventually, the rain slackens, leaving behind a hush broken only by dripping water. I stir, checking the small fire. It’s burned low, embers glowing faintly. Malphas’s eyes flick to me, reading the question there: Is it time to go?

He nods, rising slowly. My muscles protest, half-crippled by stiffness, but I push through. We gather our scattered belongings, ignoring the bruises and lingering traces of sorrow. The sanctuary of this ruin gave us a fleeting respite, but we can’t stay. The monarchy hunts. The prophecy looms.

Malphas offers me a hand, helping me over a fallen column. A subtle tenderness lingers in his touch, overshadowed by the weight of our predicament. My chest tightens at how ephemeral this closeness is. Every step might be my last if the prophecy demands my life.

We stand at the battered entrance of the temple, scanning the mist-shrouded swamp.

The sun tries to break through the clouds, but the resulting light is weak.

Our reflections drift in a stagnant pool, him towering with horns half-lowered, me slight and grim in a torn coat.

We are a mismatched pair, bound by defiance and desperation.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

I nod, swallowing my tears. “Yes. Let’s keep going.”

And so we leave the ruined temple behind, burdened by knowledge that could tear us apart.

The hush of the aftermath lingers, the memory of our frantic collision etched into every bruise.

Guilt coils in my gut, overshadowing the fleeting pleasure we found in each other’s arms. We walk side by side into the mist, hearts weighed down by fear for the future, yet unwilling to surrender.

Each step draws us closer to a confrontation with fate—one that might demand more than either of us can bear. But for now, we cling to fragile hope and the desperate bond forged in the heart of ruin. If we must face doom, we’ll face it together, no matter the cost.