Page 18 of A Kiss of Deception

As I push myself to my feet, ready to continue my aimless flight, something strange happens. My chest aches, not just from the exertion of running, but from a peculiar, inexplicable pull. It's as if an invisible thread tugs at my very core, urging me forward.

Confusion mingles with curiosity. What is this feeling? Despite my exhaustion, I find myself following this mysterious sensation, letting it guide me through the labyrinthine streets.

I stumble through winding alleys, barely registering the curious glances of late-night revelers. The pull grows stronger with each step, guiding me like a compass I never knew I possessed. My feet seem to move of their own accord, carrying me deeper into the maze of the city.

The scent of stale ale and sweat grows stronger. I find myself in front of a rundown inn, its weathered sign creaking in the night breeze. The Drunken Wyvern. The magical tug becomes almost painful now, centered on this dilapidated building.

Without hesitation, I push open the door. The innkeeper, a burly man with a scarred face, glares at me.

"We're full up, girl. Get lost."

I ignore him, scanning the dim common room. The pull leads me to a rickety staircase in the back. I bolt up the steps, my heart pounding in my ears.

At the top, I pause. Which room? The invisible thread yanks me towards the last door on the left. I press my ear against the worn wood, hearing nothing but soft breathing from within.

My hand trembles as I grasp the doorknob. It's unlocked. I push it open, wincing at the loud creak of rusted hinges.

Moonlight spills through a grimy window, illuminating a figure sprawled across a narrow bed. Milkor. His white hair gleams in the silvery light, his face peaceful in sleep.

I step closer, drawn by a force I can't explain. "Milkor," I whisper, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

His eyes snap open, silver and piercing in the darkness.

Milkor sits up,startled, his silver eyes gleaming in the dim light. "What in the hells are you doing here?" he demands, his voice a low growl.

"You're not just some random dark elf, are you?" I demand, my voice shaking.

Milkor's lips curl into a smirk. "No, I'm not."

"Then what are you?" I press, stepping closer. "Tell me the truth."

He rises from the bed, his movements fluid and predatory. "You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for, little human. How did you find me?"

"I... I don't know," I stammer, suddenly aware of how bizarre this situation is. "I just felt this pull, like something was guiding me here."

His eyes narrow, a mix of suspicion and curiosity crossing his features. "A pull? Interesting. Very interesting indeed."

"Why are you here?" I ask, finding my voice. "How did you end up in this tavern?"

Milkor's lips curl into a wry smile.

"Answer me," I insist, refusing to back down.

Milkor's eyes flash dangerously. "Very well. I am a demon from Galmoleth. I needed a place to regroup, to plan my next move."

He pauses, studying me intently. "But it seems fate had other ideas."

My breath catches in my throat. A demon? Here?

"How is that possible?" I whisper.

"I was cursed," he growls, pacing the room. "Trapped in this pathetic dark elf form by a purna."

"Your curse," I whisper, remembering his earlier words. "Is it connected to why I felt drawn here?"

"Perhaps."

I watch him, fascinated and terrified. "But why are you here? With my father?"

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