Page 30 of A Kiss of Deception

Meetha takes a step closer, her free hand reaching out to touch my arm. The contact sends a jolt through me, a reminder of the connection we've forged.

"And what about me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "What happens to me if you go?"

I stand frozen, the weight of Meetha's question pressing down on me like a physical force. Words fail me, caught in mythroat as I struggle to formulate a response. How can I answer when I don't even know the truth myself?

Meetha's eyes search mine, desperate for reassurance. But my silence speaks volumes.

Her face falls, disappointment etching itself into every line. "I knew it," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're going to leave me behind."

The accusation stings more than I care to admit. I want to protest, to deny her words, but the truth is, I can't. The lure of freedom, of reclaiming my true form, is too strong to ignore.

Meetha takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I was right all along, wasn't I?" she says, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "The moment you get that ring, the second you have a taste of freedom, you'll be gone."

I clench my fists, frustration boiling within me. "It's not that simple," I growl, but even to my own ears, the words sound hollow.

"Isn't it?" Meetha challenges, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. "You've made it pretty clear where your priorities lie, Milkor. And they certainly don't include me."

She turns away, her shoulders slumping. "I should have known better than to trust a man," she mutters, more to herself than to me.

I huff, placing my hands on my hips as I begin to pace. The floorboards creak beneath my feet, echoing the tension in the air. My mind races, searching for a way out of this impossible situation.

"Would you rather I lie to you?" I snap, whirling to face Meetha.

She flinches at my tone but holds her ground. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, meet mine unflinchingly. "Well, no. I suppose not."

Her honesty catches me off guard. I expected anger, accusations, anything but this quiet acceptance. It throws me off balance, leaving me grasping for solid ground.

"Then what?" I demand, my voice rougher than I intend. "What would you have me do?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with unspoken possibilities. I watch as emotions flicker across Meetha's face – hurt, fear, longing. She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as if bracing for impact.

"Stay," she says simply.

That single word hits me like a physical blow. Stay? The concept is so foreign, so utterly at odds with everything I've ever known. Demons don't stay. We take, we destroy, we move on. We certainly don't form attachments to fragile human girls.

And yet…

I find myself frozen, unable to dismiss the idea outright. The thought of leaving Meetha behind suddenly seems unbearable. When did she become more than just a means to an end?

"Stay," I repeat, tasting the word on my tongue. It's both terrifying and oddly enticing.

Meetha's eyes soften, a mix of hope and vulnerability in her gaze. "I know what you are, Milkor. I know you're a demon. But..." she pauses, swallowing hard. "You could have let Jarvil kill me. You could have disposed of me yourself. But you didn't."

Her words catch me off guard. "You should fear me," I mutter, but the words lack conviction.

Meetha steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. "Maybe. But I don't."

I clench my jaw, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Don't mistake self-interest for kindness, girl."

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Is that what you tell yourself? That it's all self-interest?"

Her perceptiveness is unsettling. I look away, unable to meet her gaze. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe not," Meetha admits. "But I know that I trust you, Milkor. Demon or not."

Damn it all. When did this slip of a girl start to matter so much?

She's barely more than a child, really. Orphaned in the span of a day, her entire world upended. And here I am, ready to abandon her just like everyone else.

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