Page 75 of Demon Bound

A runaway wife and a demon could, in fact, make a peaceful life in Heilune. They’d found a place where their talents could be of use, where they weren’t being driven out with torches and pitchforks, where they were actually starting to get along with people. And the runes on Azreth’s hand weren’t hurting him, much as it dismayed her to see the permanent reminder of Nirlan’s attempt at enslaving him.

Madira had taken it upon himself to go on several scouting missions at the temple, and he had seen nothing suspicious—at least, not more suspicious than the cultists usually were—except that Gereg was missing. Raiya doubted they would try to capture Azreth again without a significant advantage on their side. Trapping him in a rune circle had been lucky for them, and would be a difficult maneuver to repeat.

The only thing that still worried her was Nirlan. She’d seen no sign of him since he’d left town over a week ago. It was almost enough for her to hope he might have gotten tired of chasing them.

After Azreth had finished modifyingher bow, he took her to the edge of camp to practice shooting into the woods. He demonstrated how to draw it, then handed the bow and an arrow to her. Taking the smooth, elegant pieces of wood in her hands, she raised the bow. He reached over to reposition her arms, then nodded. She planted her feet, snug in their fur-lined boots, and her slow exhale clouded in front of her.

She released the arrow. It flew into the woods and struck a tree. It was immensely satisfying, even if it wasn’t the tree Azreth had told her to aim for.

“I’m sorry,” she said, fearing he would consider it a waste of time to try to teach her. “I’m not very good at this.”

He arched an eyebrow. “It was your first attempt.” He didn’t chastise her for apologizing, but she sensed his disapproval. She was apologizing for nothing. Most people who were not Nirlan would not be angered over such small failures.

“Do it again,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

She kept shooting until her back and arms were too sore to continue, but by the end of the session she was consistently hitting the correct tree.

“Did you use bows in the hells?” she asked him.

“Sometimes. There are many dangerous things in the hells. Many of them fly.”

“Really? I’ve never seen you use a weapon here.”

“I’ve never needed one. Mortals are easy to hurt.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“You would do well not to. I have told you that.”

She turned to him, serious. “Isn’t it more… unpleasant to use your bare hands to kill someone?”

He cocked his head. “Unpleasant?”

“People are naturally averse to killing. I think Astra made us that way. People prefer weapons like bows because they put you farther away from your victim. It means you can’t see the fear on their face so vividly. You can’t smell their blood, or feel it on your hands. It makes the horror of killing… less horrific.”

Azreth’s dark, illusory human eyes stared at her. In that moment, she was sure that anyone could have seen through his glamour. There was something demonic about his eyes as he contemplated the idea of murder.

“I like to feel blood on my hands,” he said. “I enjoy the sensation of it slicking my skin, and the metallic taste of it on my tongue. I want to smell my enemy’s panic as their insides spill from their body.”

Raiya wasn’t quite breathing as she listened to him.

“The people here have good reason to fear me,” he said. “I long for destruction and bloodshed. I am dangerous.”

For once, it didn’t sound like a boast. He sounded almost unhappy, and Raiya wondered if, perhaps, he didn’t want to be who he was. Maybe he didn’t believe he could be the sort of person he wanted to be.

“When I killed that mage in your castle, you felt that bloodthirst, too,” he said. “I could feel your terror, but I could also feel your fascination. Your triumph.” He raised a hand to her cheek. “You were lovely.”

She wanted to deny it. But there was no point in lying to him or to herself. Both of them held darkness deep inside them. The fury of a person wronged. A craving for violent retribution.

But she shook her head slowly, denying it anyway. “If you really felt such a desire for bloodshed, you would act on it. You would have done as the cultists wished. You could kill me and all the others at the camp. You would enjoy it, and it would strengthen you to feed on us. What’s stopping you?”

He blinked slowly, studying her. His fingers stroked her hair.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I am either a poor example of a demon, or a poor attempt at a goodly mortal.”

“Then I must be, as well.”

The ground shook, interrupting them. Azreth’s eyes widened.

---