Page 14 of Demon Monster's Little Human

DAIN

The stench of burnt flesh still clings to the cavern walls, thick and sharp, but it’s the silence that unsettles me.

Too still. Too expectant.

They aren’t gone. Not all of them.

I lift my head, listening.

A shuffle in the deep. A gutturalchufffrom something too large, too hungry, waiting just beyond the tunnel’s bend. Another breath, slow and measured, laced with the foul, wet musk of something that should not exist.

More are coming.

My claws twitch at my sides, shoulders tight with the fight behind me, of the fight still waiting ahead. I could take them—half-broken as I am, I could still tear through them, rip them apart piece by oozing piece.

But her. My gaze flicks to the girl.

She’s still slumped against the cavern floor, trembling from the backlash of magic she shouldn’t have. Her body doesn’t know how to handle it, doesn’t know how to breathe without choking on the remnants of whatever power just ripped through her.

She’s pale. Too pale.

A part of me resents her weakness.

A larger part of me resents my own. I should leave her here. Let the creatures finish what they started.

But I don’t.

My hand moves before I can force myself to care about the consequences.

My claws wrap around her arm, dragging her up, pressing her against the cold rock to keep her upright. Her body shudders beneath my touch, pulse erratic beneath fragile skin. She makes a soft noise, not pain, not fear. Something else.

Something I do not like.

Her gaze is slow to rise to mine, unfocused, hazy, like she’s fighting to hold onto consciousness.

I should let her collapse.

Instead, my grip tightens.

Her breath stumbles. I feel it, the way her muscles go tense beneath my palm, how her lips part just slightly, confusion flickering behind her storm-gray eyes.

She doesn’t understand why I’m still here.

I don’t either. But I don’t have time to think about it.

The clicking starts again.

The cavern walls tremble. Dust cascades from the ceiling, slithering over stone like sand through a glass. The creatures are closing in.

She sways. Her knees nearly give out.

I snarl, catching her before she drops.

I should leave her. I should leave her, I repeat to myself. Instead, I hoist her up, forcing her to move.

Her fingers curl into my arm, weak and trembling, but she doesn’t fight me. She clings.

I hate the way it feels. The proximity.

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