Page 45 of Demon Monster's Little Human

The sky swallows us.

The landing isn’t graceful.

Dain hits the ground hard, rolling as he clutches me against his chest. My body is battered, broken, every nerve screaming in protest, but I manage to shift, barely managing to push myself up, my vision spinning.

“Where the hell did you go?” My voice is hoarse, shaking, but I don’t care.

Dain says nothing.

His wings twitch, his breathing deep, slow, too controlled. His silence is heavy, his golden eyes burning with something I can’t decipher.

I shove against him, weak, desperate. “You left me!”

His hand snaps out, gripping my throat.

The world narrows to his hold, to his strength pressing against my pulse, to the fire in his gaze that looks more like a storm than anything else.

I clutch at his wrist, my body screaming in panic.

“Dain—”

He leans in, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

“This is because of you!”

19

DAIN

Her fingers dig into my wrist, nails pressing against my skin as she tries to fight free, but she is weak.

Too weak.

I let go.

She falls to the ground, coughing, dragging in air as if she wasn’t certain she’d ever breathe again. I watch her, expression blank, ignoring the way my instincts hiss in irritation at the sight of her bruised throat, the red imprints of my claws still fresh against her pale skin.

She glares up at me, eyes sharp, defiant even in her exhaustion.

“Why did you do that? What’s with you?” she rasps, voice raw. “Not only did you choke me, you left me! Again.”

The accusation burns through the space between us.

I don’t respond.

I turn my back on her, my hands curling into fists as I try to steady the storm inside me. She should not matter. She should have never mattered. But every time I try to put distance between us, I find myself dragged back, ensnared, caged in ways I don’t understand.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, but she refuses to let it settle.

“You fought that thing,” she says, voice quieter now, hesitant. “The gargoyle before you—he couldn’t even touch it. But you did.”

I exhale slowly, resisting the urge to lash out, to silence her questions before they take root.

“What was it?” she presses, shifting slightly, struggling to sit upright. “Why was it after me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I growl.

“It does.”

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