Page 48 of Demon Monster's Little Human

The silence between us is thick, charged with everything unsaid, but I refuse to be the first to break it. I refuse to give him that power over me.

Finally, he stops.

The cave opens into a chamber, a natural spring nestled in the center, steam curling lazily over the surface. The water glows faintly, fed by some unseen force, its depths clear enough to reveal smooth, polished stones beneath. It is warm. Inviting.

I stare at it, not understanding.

Dain watches me, his expression unreadable. “You stink,” he mutters.

My jaw tightens. “So do you.”

His eyes flicker, something dangerous, something amused burning behind them. “Then bathe.”

I fist my hands at my sides. I hate that he is right. Hate that my body aches for the heat, the cleansing touch of water to wash away the grime of blood and battle. I have not had the luxury of warmth in years. Not since,

No. I do not think of before.

Still, I hesitate. “And you?”

His lips press together, something flickering across his face—something unreadable, something controlled.

“I will be outside,” he says, voice low, reluctant. He gestures to the far corner of the cave. “You will be safe.”

I do not trust that.

But I nod anyway.

He does not move immediately.

His gaze lingers, sweeping over me, assessing, measuring, deciding.

He turns, stepping into the shadows, disappearing beyond the entrance of the chamber.

Only when I am certain he is gone do I let out a slow breath, my body sagging beneath the exhaustion.

The cave feels larger without him. Colder.

Yet, I am aware of him still.

Waiting. Watching.

Even when unseen.

The moment I sink beneath the surface, my body shudders.

Heat wraps around me, sliding against my bruised skin, melting into every aching muscle, seeping into my bones like a drug. My head tilts back, eyes closing as I let myself drift for a moment, let the water carry me, let it hold me in a way nothing else ever has.

It feels too good.

I press my hands against my face, scrubbing away the remnants of blood and filth, ignoring the way my fingers shake. My skin is too sensitive, every nerve on edge, every breath sharp and unsteady.

Not from the fight. Not from the pain.

From him.

Even now, with the water lapping at my bare skin, I feel him close.

Too close. What is this?

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