Page 7 of Demon Monster's Little Human

He stares at me.

Not with hatred. Not with rage.

With something worse. Curiosity. I feel the same.

Neither of us speak. The silence is an unwelcome intimacy, neither of us daring to shatter it. His breathing slows, chest rising and falling in tandem with mine. I feel it, his body’s warmth seeping into me, the unnatural pulse of his magic responding to something in me.

I pull back first.

The glow in his veins settles, still thrumming, but calmer. I exhale, fingers curling into my lap. I should have let him bleed.

His claws curl against the stone, slow, deliberate, a tension coiling in his frame that isn’t rage—not entirely.

“Why?” The question is more breath than voice, rasping from his lips like something unwilling.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Lies.

His eyes narrow. “What are you?”

The question unsettles me.

He doesn’t askwho. He doesn’t askhow.

He askswhat.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “A slave.”

He scoffs, low and dark. “A slave does not wield purna magic.”

My stomach twists. I have no answer for him. I don’t even have an answer for myself.

His gaze drags over me, calculating, reading too much, seeing too much.

Something shifts in the air around us.

A sound echoes beyond the rubble—a distant voice, barely audible, but coming closer.

His expression hardens. Not his fight. Not his problem.

He pushes himself up fully, towering above me, stretching his wings, testing his own strength. I scramble to my feet, something sharp tangling in my gut.

I expect him to leave me there.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns. Looks at me. Considers.

Without a word, he starts walking. Not away.

Deeper into the ruins.

He stops and turns to me. I hold my breath. He wants me to follow, doesn’t he?

With the footsteps coming closer,I run after him.

4

---