Page 86 of Demon Monster's Little Human

Rage coils through me, twisting with something else, something deeper. I want to break free, to shake her, to demand she tell me why she is here, why she has returned.

But she doesn’t wait to hear my words.

She runs.

The moment she moves, the magic falters. The invisible grip on my body weakens.

The second I am free, I drop to my knees.

I dig my claws into the ground, heaving air into my lungs as the remnants of the spell ripple through me. My vision flickers between the present and the past, the lines blurring.

She’s gone.

She ran.

The dark presence watches. It does not chase her.

I can still hear it laughing.

36

LIORA

The ruins close behind me, swallowed by shadows, by what just happened. I run—not because I want to, but because I have to.

Dain meant to kill me.

His claws were inches from my throat.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I stumble over uneven stone, my limbs heavy with exhaustion, my body aching from magic I don’t understand. My hands shake, my vision blurs, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Something inside me, something old, something primal, has woken, and it is tearing me apart.

I don’t know what’s worse, the fear of Dain hunting me, or the thing lurking just beyond my senses, watching, waiting.

The dark presence is still here.

It doesn’t chase me. It doesn’t strike. It waits.

I feel it stirring beneath the surface of reality, coiling around my thoughts, whispering in a voice I should not recognize but do.

"Purna."

The name slithers through my skull, curling against my ribs like a brand. It pulses through my bones, trying to drag me back into something I refuse to remember.

"Come to me."

"Come home."

I shove my hands over my ears as if that will help, as if I can silence something that speaks from within me.

"Remember."

The word shatters something inside me. Images rise, flickering, broken—firelight on stone, hands outstretched, lips moving in a chant I don’t understand but somehow do.

Dain is there, younger, wilder, his face twisted in rage, in betrayal, in something I don’t have the words for.

I stumble, gasping, my body revolting against the vision. I grip the closest surface, fingers scraping against tree bark, forcing myself to stay in the present.

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