Page 94 of Demon Monster's Little Human

But it is faint. Flickering. Like a dying ember.

"Liora, wake up!"

Her fingers twitch.

A choked gasp escapes her lips.

My head snaps down. Her lashes flutter. The smallest, weakest breath leaves her mouth.

I nearly collapse on top of her.

She’s alive.

But just barely.

Her body shudders against mine. My wings fold around her, shielding her from the cold, from everything.

She whispers.

Not a name. Not a plea.

Just one, broken word.

"Dain."

A crack splits through me.

A wound that will never heal.

I don’t move. I just hold her.

Despite everything, despite my rage, my confusion, my need to destroy whatever magic binds us.

I cannot let her go.

Not now. Not in forever.

40

LIORA

The cave is dark, damp, and eerily silent except for the faint crackle of firelight licking the stone walls. The scent of rain lingers, soaked into the earth from the storm outside. My body aches in places I can’t even begin to count, a dull, throbbing pain reminding me that I survived… but just barely.

I shift slightly, the cold stone biting against my skin as I force myself to sit up. My limbs feel wrong, like they aren’t entirely my own. A deep exhaustion lingers in my bones, heavier than anything I’ve ever felt. My pulse beats harder, and for a second, I struggle to remember where I am. Then, it all comes rushing back—the presence, the magic, the name whispered in the dark.

Dain.

My gaze lands on him instantly. He’s there, on the other side of the fire, his massive form half-shrouded in shadow. He’s watching me, still, unmoving, like a predator assessing whether his prey is still worth the chase.

Something about him is different.

I feel it—this strange, unbearable pull that wasn’t there before. The bond has deepened. It’s no longer just a tether between us; it’s something more, something that shouldn’t exist. I sense his emotions flickering beneath his guarded exterior—anger, conflict, restraint.

But he won’t touch me.

I swallow, feeling my throat burn. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares.

“Say something.” My voice is hoarse, weaker than I intended.

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