Page 46 of Demon Monster's Little Human

She forces herself to her feet, wobbling but standing, stubborn as ever. “When it touched me, I saw—” Her voice falters, and I can hear the confusion in it, the fear.

I should stop her.

But I don’t.

“I saw a woman,” she continues, swallowing hard. “She was fighting it. She was sealing it away.”

The breath leaves my lungs in a slow, cold rush.

I go still.

The mountains around us are silent, the wind curling through the rocks like whispers of things long dead. She watches me carefully, eyes searching, peeling away at something I don’t want her to see.

I should turn away. I should walk. I should say nothing.

But instead,

“Do not speak of her.”

Liora’s brow furrows. “Who?—?”

I step closer, my body a wall of stone and heat, crowding her, forcing her back against the jagged cliff. “Do not ever speak of her.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t shrink away. “Who was she?”

“I said?—”

“I need to know.”

My hands snap out, caging her against the stone. “No, you do not.”

Her jaw tightens, frustration flickering across her features. “I feel connected to her.”

I bare my teeth, irritation curling through my chest like wildfire. Of course, she does.

She always had to be tangled in things best left buried.

Liora shakes her head, voice rising. “Why does that thing want me? What is it? Why does it feel?—”

“Because you’re trouble.”

The words cut through her like a sword, sharp and ruthless, meant to wound. I see the flicker of something in her eyes, something wounded, betrayed, but she masks it quickly, straightening her spine.

“Then leave me,” she says, voice cool. “If I’m such a burden, go.”

Her defiance grates against my skin like raw stone.

I wish I could walk away from her and never look back.

But something inside me is anchored to her, bound by a force I don’t understand, a force that makes me fight for her when I should let her die, that makes me claim her when I should have left her in the ruins.

I hate it.

I loathe her for it.

But not nearly as much as I should.

The silence stretches between us, thick and charged, neither of us willing to break it. Then, with a slow, measured breath, I pull away, stepping back, forcing the tension to uncoil.

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