Page 10 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Calla gasps, doubling over to catch her breath, tears of relief or shock trailing down her cheeks. Silas steadies her, wide-eyed. The other three slaves circle a few paces away, uncertain what to do next.

I look back at the fortress. A heavy sensation weighs in my gut. This was too easy—or perhaps just the beginning.

When I face Calla again, I see her lips parted, about to thank me, or maybe question me. But I speak first. “We’re not safe yet. There will be riders. They’ll chase us.”

She nods, voice shaky. “Then we run.”

I realize she expects me to lead. She knows nothing about traveling beyond these walls, nothing about the horrors lurking in Protheka. But she has no choice now—she’s cast her lot with a demon.

“We need shelter,” I say, scanning the horizon. Grey skies bruise the distance, promising a storm. A forest lies to the south, its edges faintly visible. I sense no immediate magic there. “This way.”

Together, we set off, ignoring the burning in our lungs and the fatigue in our limbs. The road winds ahead, and behind us, House Vaerathis recedes—a place of cruelty, old secrets, and a hatred that’s not quite done with me.

As we hurry onward, my mind churns with possibilities. I’ve reclaimed my freedom, yes, but I also carry the burden of the curse that tethered me to these elves in the first place. The question remains: how much time do we have before that ancient bond snaps tight once more? And what will I do when confronted with the one who cursed me?

For now, I ignore the ache in my chest. The future holds answers, but the present requires focus. Each step forward is a step away from that cursed mirror and the catacombs of HouseVaerathis. Each heartbeat is a reminder that, despite centuries of near oblivion, I’m alive—and so is she.

Whatever fate awaits us, I can almost taste the tension in the wind: conflict, danger, and the relentless pull of vengeance. If I’m to walk the mortal realm again, I’ll do it on my own terms. And if the Vaerathis family dares to drag me back?

I let out a cold smile, lethal, curve across my lips.

They will regret ever binding me in the first place.

3

CALLA

Irun until my lungs burn and the edges of my vision flicker with stars. The cold wind whips against my cheeks, tangling my sweat-damp hair, and every labored breath feels like a small victory—at least I’m still breathing. Around me, the others tear across the muddy ground, faces twisted with urgency and fear. We’ve broken free of House Vaerathis. I can barely believe we made it out.

Daeva leads our ragged group. His form glides more than runs, as though the earth simply bends beneath his steps. There’s a lethal grace in him, a quietly contained fury. The black tattoos—or markings, or whatever they are—that coil across his pale skin pulse with faint luminescence under the steel-gray sky. I try not to stare.

At my side, Silas pants with exertion, his grip on my arm tighter than it needs to be, but I don’t pull away. His fingers tremble. “Calla,” he rasps between gulps of air, “we can’t keep…this pace. Not forever.”

I can’t argue. My legs are shaking, threatening to buckle if I push them any further. The other three slaves—Jenna, Ryn, and Cole—huddle behind us, their eyes glazed with exhaustion.They’re gaunt from the years of servitude, and this mad dash has likely stretched them to the brink.

Daeva slows, scanning the horizon. For the first time, I notice the rolling hills to our left and the dense forest rising in the distance to our right—dark pines and craggy spruce, their tops swaying in the stiff wind. There’s a faint path cutting through the tall grass, but it’s less a road and more a game trail.

We’ve already put half a mile between ourselves and the looming walls of House Vaerathis, which stand like some twisted sentinel on the hill behind us. Shouts carry over the wind—distant, but not nearly distant enough. It won’t be long before they send riders. My stomach clenches at the thought of armed elves closing in.

Daeva finally halts at a small outcrop of rock. He turns, eyes raking over us. I collapse onto my knees, fighting the urge to retch from exertion. Jenna groans, dropping beside me to clutch her side. Ryn and Cole drag themselves a few paces away, breathing like wounded animals.

Silas doubles over, hands braced on his thighs, chest heaving. “We can’t… outrun them… if they chase us with beasts and horses,” he gasps, voice raw.

I raise my head. “We need to hide,” I say, in little more than a whisper. There’s no energy left to speak louder.

Daeva’s expression remains composed, but his silver-blue eyes flash with concern—or annoyance. Maybe both. “Then we press on into the forest,” he says quietly. “It’s our best chance.”

Jenna flinches, looking at the dark line of trees warily. “That forest is rumored to be cursed,” she mutters. “Even the dark elves avoid it.”

Silas emits a shaky laugh, as if the notion of a curse is almost comforting after what we’ve endured. “They’ll avoid it less than they’ll avoid capturing us.”

A flicker of determination crosses my mind. “Better the forest than going back,” I say. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

Without further debate, Daeva sets off across the tall grass. We follow in a huddled knot, each step slow and agonizing now. The ground slopes downward, slick with recent rain, threatening to send us tumbling. The sharp wind carries a tang of wet pine, and the sky overhead is a bleak, pale gray.

Behind us, a horn blares—one long, piercing note that makes my heart clench. It echoes off the hills and sweeps across the open land. I can’t see who sounds it, but I know it’s meant for pursuit.

Jenna whimpers, hugging her arms around herself. Cole and Ryn exchange fearful glances. Silas’s eyes widen, and he clutches my wrist. “They’ve set out.”

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