Page 11 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I nod, swallowing hard. Fear crackles in the back of my throat. “We have to keep going. We’re almost at the treeline.”

My calves scream with every step, but I force my body forward. We crest a slight ridge, and below us lies the outskirts of the forest—a tangled spread of gnarled trunks and bristling needles. Dark patches of wet earth pool between the trees, and a low mist snakes around the base of the trunks.

Daeva veers toward a spot where the undergrowth is thickest. I catch the faintest whiff of something metallic in the air—magic, perhaps? The memory of how he subdued the guards back in the fortress is still fresh in my mind: how his eyes glowed, how he channeled that chilling darkness.

I don’t have time to dwell on it. We plunge into the treeline, branches scraping my arms, the damp mulch squelching underfoot. For several seconds, we trudge in silence, weaving around ancient trunks. Then Daeva halts abruptly, holding up a hand for us to stop.

We freeze, breathing raggedly. My pulse thrums in my ears. He glances over his shoulder, gaze piercing. “They’ll fan out across the hills,” he murmurs. “But if they have trackers or beasts of their own, they may venture inside.”

“How far do we go?” Cole asks, trying to keep his voice from quivering. He’s older than Silas but smaller, with pinched features etched by years of slave labor.

Daeva turns back to the forest ahead, scanning the gloom. “Far enough that they can’t see us from the perimeter. Then we find shelter.”

None of us argue. We move deeper into the forest, pushing past brambles and sliding down small embankments where moss and muddy water gather. Pine needles cling to my hair, and my clothes soak through at the knees. The chill of the environment seeps into my bones, making me shiver uncontrollably.

At last, we stumble upon a shallow ravine with a collapsed log bridging it. Daeva nods, leading us down into the gully. The sides are steep, but the brush is thick, forming a sort of natural hiding place.

“Rest here,” he says softly.

Gratefully, I sink to the ground against a mossy rock. My heart is pounding so hard I can hardly catch my breath. Silas drops beside me, placing a trembling hand on my shoulder. Neither of us speaks, but the relief in his eyes mirrors mine: we’re alive… for now.

Cole, Jenna, and Ryn gather around, each too exhausted to think about anything but the next breath. A hush settles, broken only by our panting and the distant caw of crows overhead.

He stands guard a few paces away, partially hidden by pine boughs. I watch him, trying to make sense of this strange creature who looks so much like a man—an otherworldly man, but a man nonetheless—and yet wields powers that defy reason.We share an enemy, he said. House Vaerathis. But what else does he share with us, if anything?

A rustle overhead snaps my attention back to the present. A low branch shakes, sending droplets of rainwater plinking onto the leaves below. Instantly, my pulse spikes; I imagine an elven archer perched there, ready to skewer us. But the figure that appears is only a crow, feathers shiny black, tilting its head at us with mild curiosity. My exhale trembles with relief.

Silas forces a tiny smile at the sight. “It’s just a bird.”

“It’s still better company than an elf,” Jenna murmurs. She tries to laugh, but it comes out as a choked cough.

I lean forward, letting my hair fall around my face, inhaling the damp, earthy scent of the forest. My muscles are in knots, and every bruise from House Vaerathis throbs like a fresh wound. But fear is the worst pain of all. Because the truth is, we’re not safe. We won’t be safe for a long time—maybe ever.

I sense movement at my side. Daeva crouches beside me, his presence unsettlingly quiet. Those silver-blue eyes flick over my features. “You need rest,” he says, the words softer than expected.

“And you?” I ask, surprising myself. “You don’t seem tired.”

He offers a half-smile, almost rueful. “I’ve gone centuries without rest. A few more days won’t kill me.”

The statement twists something in my stomach. Centuries. He didn’t say it in jest. A shiver crawls over me that isn’t because of the cold. Who is he truly? He once said House Vaerathis cursed him, or is it something else? Is he immortal? A demon? But demons in Protheka are rumored to look monstrous—horned giants, leathery wings. Yet Daeva is… different.

I swallow my questions, focusing on the immediate threat. “They’ll come looking,” I whisper. “We heard the horn.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “We can’t stay here too long.”

My gaze roams to Silas, who’s huddled with Jenna, Ryn, and Cole. They’re all so worn, skin drawn tight over cheeks, eyes ringed by shadows. Even in desperation, I can’t imagine pushing them onward immediately. “We just need a little time to breathe. Then we’ll figure out how to keep going.”

“Agreed.” Daeva straightens, scanning the ravine’s rim. His stance is poised, muscles coiled like a predator waiting to pounce.

I lower my head onto my folded arms, letting a wave of fatigue roll through me. My eyelids flutter. Maybe if I rest for just a few minutes, I can find the strength to keep moving.

I must drift off because the next thing I remember is Jenna shaking my shoulder, eyes wide with alarm. “Calla,” she whispers urgently, “someone’s coming.”

The forest sounds sharper now: wind creaking through branches, the rustle of pine needles. My heart jolts from slumber to hammering panic. Silas is already on his feet, eyes scanning the ridge above. Cole and Ryn crouch nearby, faces pale.

Daeva stands at the base of the ravine, half hidden by a fallen tree trunk. He gestures sharply for silence. My pulse thrums in my throat as I scramble up onto my knees.

Then I hear it, hoofbeats, faint but unmistakable, clattering over rocky ground. They’re closing in from the direction we came, presumably fanning out along the forest’s edge. My stomach twists. The Vaerathis riders are here.

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