Page 60 of Red Demon
I crumpled to the ground, panting out the pain, feeling her cold dagger at my throat. I’d nicked her with that blade first, and now she cut a shallow burning line across my throat, her blood meeting mine.
My mind cleared. It was over. With a wave of whatever peace we all get at the end, the pain washed away. My mind held strong even as my weak body quivered and twitched. I would look the demon in the eyes, prepared to make no sound and die a man without regrets.
I closed my wet eyes and smiled. “Kill me.”
The blade under my neck only shivered, holding its place.
“No,” she said in that torn up voice.
My heart ran and stuttered. “Do it.”
The stream rippled, birds silent.
“I won’t,” she said.
“Change your fucking mind.” I almost laughed the words out.
She released the knife from my throat and I felt her grip my arm, my shoulder. With a thud and another wave of pain, she popped my arm back into the joint.
I groaned and shuddered, falling into the dirt when she let me go.
She stood there, watching as I caught my breath.
“Kill me. You’ve taken everything else, everyone else. My life is yours.”
She stood up and walked away without a word. I found a rock at my feet, pelting it at her back from my tangled heap with my last good limb. She whirled on me.
“Kill me!” The words burned my throat.
The sting of my landed blow didn’t register. Her eyes, which I hoped to kindle into rage, shone cool, hesitant.
Doubt gnawed at me. Was she toying with me? Extending my suffering? This would be an agonizing, disgraceful death unless she made it quick. I snarled, reaching for anything else I could throw. My hand met only dirt. My vision swam in pain, balance whirling even as I sat.
“Don’t,” she rasped. Her voice cracked, strained—but with what emotion, who fucking knew.
A dark chuckle escaped me, and I almost passed out from the pain just from that. “At least toss me a dagger so I can see myself out.”
“You’d just throw it at my eye.”
“Thought about it.” My words slurred, the world dissolving into the colors of dawn. “If I say I yield, will you kill me, then?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she took a hesitant step forward, then stopped. Her gaze flickered between me and the riverbank.
Then, with a swiftness that defied her earlier hesitation, she knelt beside me. Her hand brushed against my arm, gentle. “Why am I your death wish?”
The defiance that should have fueled a quick response quavered in pain, and the list of her crimes remained stubbornly lodged in my throat.
“End this, please,” I said, the words thick with blood and despair.
She listened. I could see it on her face. Her breath on my face, her wide winged eyes, were the thought I grasped before darkness engulfed me, pulling me home.
Chapter 28
Lullaby
Irose to the sky beside my body, but I lingered. It felt like the wind carried me, and I alternated between hefts and shivers of movement. I felt warm, timeless, laying on a cloud to die all over again. But when I heard the sounds of night, I was home.
Sleeping in a cot by Mom’s kitchen fire was the best part of being sick. Mom hummed as she worked. I lay warm and comfortable under my favorite quilt, surrounded by the aroma of her cooking, the gentle touches, and everything that meant love. The noise of my siblings or the kids my mom would watch played and laughed, drifting in and out of my dreams. Mom would remind everyone to whisper while I slept, or to play outside. The little jerks would climb all over me, never listening for long. I never minded; they knew that.
