2. Darak
2
DARAK
T hrough the dense treeline, I watch the Purna demon struggle with the flint, cursing under her breath as sparks refuse to catch. The bond tugs at my chest like an invisible chain, making my skin crawl. One minute I'd been leading a charge against the Sunspire forces, and the next—here, bound to this incompetent human who can't even start a proper fire.
I pace, each step releasing my mounting frustration into the soil. The leather of my armor creaks as I move, a familiar comfort among all this strangeness.
She sits cross-legged by the pathetic pile of kindling, and I take the moment to study her properly. Her hair catches the moonlight—a deep auburn that reminds me of the ceremonial wines back home. It falls in waves past her shoulders, framing a face that's all sharp angles and determination. High cheekbones, full lips pressed into concentration, and eyes that shift between green and gold depending on how the light hits them. The scratch I left on her cheek has already healed, leaving behind a faint pink line that will likely be gone by morning.
Her clothes are practical—dark leathers and sturdy boots—but there's an otherworldly quality to how she moves, too fluid for a mere human. The Purna blood, no doubt. Demon, human, or something in between, she's still my ticket out of this mess.
"Are you going to lurk in the shadows all night, or would you like to make yourself useful?" She doesn't look up from her task, but there's an edge to her voice that suggests she's well aware of my scrutiny.
I lean against a tree, folding my arms. "I thought you were capable of significant power. Isn't that how you dragged me from my battlefield?"
"It's not my fault the kindling is wet from today's rain," she snaps.
A sharp snap echoes through the clearing, and suddenly flames leap to life beneath her fingers. The Purna's lips curl into a satisfied smile as she feeds twigs and larger branches into the growing fire. The orange glow dances across her face, making those strange eyes of hers glitter like cat's eyes in the dark.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since before the battle. "Got any food in those fancy robes of yours?"
She shakes her head, not bothering to look up from the fire. "I wasn't exactly planning a feast when I summoned you."
"Useless," I mutter, pushing away from the tree. "I'll find something myself."
I ignore whatever retort she gives head into the woods. The undergrowth crunches beneath my boots as I search for signs of game. The moon provides enough light to track by, but the forest is quiet. Too quiet. No rustling of small creatures, no night birds calling.
The thought strikes me – how far can I actually go? The bond tugs at my chest like a physical thing, pulsing with each heartbeat, but maybe... maybe if I push through it...
I change direction, moving away from the camp with purpose now. Twenty paces. Thirty. The pressure builds slowly at first, like the weight of armor after a long march, settling across my shoulders and pressing down. By fifty paces, it's harder to breathe, each inhale a struggle against the constricting force. At seventy, my legs start to shake, muscles trembling as if I've fought through an entire battle.
I press on, gritting my teeth against the invisible force crushing my ribcage. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool night air, trickling down my temples and stinging my eyes. The bond stretches taut as a bowstring, thrumming with dark energy, each step forward becoming a battle of will against her magic. My boots drag through the fallen leaves, every inch gained a small victory against the witch's constraints.
"Damn her," I wheeze, dropping to one knee. The pressure threatens to collapse my chest entirely. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
She wasn't lying about the binding, at least.
I turn back, each step easier than the last as the pressure in my chest eases. Something feels off though—a warrior's instinct that's kept me alive through centuries of combat. The forest's silence takes on a new meaning.
Voices drift through the trees, rough and unfamiliar. Male voices. My hand finds the hilt of my blade as I slip between shadows, moving closer to our camp. The firelight flickers through the branches, casting dancing shadows that work to my advantage.
"—fetch a nice price in Ravencross," a gravelly voice says. "Purna blood's worth more than gold these days."
"If she is one," another responds. "Could just be some human bitch playing dress-up."
I edge around a thick oak, getting my first clear view of the scene. Four men, dressed in mismatched leather and carrying an assortment of poorly maintained weapons. Raiders, and not particularly skilled ones. Lirien's bound to a tree, silver hair falling across her face. Her eyes catch the firelight, and for a moment, they flash with something that looks almost like... amusement?
"I assure you," she says, her voice steady despite her position, "I'm worth far more than you imagine."
One of the raiders backhands her across the face. The bond in my chest flares hot with sudden rage—not mine, hers—and I have to wonder: how did someone powerful enough to tear me from a battlefield end up tied to a tree by common bandits?
"Quiet, bitch," the raider snarls. "We'll find out what you're worth soon enough."
I unsheathe my blade in one fluid motion, the metal singing as it cuts through the air. Two of the raiders drop before they even register my presence, their heads rolling across the forest floor. The remaining pair stumble back, eyes wide with dawning horror.
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, deep and genuine. "Humans? All this fuss over common humans?"
The third raider raises his rusty sword with trembling hands, sweat beading on his dirt-streaked forehead. I sidestep his clumsy swing with practiced ease, feeling the whoosh of stale air as his blade cuts emptiness, and drive my blade through his throat. Blood sprays across my armor in a crimson mist, and I twist away from the arterial fountain, my boots sliding slightly in the growing puddle beneath him.
The last one tries to run, stumbling over exposed roots in his panic, his whimpers echoing through the darkening forest, but I'm already there, my sword finding his spine with surgical precision. The crack of bone and parting flesh sends a familiar shiver through my arm, a sensation I've grown to anticipate like an old friend's greeting.
The entire fight lasts less than thirty seconds - barely enough time for my blood to quicken, barely enough time for them to realize their fatal mistake. Four bodies cooling in the dirt, their life essence seeping into hungry soil, and I haven't even broken a sweat. It would almost be disappointing if I hadn't learned long ago not to expect much from such encounters.
I turn to Lirien, still chuckling at the delicious irony of the situation. "The mighty Purna, bound by rope. How embarrassing." The coarse hemp binds her wrists and ankles with satisfying tightness - a far cry from her usual commanding presence.
Her eyes narrow, green fire dancing in their depths like witch-light on a moonless night. "Untie me. Now." Each word drips with barely contained fury.
"I don't think I will." I clean my blade on one of the corpses' shirts, taking my time as I drag the steel across the fabric, watching the blood seep into the worn cotton. "The view is rather entertaining." And it is - seeing her brought so low feeds something dark and pleased inside me.
"You insufferable bastard! When I get free, I'll?—"
"You'll what?"
I close the distance between us in two strides, gripping her jaw with my free hand. Her skin burns hot against my palm like a fever, and those strange eyes of hers lock onto mine, glowing with an otherworldly intensity. The air between us crackles with something dangerous and electric, a tension that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers, matching the quickening of my own heartbeat.
Her breath catches, just slightly, a soft hitch that sends a shiver down my spine. The pulse in her throat quickens beneath my fingers, fluttering like a trapped bird. For a moment, we stay frozen like that, neither willing to break first, locked in this dangerous dance of dominance and desire.
Her lips part, and my gaze is immediately drawn. So plump, stained a deep rose from where she's been biting them. Fuck. The urge to close that final distance between us, to claim that mouth with my own, hits me with an intensity that leaves me reeling. I force myself to remain still, even as every muscle in my body screams to move.
I release her jaw and step back, cutting through her bonds with a quick slash. "There. Try not to get captured by children next time."