Page 174 of Lost in the Dark

Is thishisscent? It smells inviting, and I press the paper flower against my nose to eagerly drag it in again and again. I am not altogether surprised when it finally crumbles and fades with the rest of the world as I awaken once again.

Gralius

Ihad given her space the night before. It was against everything that I was trained for, against my first and foremost instinct to seek and claim. To entice a would-be mate. I am not even sure that is what I want from her.

I desire her. I know that much. Frustration and traces of anger curl in my gut. She wants me—her energetic body primes and pulses with desire and longing as she pulls me to her—and yet she had sought to drown out my call by drowning it out with a performance of human flesh. It did not stop her from pulling me into her dreams, but for a moment I had been filled with fury, my own body tight and ready to answer her need. It was her fear, however, that cooled my reaction and brought a certain amount of circumspection.

Anger, frustration, and her fear… That was a familiar road that I did not wish to repeat.

Not when my previous experience pursuing a witch left lasting scars.

My upper lip curls, the scar at one side tugging uncomfortably in reminder of the agony I went through. Demons do not scar unless they have undergone terrible injuries and survived. They are what remains of my suffering. A suffering I endured due to my own vanity and certainty of what tradition always taught me was ordained to be mine, and blind to what was right by my duty.

Shaking my head grimly, I cross the yard, putting as much distance as I am currently comfortable with between the two of us.

Duty.How I now hate it. How I wanted to cast it aside and wander this world aimlessly—until her.

Though I have little choice but to be here, I find it difficult to want to leave the female now. I not only desire her, but I also yearn in a way that I am only just beginning to understand. Right now, I am not kept close by anything other than my own need to protect her and destroy anything that may seek to harm her or attempt to take her from me. And because of this, one thing has become abundantly clear: I was a fool to test the protection of a demon king or his witch’s love if what I am feeling is even a small measure of what he had.

A maudlin sigh leaves me as I withdraw further from the house.

Human love seems a more precious thing than I had ever estimated, than any of my kind believed with our seduction of our human mates. Although, like all my kin, I witnessed human love in the passing of those they held dear many times, I never saw the full power of what love between a demon and a witch could look like.

I wonder what my kind would make of such deep bonds. Though our matings do eventually create bonds of affection, none I have personally witnessed were as deep as those between the fire king and his mate. Witnessing them, would my kindred have withdrawn in respectful awe, or would they have reacted with the same jealousy I had felt? It was not until I unwisely challenged the fire king for his right to mate that I had known the envy and fury of having what I never knew I wanted flaunted in front of me.

What I still want, though it is impossible.

I am ruined. My voice destroyed, my mask broken, I have lost all the tools of my species that aid us with courtship. Even my face—if it would not have terrified a female before, it certainly would now. It is for this reason that I keep my hood up, showing as little of my face as possible, but not enough it seems. This little witch who I cannot seem to escape fears me, and I am sick with it.

Though I am in danger of being mauled by a chimera this time, it is knowing that I inspire her fear that haunts me. Because of that, I do not wish to frighten this young witch or try to persuade her to give what she does not willingly wish to give.

So I withdrew across her room and waited. I still am not entirely sure what my purpose was for just sitting there. True, there was no way to avoid her company while trapped in her dream with her, but I could have repositioned myself in another part of the small house until her dream cycle ended, releasing me. I had certainly spoken truthfully about not wishing to frighten her and seeing matters at an impasse between us. And yet I found myself disappointed when the time came and I felt the subtle push of her wards, rejecting me from the house as her dream began to unravel.

As the sun rises over the horizon, I watch it light up her house, my eyes squinting against the intensity of it. A creature of the night and shadows, I find its rays slightly uncomfortable. A bat flies overhead, drawing my attention, and I watch its wings snapping through the air as it descends and swoops through the open window. Jealousy churns in my gut, and I huff with amusement. Imagine one such as myself being jealous of a familiar of all things.

But I am. No matter how much part of me wants to deny it, I wish for the freedom to approach her whenever I desire, to enjoy the pleasure of watching her sleep or go about her day without walls between us, hiding her away. I tire of being stuck in her dream worlds. As fascinating as the deplorable condition of the degrading dreamscape was in her condition, I was thoroughly sick of the twisted, deconstructing space afforded us for our every interaction. Unfortunately, only the witch can change how things currently stand between us, and I do not see much hope for change in the immediate future.

Contemplatively, I lean against a gnarled tree, the shadowy edges of my cloak furling around me like long, ghostly fingers. With the autumn, most its leaves have changed color and have already begun to fly free with every errant breeze. There are enough leaves, however, to give me a small measure of respite from the sun.

I fold my arms over my chest, the claws of a hand drumming against my bicep as I watch the light bathe the silent house. The period of dreams is a relatively short time during the sleep cycle, so I know that she is still slumbering even without the ability to see her. Even if I were to go up to her window, I know that most of her bed would not be visible to me. For a moment, I wonder what she looks like with the peace of dreamless sleep over her features. To see her without fear staring back at me through her eyes.

Tearing my gaze from her house, I scan the surrounding street and yards. The pervasive silence of early morning hangs over everything with the light fog that rolls mere inches above the ground. A few birds chirp, and then the humans begin to scuttle about, emerging from their homes bundled in jackets and scarves against the chill of the air. I watch them for a moment, my eyes following the path of a pair of humans who appear to be running to no purpose. The mist gradually begins to lift as the sun rises higher, and an hour later another human passes with a small furry creature on a leash. It looks vaguely like one of the demonic hounds except I have never seen one quite so tiny or possessing an annoying, overexcitable bark that makes my brows draw down in a scowl that I level at it. It yips, scurrying away and pulling its human along with it. I am still trying to determine what use such a diminutive creature has when the human passes out of sight and my gaze returns to the female’s house.

As the sun moves across the sky, shifting the shadows with its passage, the human activity noticeably increases. Humans get into their vehicles to take off for destinations unknown, and more of them fill the street, many of whom shuffle by me nervously. Although they cannot see me, most humans have enough psychic ability to feel my presence enough to be ill at ease. It is amusing enough but mostly an idle distraction as I keep watch over the female’s abode.

Like many demons of my ilk, I find humans and their busy, urgent little lives to be a source of fascination. The brevity of the human existence is near incomprehensible to us, and yet somehow precious for how brightly their spirits shine as they burn out their fragile mortal forms. And due to our close relationship with humans, I suspect that my kind finds them even more beautiful and fascinating than most.

So, with nothing better to do, I continue to watch them as they go about their business around me. I never leave my post, nor does my gaze stray from the witch’s house for very long, enraptured by the small shifts of movement inside throughout the day. As much as I am tempted to go near to catch sight of her, I remain where I am, determined to give her some peace as I allow the busy atmosphere of the neighborhood to entertain me. The other humans, however, are soon forgotten when I see a vehicle pull up in front of her house.

I straighten from my tree and glare at the young male who slides out from behind its wheel. He carries a thin box, presses his finger against a small button, and carefully sets the box on the ground before immediately departing. I do not relax until his vehicle pulls away, my teeth instinctively bared at a potential rival, though I know I am being ridiculous. My anxiety spikes when moments later the door opens, offering a glimpse of the female before she whisks the box back inside, carrying with it all its food smells that perplex me.

Pleased that she is once again within the safety of her wards, I make another visual sweep of the streets, a growl rumbling in my throat. Although I instinctively reacted where it was unwarranted, there are very real threats from various beings that wander through the human world who would see the witch as a candidate for breeding in their far-off realms.

I somehow refrain from becoming restless until the early evening hours. Perhaps it is because I can see the shadow of her lithe form moving across the window curtains, or because the call is beginning to work on me even though she is clearly not yet asleep. Whatever the cause, I barely notice when I leave my resting place at the tree to close the distance between us, my cape fluttering all around me like a living shadow. Even my wings twitch and ruffle with an undeniable eagerness when I practically press myself close to the wall, drawing in the faint traces of her scent.

My claws dragging along her wall, I follow it, tracking it as I move alongside the house until the door in front of me flings wide open and the witch stares over at me warily. She fidgets in place, her hand raking back the thick curls falling around her face and shoulders to grip it back in a tightly fisted hold as she bites her bottom lip. Neither of us move, and after several moments she sighs and allows her hand to drop.

“What are you?” she calls out at last, and I feel my spirit lighten in response to her acknowledgment of my presence.