Page 14 of The Demon God's Desire
He could be dead already,a small, scared voice whispers in the back of my mind. I know it’s my sense of self-preservation trying to dissuade me from doing anything stupid, but the longer I stare at the male, the harder it is to turn away.
I could go home, tell the village about the soldier’s proximity and start to prepare in the event that more elves are going to follow him. Since he’s alone, I could even pretend I never saw anything, go back to my life as I’ve lived it up until now, go back to healing and laughing and wandering the desert.
But I know I won’t do any of those things.
Instead, I crawl closer, taking care to keep my gaze firmly on the dark elf soldier as I inch toward his prone form. The elven male doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to breathe, as he lies against the baking sand.
When I’m hardly a few feet away, I go still again, watching the dark elf carefully, trying to determine if he’s simply playing at being unconscious or if he truly is. From a distance, I wasn’t able to notice just how badly he’s been wounded, but now that I’m this close, I know I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to leave him here like this.
The shining metal of his breastplate is slightly corroded from the elements of the desert, caved in on one side as though it bore the brunt of a boulder. Dried blood flakes from his ear, and a rip in his trousers reveal a deep gouge in his leg.
It’s a wonder he even managed to make it this far in his condition.
The male breathes shallowly, as though every breath is an effort. Dark elves are vicious, and their soldiers are among the most brutal and effective on the planet. The image of one such soldier laid out across the sand, clinging to life, is shocking.
Whatever did this to him is certainly nothing I ever want to meet.
I sit up beside the elf, a hand lingering on one of my daggers. He’ll begin to surface back to consciousness eventually, and when he does, I can question him. I can bargain with him, promising my aid in return for information, without ever having to bring him near or even tip him off to the existence of Camp Mythos.
The sun hangs directly above us in the sky, merciless heat shimmering around us, but I don’t dare to move. Instead, I wait. And wait. And wait.
His eyes don’t so much as flutter, his hands don’t twitch. His breathing grows more and more shallow as time passes, and with longer stretches extending between those tiny breaths, I grow increasingly more anxious.
I wanted to try and help him, to get information out of him- but what if instead, by waiting, I simply force myself to watch this male’s slow, excruciating death?
My mind races as I stare down at the dark elf. Scars crisscross along the planes of his face, adding an almost feral feeling to the haunting beauty of the male before me. The sharp, graceful points of his ears poke through the white expanse of his hair, the metal ornamental beads that gather the strands nearest to his face winking in the light.
A growing part of me wants to try and wake him, to press the lip of my waterskin to his mouth and force him to drink, but terror renders me useless. What if he kills me? What if he’s not nearly as injured as I think he is, or if this is a glamor, or if his men are lurking somewhere nearby and just waiting for me to make a misstep?
The dark elf doesn’t wake as I try to figure out what I’m going to do, oblivious to the maelstrom of thoughts whirling through my mind.
When the dark elf’s breathing stops for too long, something inside me snaps. I can’t take it anymore. I have to do something- I can’t just sit here and watch him die.
My hands tremble as I place them gingerly on either side of the dark elf’s body, the sand scorching against my palms. Slowly, I lower my head to his chest, my focus sharpening to listening for any sign of a heartbeat.
I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t find one, but I have to check. When I hear nothing, a new kind of panic begins to rise in my chest, shame and guilt and a healer’s urgency filling me to the tips of my fingers.
I press my head harder against his chest, hoping that the metal of his breastplate is just interfering with my ability to detect his pulse. I hold my breath, my ears straining for something, anything, when I hear it.
A soft, too-slow heartbeat.
Relief floods me, crushing out the breath I was holding in a heavy whoosh. I lift my head from the dark elf’s chest, ready to reach for my bag, when the elf beneath me seems to spring back to life.
Before I can even cry out, his arm is encircled around my neck, the hard muscle of his bicep pinning my head to where it was pressed against his chest. The dark elf rolls, dragging me along with him and kicking up plumes of sand as he pins me beneath him.
My breathing comes in fast, panicked spurts as I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of what’s just happened. My back is pressed tightly to the searing sand, my wrists pinned beneath one of the dark elf’s massive hands.
Above me, unforgiving, inky-black eyes stare down at me- and it’s only then that I realize I have made a grave mistake.
7
GUILRI
Ihave to make it to the camp. It seems so far away. I’m struggling, trying to breathe but I can’t move. I have to move. I can’t stay here. I’m already dehydrated and at risk because of all the blood I’ve lost.
But civilization is within reach. If only I could muster the strength. It’s not a dark elf camp, I know this. But if there are humans or some other compassionate race, they might be willing to help.
Dragging my body a few more feet, I struggle to stay upright. I can’t move anymore. I need to rest. My ribs are definitely cracked. I think I’ve got a concussion. I’ve got several deep gashes from where the orcs managed to get their axes into me.