Page 16 of The Demon God's Desire

“Jeul-ree?”

“Gil-ree,” I correct her.

“So Gil-ree,” she says, exaggerating the pronunciation. “Won’t you tell me why you’re here at least?”

“Got injured,” I grunt out, holding a hand to my ribcage.

“I can see that,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Then heal me,” I tell her. If she’s going to interrogate me, the very least she can do is help fix me up so she can ask me more questions when I’m able to properly ignore them.

She scoffs at me, a high-pitched noise that’s full of contempt. Clearly this little human woman isn’t used to taking orders from her betters. I tighten my hands into fists, prepared to give her what-for if she doesn’t obey me.

“If you’re not going to help me, then at least kill me and get it over with quickly,” I tell her. She’s not going to let me live. Of that I’m certain. There’s no way that she can let me live. I’ve seen her and she’ll have to eliminate me. That’s how this sort of thing works.

I’d rather her kill me anyway. If I’m going to die, I prefer it to be at the hands of an enemy rather than wasting away until I’m dead in the sands of some foreign continent. I can’t bear the thought that I might just die and rot away, my bones bleached by the hot sun until all I am left is a skeleton corpse, a warning to other dark elves not to come into the desert.

I’m a miou. A warrior. I’ve worked hard to get to where I’m at in life. I plan on surpassing every one of my peers. A noble death is far more fitting for someone of my status.

The woman is watching me warily, as though afraid I’m about to rise up and attack her again. I don’t blame her. Coming across someone you thought dead only to find them suddenly alive and trying to strangle you must have been quite the shock.

“Go on,” I tell her. “Go ahead and kill me.”

Her face softens at that. “I’m not about to kill you, you idiot.”

“Don’t be a coward. You can do it.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” she says, tone sharp. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Then heal me,” I repeat to her. “Or do you want me to die in your arms?”

Was that a joke? I’m not sure. I’m delirious so I can’t be held responsible for what I say.

The woman seems to think it a joke because she chuckles and shakes her head before slowly starting to approach me.

“I’m on the verge of collapse,” I tell her. “You don’t have to act like I’m going to rip your head off.”

“You did already try to strangle me once,” she points out. “I can’t be too careful. Even if you do look like you’re about to eat a faceful of sand.

I can’t believe we’re really joking with each other right now. There seems to be some kind of strange camaraderie between us. Maybe it’s because I’m delirious with pain. Or maybe because she really is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

She’s got long, dark hair that’s tied back into a low braid, wrapped in several red bands. Her thick, dark brows line her face above honey-colored eyes. Her skin is deeply tanned, likely from the exposure to the desert sun.

And her lips. They look full and plush. I can’t stop staring at her now that I’ve got a good look at her. She’s unlike any human woman I’ve met before. She wears loose fitting, draped cloth over her body, covering a tight-fitting split-vest that opens at her waist and goes down to mid-calf. On her bottoms are pants similar to the ones that the elven dancers wore in Jurtil the first night of our arrival.

She reminds me of something. A flower maybe? I’m not sure. I try to keep focusing on her, so I don’t pass out.

“What’s your name?” I ask, reaching out.

“Bridget,” she tells me. “Will you tell me anything else about you that might help me?”

“Don’t need to tell you anything more,” I grunt. “All you need to know is that I’m injured. And that you need to fix me up.”

Her bright, honey eyes continue to stare at me in disbelief. They’re striking. Everything else about her is dark—dark hair, dark eyebrows, deeply tan skin—but her eyes are startlingly bright. They’re the same color as the soft desert sands under us.

I feel as though if I’m not careful, I could get lost in those eyes. I could drown myself in the sticky, syrupy sweetness of that honey.

She watches me from under thick, dark lashes, still staying a few feet away but I can tell by the way her eyes dart over my body she’s assessing my injuries.