Page 19 of The Demon God's Desire
“I will heal you,” I tell him, instantly setting off Allan and the others. “On one condition!”
“What?” he snaps.
“After you’re healed, you must remain in our village and live among us. For one month. And if after that point, you leave and bring back a battalion, then so be it.”
“Bridge, are you crazy?” Allan yells, trying to escape Jake’s hold. “No way, no deal!”
“Shut up, Allan,” I snap at him. “For an elf like him, this is a fate worse than death!”
Guilri faces me and I stare at him. “What will it be, elf?” I ask.
We both know he doesn’t have any other options.
But will that be enough to convince him?
9
GUILRI
Iswallow my ego, and after a long stretch of silence, I nod.
As soon as she’s received my confirmation, she takes me to a medical hut and begins to tend to the worst of my injuries. I’ve hurt myself further by pushing myself to stay awake and argue for my life so she scolds me but I argue back that if I didn’t intervene, they would have killed me.
“I wouldn’t have let them,” Bridget insists quietly as she cleans the blood from my face. “I would have stopped them.”
Once I’m all cleaned up, she helps me to her small house, ushering me through the door and setting me up on her worn sofa in the living space.
“This isn’t much but you need somewhere to stay for now,” she says. “I don’t have an extra room for you so you’ll have to sleep on the couch until I can clear out my work space.”
“Thanks,” I say, voice gruff. I get settled on the couch and the medicine she gave me starts to kick in, making me feel incredibly sleepy.
I pass out quickly and spend the next two days asleep, apparently. Bridget wakes me on the third day, worried that I’m going to be dehydrated and stiff if I don’t start moving around.
She brings me water and I sit up slowly, sipping it from the metal cup she gives me. “Thanks,” I tell her.
“Just keep getting better,” she tells me. “You pissed off a lot of people, so don’t get cocky if they put a target on your back soon.”
“I can handle myself,” I say, squaring my shoulders. It hurts my stitches though, when I do and I wince.
“Ah, I see,” Bridget says dryly. “Looks like you’re handling yourself well.”
Something about her sarcastic mouth makes me quirk up my lips in a grin. She brings me a meal with a hearty grain and some capra meat in it. I inhale it, not realizing I was so hungry.
My hair is getting a little matted and I worry that if I don’t tend to it soon, I’ll never be able to untangle it. It pains me to ask but by the time I’m done eating, I’ve worked up the nerve to ask Bridget to help me bathe.
She agrees far more readily than I would have expected and sets me up in a washtub in her kitchen space, carefully combing the knots out of my hair and helping me wash the rest of the blood and filth off of myself.
“Why do you have these beads in your hair?” she asks curiously, touching one of the strands.
“Well, some people say it’s to mark every person I’ve killed,” I tell her, raising an eyebrow. “Do you believe them?”
“No,” she laughs and shakes her head. “You’re a warrior. You’ve probably killed hundreds.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “The reason is far more mundane. I use it to keep the shorter strands out of my face.”
She giggles and I find myself strangely liking that sound. It’s soft and gentle, like a warm breeze on a cool day.
A few more days pass and I’m allowed to get up and roam the house finally. She wants me to stretch so I don’t get stiff from being laid up so I walk through the small space, learning more about her as I take in her surroundings.