Page 130 of Demon Touched

As if I mysteriously forgot how crap I am at this.

You didn’t forget, but you felt so fucking guilty about how you treated Leah you’re now following her like a little duckling wherever she goes, apparently.

The good news is, if I die out here trying to help her, we’ll definitely be even.

I watch Leah scrabbling in the dirt, pushing back piles of wet earth. It’s too built up to be anything but deliberate. But what could it be? Not a burial mound. Both Infernum and Aradis collect their dead to be buried in their homeland. There’s an embargo in the Concords against either side building fortifications or digging tunnels, so it can’t be either of those.

I try to think about what that leaves, but I’m distracted by an arrow whizzing within inches of my face. I throw myself to the side, ripping the shoulder of Hodges’s shirt and smearing it with mud as I go down.

Glancing up, I see that the arrow wasn’t meant for me but came from a Brigade soldier trying to take down the beast of a demon who’s bearing down on her. He’s a wall of gray skin and rippling muscle, and in her panic the soldier’s arrows are going wide. Another whizzes into the earth beside me, a few feet closer to Leah, who’s still intently focused on whatever the fuck we’ve had the misfortune to notice.

I swing Swiftwing as I scramble to my feet and back up toward her. If I wave this thing around enough, perhaps I’ll manage to block any wayward projectiles with sheer dumb luck. I like those chances more than if I actually tried to aim for anything specific.

“You find anything?” I call to Leah over my shoulder, my head on a swivel for anything coming toward us.

“Oh, I found something all right,” Leah says, her voice grim.

I turn to get a clearer look at what she’s staring at: a large metal drum, almost as big as a person, and covered in a scrawl of demon runes.

“Ancestors,” I hiss. “That can’t be good.”

I might not be a skilled fighter, but I grew up in one of Aradis’s foremost military families. I know a weapon when I see one.

Leah’s leaning closer to the drum, squinting at the runes. Almost like she’s…reading them?

How much time did she spend with the demons if she can translate their language?

“No.” She jerks her head up, scanning the sky. Her already pale skin has turned a ghostly white. “Shit. I think we need to clear the plains.”

The sword in my hand hums for a second before yanking my arm up, the steel crashing against an outstretched blade just by my right flank, the force of it vibrating through my bones.

“Neat trick,” growls the huge, gray demon looming behind me. I twist my neck to see the dead ephilium archer lying a few yards away—he’s dispatched her and now is coming for us.

“Filippa! Duck!” Leah screams, and I do. I’m great at ducking.

Leah sends a bolt of lightning crackling toward the demon. He can’t raise his sword in time to block it, and his whole body convulses as he hits the dirt, smoke rising from the tips of his curly horns.

“I need to show this to Syrus,” Leah murmurs, sitting back on her heels to examine the drum again as if she didn’t just level a demon twice her size.

Except maybe she didn’t completely level him, because just then a huge, meaty hand wraps around my calf, claws digging into my flesh.

I scream, Swiftwing trying to pull my hand into a position to defend myself, only for me to lose my balance and go toppling down beside him. He reaches for me again, and I try to conjure up my own lightning, sparks coming to my hands slowly, too slowly⁠—

The demon’s head jerks back as a sharp crack whips through the air. He slumps to the ground, going limp, and I stare down at the stream of green blood pouring from his temple.

I drag my gaze up and fix my eyes on Hodges, standing there on the plains with his scavenger’s satchel and a look of fierce determination. There’s a slingshot in his hand.

Because of course he took a demon down without an ounce of magic. Just like he stood up to those bullies on the street last week when he was showing me around the city and I discovered he could throw a heck of a punch.

He’s ridiculously brave and stupidly capable, and I suppose I should tell him that while I still have breath to do so.

“Are you crazy?” I shout at him instead.

“Maybe.” He grins, lowering the slingshot. His smile is crooked, like it’s almost too wide to fit on his face. It’s the kind of smile I think I’d never get tired of seeing.

Ancestors, maybe he hit me in the head too, because I feel like a dazed fool, staring at him. I’ve not yet been able to get used to the way he looks back—really looks back, like I’m something he never gets tired of seeing too.

“Don’t I even get a thanks?” he says coyly, like he’s not in the middle of a fucking battlefield.