Chapter 2 The demon who watches

The Demon Who Watches

The days after her crossing passed in a strange haze. Liora couldn't forget the demon's eyes-how they glowed like burning coals beneath storm clouds. Nor could she forget the way he said her name, as if tasting it for the first time.

Back in her cottage on the edge of the human village of Thornebrook, life returned to routine. She boiled herbs, mixed salves, and offered cures to the sick. But at night, her dreams carried her back to the silver-lit forest and the crimson threads of his tunic.

She had thought it a one-time encounter. A lucky escape.

She was wrong.

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The wind howled low through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and something darker-ash and embers. Liora walked cautiously, basket in hand, her pale cloak swaying around her ankles. She was gathering moonlace, a flower that bloomed only under a full moon, used for healing nightmares.

The forest felt heavier tonight.

Her boots crunched gently over frost-laced leaves. The moon shone high above, drenching the world in pearl light. Mist clung to the ground like spilled milk.

And then she felt it-an unmistakable presence. Not heard. Not seen. But felt.

"Following a woman into the woods at night?" she called softly. "Some might find that suspicious."

A low chuckle curled around her like smoke.

"You've grown bolder," came the velvet reply.

From the shadows between two ancient trees, Azrael emerged. Tonight, he wore a deep charcoal cloak, fastened at the shoulder with a silver clasp shaped like a serpent. Beneath it, his tunic was high-necked and embroidered with faint crimson runes that shimmered faintly with demonic magic. His black boots made no sound as he stepped forward.

"You're watching me," she said.

"I am," he admitted without shame. "You've been on my mind, healer."

She tried not to shiver at the way he said the word, like it meant something sacred.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I can't decide if you're incredibly brave... or desperately stupid."

Liora folded her arms across her chest. Her cloak was simple-undyed wool lined with faded blue silk, the hood pushed back to reveal the messily pinned braid that crowned her head. "I'm not sure what that says about you, if you're standing here talking to me again."

Azrael smirked. "It says I'm curious."

He moved closer, unhurried, like a predator that didn't need to rush.

"The humans fear me," he said quietly. "Even my name is enough to silence rooms."

"I'm not a room," she replied, meeting his gaze. "And I don't fear you. Not entirely."

"You should."

The words were a warning, but his voice held no edge. Only weight.

Liora's fingers tightened on her basket. "Then why haven't you harmed me?"

He tilted his head. "Perhaps I'm not the monster you think."

"Or perhaps I'm not the threat you expected."

They stared at one another for a long breath. The wind stirred his cloak, revealing a blade sheathed at his side-dark, jagged, and humming faintly with energy. His hair glinted silver under the moon, framing the sharp angles of his face. His horns gleamed like polished stone.

"You risk a great deal being here," he said. "My kind would see you as prey. Weak. Worthless."

"And you?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Azrael stepped closer, until there was barely a breath between them.

"I see... something else."

Liora's pulse thundered in her throat. She could smell the faint scent of scorched cedar on him-wild and smoky and strangely warm.

"You shouldn't be here," he added, but this time it sounded more like regret than command.

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed. "I kept thinking... what if you were just a dream?"

Azrael's expression shifted. For a heartbeat, his face softened. "And would you want me to be?"

"No."

It was the barest truth-but it hung heavy between them.

From the trees above, a raven cawed sharply. The moment shattered like glass.

Azrael drew back slightly, his gaze hardening again. "Go home, Liora."

"Will I see you again?"

A pause.

"I never make promises I might break."

He turned, melting into the forest without another sound. But even as he vanished, the warmth of his presence lingered-as if the forest itself still held the echo of his flame.