All That I Loved...

Her grandmother would be shaking if he still had the slightest bit of talent. He had fought against Elyra's father once and survived to stand here today, but he didn't want to do it again, not even against someone who had half that blood.

He was unable to escape the sharp looks, whispers, and growing uneasiness around him like Elyra was. Now that the half-demon was gone, he took center stage. Every observer, male, female, and child, wondered the same thing: What had this miserable monster done to upset that innocent orphan girl? She was never loved and never trusted.

His extraterrestrial characteristics drew suspicious looks, and he realized it was too late to hide his otherness. They averted their eyes and lowered their heads in fear and submission. His disguise was no longer effective because of the agility he had displayed in battle. They had witnessed too much and understood too well what he was capable of: Damn that girl.

The witch-child, whose voice was a quiet venom that belied her young, rose from the crowd. "Oh, Grandmother," she whispered, her voice surprisingly gentle as she walked up to him, her eyes staring at him with hardly concealed disdain. "You are aware that you can no longer move in that manner. You've changed since you were a warrior. "Hell, you're left in the dust, aren't you?" she added under her breath. If only I had been able to see that fight with the demon prince.

He forced himself not to smile. He clung to what little respect her words brought with what little pride he still had. He appeared to be confused by his surroundings or the recent occurrences, as seen by his neutral mask and steady breathing.

Actually, he remembered a ferocious warrior from Elyra's family who had once been mistaken for her grandfather—or possibly her father—when he was younger. Back when he wasn't yet worn down by age, they had exchanged unsure looks and apprehensive giggles before leaving.

His heart beat in a rhythm that felt like it may explode out of his chest. He has now encountered danger twice in short succession with no good outcome. Exhaling slowly, he stroked his chin with long fingers and looked, futilely, at Matron Annelore. He started to say, "I do appreciate…," but Amara's firm hold on his hand signaled him to stop talking.

"Whatever you say today," the matriarch growled, her voice a poisonous murmur as she resisted the impulse to hit him, "only her mother's words will bring my granddaughter one step closer to exposing the shame of our family! Here, you're not welcome. I'll keep you away from her or reveal your darkest secrets! Talk to her once more about what belongs in the grave. There was a heavy hush after her as she turned and walked away, her words fading.

He exhaled, tightening his grip on Amara's hand as he pulled her away, relieved that he had not seen the old woman's face etched with unadulterated pain and wrath. He muttered, "And how shall I keep my promise to Astra?" as if it were a passing thought rather than a query intended for the air.

He became aware that the witch had decided to respond when a somber silence descended among them. She issued her decree with cold certainty before he could argue the need. It is advised that you avoid Elyra, the angel who pursues her. I'll be the eyes that follow her every step, and you'll be the hand that looks for her.

She then turned and stormed off, her steps determined, undoubtedly following the half-demon's trail into the dark recesses of the forest. Though he thought about stopping her, Astra's recollection stopped him. He couldn't betray the lady he still loved, even though he had a strong need to protect the girl who had made him feel like he belonged. The battle raged inside him, a storm of ice and clay crashing in his stomach, until he let it, the storm fading.

Surely the girl could manage on her own.

Why she had hiked to Dorian's property was beyond Elyra's comprehension. She had persuaded herself it was so she might meet the angel that evening. Was that really why she went looking for him again? She was still human and longed for the ethereal serenity he emanated, a salve against the demon's rage that made her stomach turn with a familiar ache. She wasn't sure what she would do if they met, or if she really wanted to see him. So she remained motionless, staring at the trees in front of her, their black shapes glaring in the last of the light.

She was startled by a noise behind her and spun around, clenching her fists in preparation for a growl. Only the farmer, with his scythe gliding elegantly against the sharpening stone, was beside his shed. She had to turn away from the blade's menacing shine because it made her feel afraid. She realized she had to get out of there before he saw her.

The trees embraced her into their shadows, and she was suddenly encircled by the eerie song of the forest that she had not heard before. She took a deep breath, preparing to shed her brittle human exterior, but her resolve faltered. So far, nothing had left her. Her breath caught in a fear of something foreign, yet the melody of the forest continued. The mark of her discontent was even present in this world, so far from humanity.

A restless unease had taken the place of her rage. She lost who she really was for a moment, separated from both the human and the demon. As she crouched by her nocturnal haven—the half-dug hole, the sprawling roots, the soft murmur of the water—a weird feeling stirred and she started back toward the stream.

Elyra could only speculate about his thoughts, but she understood what he knew. Would she have the guts to ask? Was it simpler now than later? Her nature gnawed at her, but she no longer felt demonic. She pondered, hollow, icy, and melancholy: Was missing a mother she had never really known wrong?

"What were you contemplating?" As she gazed into the darkness across the stream, she uttered a tremulous whisper. Did you adore him? Did he injure you?

"I cherished him." As Elyra stood up to confront the speaker who had quietly sneaked up, the words came suddenly, and she almost fell to the ground. She was shocked to see it was Amara, who was incredibly cunning. The sentence lingered in the air, and Elyra sunk to her knees after taking a trembling breath. The words she had yearned to hear were so heavy that they felt like a sharp cut.

"What?" She gasped, straining to speak louder, her voice cracking. "How are you aware?"

Amara answered, "I never saw a reason not to ask," in a tone that was slightly critical but also softer. "Don't you think it's enough to calm your soul, even though it's the only thing he's ever admitted?"

Elyra gazed in silence, stunned, till Amara shrugged and shook her head. As she leaned against a tree, she said, "You could never see past what your claws could seize." You wouldn't have imagined that he knew her better than the elderly woman, would you? I believe she has only one friend.

Elyra was unable to internalize the words. No, she had never thought that broken wretch would mean anything to her mother, much less be her only friend. For as long as she could remember, she had hated him, and she had never asked why. Her grandmother's animosity had been enough when she was younger, but she had never thought of taking advantage of him. She had always been worried by the possibility that her mother knew him.

She shook her head, wanting desperately to reject the near-vampire's role in her mother's life as a hollow sadness set in. "You're lying," she said in a barely audible whisper, hoping it may be true—a lie she could put up with.

"Leave." It was the best she could do. She turned to demand it again when there was stillness, but Amara had disappeared as quietly as she had appeared, her cunning a secret that Elyra would never be able to solve.

She hesitated, a chill running up her spine as the feeling hit her once more. She felt a violent rage coiling in her core, a burning fire flare in her chest, and a hungry desire that made her ablaze with need. Something unfit for the mortal world was left behind after the transition, which came with a painful crunch of bones and a deep, gnawing ache.

Night settled with a stifling silence, and the air grew thicker. She was unquestionably a demon. The next step was looming, unavoidable and unavoidable.

Darkness touches me, and I stay. The words were heavier than ever as they echoed in her head. They were once hazy, but now they dominated her thoughts, harsh and unquestionable, as the world around her was overtaken by a power that was deeper and older than her human spirit could comprehend.

A tiny glimmer, a delicate flame that was on the verge of being devoured by the demon blood coursing through her veins, was all that was left of Elyra.