12. Meetha

12

MEETHA

T he sheets cling to my sweat-slicked skin as I roll onto my side, facing Milkor. His silver eyes gleam in the dim candlelight, otherworldly and alluring. My heart still races from our passionate encounter, but curiosity burns even hotter within me.

I study Milkor's elven features in the candlelight, noticing a new vulnerability. I wonder if it's the lingering effects of our intimacy or the burden of his hidden truths. I sense a chance - a crack in his armor.

"Tell me about the curse," I whisper, trailing my fingers along his ashen chest. "How did you end up trapped in this form?"

Milkor's jaw clenches, surprise and wariness flashing in his eyes. For a moment, I think he'll refuse, retreating behind his walls of sarcasm and deflection. But then he sighs, a sound of resignation and... relief?

"It's not a pleasant tale," he warns, his voice rougher than usual.

I hold his gaze, silently urging him to continue. He searches my face, as if looking for something - judgment, perhaps, or fear. Finding neither, he seems to come to a decision.

"I suppose you deserve to know," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "If you're foolish enough to align yourself with me, you should understand what you're getting into."

"I can handle it," I assure him. "Please?"

Milkor's eyes darken, a storm brewing in their silver depths. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath my fingertips.

"I was hunting," he says, his voice low and rough. "A human woman caught my attention. She smelled... different. Enticing."

A shiver runs down my spine, but I don't pull away. "What happened?"

"I followed her. She was on her way to work, oblivious to my presence." His lips curl into a predatory smile. "When she turned down an empty alley, I struck."

My breath catches in my throat. I should be horrified, but something in his voice, in the way his muscles tense beneath my touch, sends a thrill through me.

"Did she fight back?" I whisper.

Milkor chuckles darkly. "She tried. But she was no match for me. I tore into her flesh, savoring her screams, her terror."

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "And then?"

"I killed her," he says simply, no hint of remorse in his tone. "Her life force was exquisite. I felt no guilt, no shame. It's my nature, after all."

My mind reels. I should be horrified by Milkor's cold admission of murder. Instead, I feel a twisted fascination. Is it his unapologetic rawness, or something darker within me responding to his primal nature?

I swallow hard, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions swirling inside me - attraction, fear, and a disturbing hint of excitement.

His words should repulse me, but instead, I find myself pressing closer, drawn to the darkness within him. "What went wrong?"

"A purna appeared," Milkor growls, anger flashing in his eyes.

"A purna?" I gasp, my eyes widening. "I've only heard stories about them. They're supposed to be myth."

Milkor's lips twist into a bitter smile. "Oh, they're real. And far more powerful than I'd imagined."

"What exactly are purna?" I ask, curiosity overriding my fear. "I've only heard whispers, old tales told to scare children."

Milkor's lip curls in disgust. "They're guardians, of a sort. Ancient beings that fancy themselves protectors of the mortal realms. They draw their power from the very essence of creation, making them formidable opponents even for demons like myself."

"But why are they considered myths?"

"Because they prefer to work from the shadows," he explains, his voice dripping with contempt. "They rarely show themselves, instead manipulating events from afar. It's easier to dismiss them as legends when no one's ever seen one in the flesh."

I frown, processing this new information. "So they're like... cosmic police?"

Milkor barks out a harsh laugh. "More like self-righteous meddlers. They impose their idea of 'balance' on the universe, regardless of the consequences."

His fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I nestle closer, eager to hear more.

"What did the purna do to you?"

Milkor's grip on me tightens, his nails digging into my flesh. I bite back a moan, relishing the pain.

"She bound my essence," he spits out. "Trapped me in this... this weak elven form."

I run my hand along his arm, feeling the lean muscle beneath his ashen skin. "Weak? You seem pretty strong to me."

He snorts. "This body is nothing compared to my true form. I was a being of pure power, of primal hunger. Now I'm stuck in this... pretty shell."

The disgust in his voice is palpable. I press a gentle kiss to his chest, tasting his skin.

Milkor's self-loathing radiates from him like a dark aura. I can almost taste the bitterness on my tongue. His silver eyes, once alluring, now seem hollow and haunted.

"This body," he snarls, gesturing at himself with disgust. "It's a prison. Every moment, I'm reminded of what I've lost."

I trace the lines of his face, trying to understand. "But you're still powerful. You killed my mother without breaking a sweat."

He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. "A parlor trick compared to what I once was. I used to devour souls, revel in chaos. Now?" He flexes his fingers, staring at them as if they've betrayed him. "I'm barely more than human."

The weight of his words sinks in. This curse isn't just about trapping him in a different form. It's about making him despise every fiber of his being.

"You hate yourself," I whisper, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut.

Milkor's eyes snap to mine, blazing with fury. "Hate doesn't begin to cover it. Every breath in this form is agony. Every reflection a mockery of what I once was."

"What was it like?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Before the curse, I mean."

Milkor's eyes grow distant, a mix of longing and rage flickering across his face. "I was... magnificent," he says, his voice low and intense. "I could tear through the fabric of reality, travel between worlds on a whim. My very presence inspired terror in lesser beings."

He flexes his fingers again.

"I could manipulate the essence of life itself, drain entire cities of their vitality with a mere thought. Now?" He scoffs. "I can barely muster enough power to light a candle without exhausting myself."

I shiver, both awed and terrified by the picture he paints. "And the purna took all that away?"

"In an instant," he snarls, his grip on me tightening painfully.

I sit up, the sheet falling away as I face him. "But you're still you inside, aren't you? Your essence, your... demon-ness. It's still there."

He reaches out, cupping my face with a gentleness that belies his words. "You don't understand, little human. This body, this curse... it's changing me. Making me weak. Making me... feel."

The disgust in his voice when he says "feel" sends a chill down my spine. I lean into his touch, trying to offer comfort I'm not sure he wants.

"Is that why you agreed to help me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "To try and reclaim some of your old power?"

Milkor's hand drops away, leaving my skin cold. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm just desperate for any shred of my former glory."

"You hate it that much?" I ask softly.

Milkor's silver eyes flash with barely contained rage. "Elves are delicate creatures, all beauty and no substance. I'm a demon. I should inspire terror, not... admiration."

I can't help but smirk at that. "Well, you certainly inspired something in me."

He growls, rolling me onto my back and pinning me beneath him. "Don't tease me, little one. You have no idea what I'm capable of, even in this form."

My heart races, a delicious mix of fear and excitement coursing through my veins.

"Then show me," I breathe.

Milkor's weight presses me into the mattress, his silver eyes burning with an intensity that steals my breath. In this moment, I see beyond the elf-like exterior to the primal force trapped within. My body responds, a rush of heat flooding through me.

"Keep me," he snarls, his fingers digging into my hips. "As if you could contain me, little human."

But there's a flicker of something in his gaze. Uncertainty? Hope? Whatever it is, it fuels my determination.

"Watch me," I challenge, arching against him.

His laugh is dark, dangerous. "You have no idea what you're getting into."

"Then teach me," I breathe, trailing my fingers down his chest. "Show me your world, Milkor. Let me see the demon beneath this pretty shell."

He freezes, searching my face. "You can't possibly mean that."

"I do," I insist, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I want all of you - the darkness, the hunger, everything."

Milkor's grip tightens, almost painful. "Be careful what you wish for, little one. I might just devour you whole."

A thrill runs through me at his words. "Promise?"

He growls, low and feral, before claiming my mouth in a searing kiss. I taste blood - mine or his, I'm not sure - and it only inflames me further.

When we break apart, both panting, I cup his face in my hands. My mind races, trying to process everything he's told me. A part of me is terrified - of what he was, of what he's capable of. But another part, a part I'm only just beginning to understand, is drawn to his raw power and darkness.

I search his silver eyes, seeing the pain, the loneliness, and the barely contained rage swirling within them. And beneath it all, a flicker of something else. Hope, perhaps? Or a desperate need for acceptance?

In that moment, I make a decision that will change everything. I may not fully understand what I'm getting myself into, but I know I can't walk away. Not now. Not when I've seen the vulnerability beneath his monstrous exterior.

"I'm not afraid of you, Milkor," I say, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "And I've decided I will keep you."

Something shifts in his expression, a mixture of disbelief and... wonder? "You're either very brave or very foolish," he murmurs.

I consider his words, weighing the danger against the inexplicable pull I feel towards him.

"Maybe both," I admit with a grin. "But I know what I want. And that's you - demon, elf, or whatever comes in between."

Milkor studies me for a long moment, his silver eyes unreadable. I hold my breath, wondering if I've overstepped, if I've misread the situation entirely. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips. "Well then, little human. I suppose you'd better hold on tight."

His words send a thrill through me - a mixture of excitement and fear that I'm quickly becoming addicted to. I nod, tightening my grip on him. Whatever comes next, I'm ready. Or at least, I hope I am.