15. Milkor

15

MILKOR

" H and it over." I extend my palm, expecting Meetha to place the ring in it without hesitation.

She clutches it to her chest, eyes narrowing. "Why should I?"

My jaw clenches. The audacity of this human girl. "We had a deal."

"Did we?" Meetha's lips curl into a smirk. "I recall agreeing to give you the ring if you helped me kill Jarvil."

"Which I did."

She laughs, the sound grating on my nerves. "Really? Because from where I'm standing, you didn't lift a finger. My dear old dad got himself killed all on his own."

My nostrils flare as I struggle to contain my rage. She's right, of course. But I'll be damned if I let her outsmart me.

"I protected you. Guided you here. Without me, you'd still be cowering under your father's fist."

Meetha's eyes flash dangerously. "I was never cowering."

"Give me the ring," I growl, taking a step closer.

She doesn't flinch. "Make me."

The air crackles with tension. I could snatch it from her easily enough, but something holds me back. Perhaps it's the defiant tilt of her chin or the way her eyes dance with challenge.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little girl."

"I'm not playing anything." She slips the ring into her bosom. "This is mine now."

"Besides," Meetha begins. "You'd probably abandon me as soon as I hand the ring over to you."

"You don't understand the power you're toying with," I growl, frustration evident in my voice.

Meetha's eyes narrow, a hint of curiosity breaking through her defiant facade. "Then explain it to me. Why can't you just take it?"

I grit my teeth, hating to admit my limitations. "The ring... it chooses its wearer. Once it has, it can't be removed by force. Not by me, not by anyone."

"It's not just a trinket," I continue, struggling to find the right words. "That ring holds power beyond your comprehension. In the right hands-"

"Your hands, you mean?" Meetha interrupts, a sardonic smile playing on her lips.

I bite back a snarl. "Yes, my hands. I could use it to break this cursed form, to become what I truly am."

Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of interest. "And what exactly are you, Milkor? Beyond the facade of a dark elf?"

The question hangs in the air between us. I've never revealed the full extent of my nature to a human before. But as I look into Meetha's eyes, I see something that gives me pause. Not just curiosity, but a hunger that mirrors my own.

"I am power incarnate," I say, my voice low and intense. "A demon of Galmoleth, trapped in this pitiful elven shell. With that ring, I could reclaim my true form, my full strength."

Meetha's breath catches. "And what would you do with all that power?"

I clench my jaw, the truth caught in my throat. Meetha's eyes bore into me, demanding an answer. The weight of her gaze is almost as heavy as the curse that binds me to this elven form.

"If the ring is as powerful as I believe," I start, each word dragged from me reluctantly, "it could break the purna's curse."

Meetha's eyes widen. "And then what?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Then I would be free. Free to return to my true form, to reclaim my full power."

"And?" She presses, twisting the ring around her finger as she awaits my response.

"And I could return home," I admit, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "To Galmoleth."

Silence falls between us, heavy and oppressive. Meetha's face is unreadable, but I can sense the turmoil within her. The ring glints on her finger, a constant reminder of what's at stake.

"So you'd just... leave?" Her voice is quiet, but there's an edge to it that cuts through me.

I want to lie, to tell her what she wants to hear. But something about this human girl demands honesty. "I don't know," I confess. "I've been trapped in this form for so long, I..."

My words trail off. The truth is, I haven't allowed myself to think beyond breaking the curse. The possibility of returning home had seemed so distant, so impossible, that I'd never considered what it would mean to leave this realm. To leave her.

Meetha takes a step closer, her free hand reaching out to touch my arm. The contact sends a jolt through me, a reminder of the connection we've forged.

"And what about me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "What happens to me if you go?"

I stand frozen, the weight of Meetha's question pressing down on me like a physical force. Words fail me, caught in my throat as I struggle to formulate a response. How can I answer when I don't even know the truth myself?

Meetha's eyes search mine, desperate for reassurance. But my silence speaks volumes.

Her face falls, disappointment etching itself into every line. "I knew it," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're going to leave me behind."

The accusation stings more than I care to admit. I want to protest, to deny her words, but the truth is, I can't. The lure of freedom, of reclaiming my true form, is too strong to ignore.

Meetha takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I was right all along, wasn't I?" she says, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "The moment you get that ring, the second you have a taste of freedom, you'll be gone."

I clench my fists, frustration boiling within me. "It's not that simple," I growl, but even to my own ears, the words sound hollow.

"Isn't it?" Meetha challenges, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. "You've made it pretty clear where your priorities lie, Milkor. And they certainly don't include me."

She turns away, her shoulders slumping. "I should have known better than to trust a man," she mutters, more to herself than to me.

I huff, placing my hands on my hips as I begin to pace. The floorboards creak beneath my feet, echoing the tension in the air. My mind races, searching for a way out of this impossible situation.

"Would you rather I lie to you?" I snap, whirling to face Meetha.

She flinches at my tone but holds her ground. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, meet mine unflinchingly. "Well, no. I suppose not."

Her honesty catches me off guard. I expected anger, accusations, anything but this quiet acceptance. It throws me off balance, leaving me grasping for solid ground.

"Then what?" I demand, my voice rougher than I intend. "What would you have me do?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with unspoken possibilities. I watch as emotions flicker across Meetha's face – hurt, fear, longing. She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as if bracing for impact.

"Stay," she says simply.

That single word hits me like a physical blow. Stay? The concept is so foreign, so utterly at odds with everything I've ever known. Demons don't stay. We take, we destroy, we move on. We certainly don't form attachments to fragile human girls.

And yet…

I find myself frozen, unable to dismiss the idea outright. The thought of leaving Meetha behind suddenly seems unbearable. When did she become more than just a means to an end?

"Stay," I repeat, tasting the word on my tongue. It's both terrifying and oddly enticing.

Meetha's eyes soften, a mix of hope and vulnerability in her gaze. "I know what you are, Milkor. I know you're a demon. But..." she pauses, swallowing hard. "You could have let Jarvil kill me. You could have disposed of me yourself. But you didn't."

Her words catch me off guard. "You should fear me," I mutter, but the words lack conviction.

Meetha steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. "Maybe. But I don't."

I clench my jaw, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Don't mistake self-interest for kindness, girl."

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Is that what you tell yourself? That it's all self-interest?"

Her perceptiveness is unsettling. I look away, unable to meet her gaze. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe not," Meetha admits. "But I know that I trust you, Milkor. Demon or not."

Damn it all. When did this slip of a girl start to matter so much?

She's barely more than a child, really. Orphaned in the span of a day, her entire world upended. And here I am, ready to abandon her just like everyone else.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. For all her bravado, Meetha is young, vulnerable. She's putting on a brave face, but beneath that defiant exterior is a scared girl who's lost everything.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration warring with an unfamiliar sense of... responsibility? Is that what this strange feeling is?

"You can't even cook a proper meal," I grumble, more to myself than to her. "How do you expect to survive on your own?"

Meetha's lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through her worried expression. "I'm a quick learner."

I snort. "Quick enough to navigate the dangers of Protheka without getting yourself killed?"

She lifts her chin. "I've made it this far, haven't I?"

Her stubbornness is infuriating. And oddly endearing. I feel my resolve crumbling.

I clench my jaw, a low growl rumbling in my chest. The clash of desires within me is maddening - the primal urge for freedom warring against this... this inexplicable pull towards the girl. Centuries of single-minded focus, all threatened by a pair of defiant human eyes.

The hunger for power still burns in my veins, a constant reminder of what I truly am. But now, entangled with it is a new, unsettling desire. Not just to possess, but to protect.

Meetha stands before me, chin lifted, a mix of challenge and vulnerability in her gaze. In her, I see a reflection of my own relentless drive, my own refusal to yield. It's... intoxicating.

I bare my teeth in a feral grin. Perhaps I don't have to choose. Perhaps I can have it all - power, freedom, and this infuriating, captivating girl.

With a deep sigh that's more growl than breath, I shake my head. "Fine. I'll stay. For now."

Meetha's face lights up, a brilliant smile spreading across her features. Before I can react, she lets out a squeal of victory and throws her arms around me.

I stiffen at the unexpected contact, unused to such displays of affection. But slowly, deliberately, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her against my chest. My grip is firm, possessive. A clear message: she's mine now, to protect and to control.

"Don't think this means you can do whatever you want," I growl into her ear, my voice low and rough. "You're under my protection now, and that means you follow my rules. Understood?"

I feel her shiver against me, whether from fear or excitement, I can't tell. And frankly, I don't care. All that matters is that she's here, in my arms, where I can keep her safe - and keep an eye on that damned ring.

"Understood," Meetha whispers, her breath warm against my neck.

I allow myself a smirk. Good. Let the games begin.