Page 32 of Demon's Beauty

“Witches who aren’t cut out for it?” she asks with a sad, sardonic curl of her lips.

“It would be difficult for anyone who wasn’t used to it.” Unable to meet her eye, I turn my gaze downward and contemplate my own boots.

If you’d asked me yesterday, I would have confidently said I have a way with words. That I could talk myself out of or into just about any situation.

But apparently having one single conversation with my mate is entirely outside my capacity.

“I should… go help Vayla,” Soleil says, then lets out a small, shaky laugh. “And probably find something to rinse my mouth out with.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no. It’s alright, I’m sure I can—”

“It’s no trouble at all. Consider it my apology.”

Will she let me? Likely not, if she knew how much it meant.

Among demonkind, caring for a mate is one of the highest acts of sacred service. A right I absolutely haven’t earned with her yet.

Not that this really counts.

Water, just some water to help my mate feel better after I yanked her clear across the realm with no consideration for how it might harm her, is the very least I can do.

“Sure,” she says finally, stiff and unenthusiastic. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

Unable to find the words to let her know how very little she owes me her thanks, I give her a single curt nod and stride off to find some water.

Perhaps by the time I get back I’ll have discovered some way not to be such a disappointment to her.

13

Soleil

Vayla tactfully pretends not to notice me hastily charming away my vomit. A quick cleaning spell and it disappears, but I’m left shaky and mortified and covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Doing alright?” she asks, giving me a once-over.

“Never better,” I mutter, running hands over my hair and my clothes, like that would do anything at all to help the mess I probably look like right now.

“There’s a stream,” she says tentatively, nodding off to the far side of the camp. “Just beyond that treeline. If you need to, uh, need to…”

“Clean the stench of puke and sweat off me?”

“Hey!” She raises her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything, I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “But thanks, cleaning up a little sounds great.”

Truly, it sounds fantastic.

I scurry off in that direction, find the stream, and cast a quick invisibility spell so no one will see me stripping down to change my clothes and splash myself with some water from the stream.

Freezing coldwater from the stream. Which makes sense, given where we are, and probably does just as much to shock mynervous system back into some kind of normalcy as it does to get me clean.

When I’m finished, I drop the spell and sit on the bank for a moment.

Staying here seems easier than going back to camp.

I suppose I should go help everyone get things set up, but I’m still mortified thinking about how many people must have seen me lose my breakfast over something as simple as portalling.