Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 109

**OZ**

The world slams back into place, hard enough that I stagger. My vision swims. The sickly sweetness of fae magic lingers in my nose, burning all the way down my throat, and my body tenses instinctively, braced for a fight. But the fight never comes. Instead, I find myself staring at familiar walls, the faint scent of detergent, fabric softener, and Kacia’s citrus-sharp undertone. Her room. Her bed. Damn Raylah. My jaw clenches, fury rolling through me like fire. She portaled us. Straight into Kacia’s bedroom. Into her bed! Again, without permission. Without warning! At this point, it’s not just a violation, it’s a message. You’re mine to move around as I please. I know there are amulets and spells out there that can make it hard to portal someone against their will. I think we might need to find some. In the meantime I grit my teeth, every instinct screaming to tear Raylah’s smug smile off her face, even if it’s just in my imagination. Then a sound wrenches me back to reality, a strangled choke. I turn just as Kacia jerks upright, eyes wide and glassy. She barely makes it over the edge of the bed before she vomits, hard, splattering the floorboards. The sour stench fills the air instantly. She coughs, groaning, one hand braced on the mattress, the other trembling against her stomach.

“Shit… I really hate portals.” She rasps, spitting once to clear her mouth. My anger evaporates in an instant, replaced by cold focus. I drop to a crouch beside her. 

“Don’t move. I’ll take care of it.” I assure her. Kacia waves a weak hand, muttering. 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to. I can-” She starts. I cut her off.

“It’s not.” My voice is firm, allowing no argument. 

“Stay put.” I order. I’m up and out the door before she can protest, moving fast through the quiet house to the kitchen. I grab a glass, fill it with water, then tear half a roll of paper towels off their holder. On the way back, I detour into the bathroom, yanking open drawers until I find the familiar packet of painkillers in the top one. I hate that Kacia has been in pain often enough lately that I know where they are. When I return, Kacia’s still sitting upright, pale and clammy but composed, glaring at the mess like it personally insulted her. Typical. 

“Here.” I set the glass in her hands, steadying it until I’m sure she won’t drop it. 

“Sip first. Don’t chug.” I warn. She obeys, rinsing her mouth, then takes a longer swallow, her face pinching. She takes two of the painkillers. Then drains the glass. I take it back gently and set it on the nightstand. Next, I crouch down by the bed and get to work on the floor. The smell makes me wrinkle my nose, but I don’t let it show. Kacia doesn’t need pity, she needs it gone. I mop up carefully, layering paper towels over the worst of it, scrubbing until there’s nothing left but a faint sour tang I can drown later with cleaning spray. I dump all the paper towels into a garbage bag, tie it off and throw it in the bin. Then I step back into the room. Kacia’s propped against the headboard, pale but steady, her arms folded tight across her stomach like she’s daring herself not to show weakness. Even now, even like this, she won’t let herself crumble.

“Better?” I ask. Her mouth twists. 

“Not really. But thanks.” She answers, her voice a little scratchy. I hover, torn between pacing out my anger at Raylah or forcing myself to leave her to rest. Before I can decide, Kacia looks at me with exhausted eyes.

“Sit with me.” She says. I frown. 

“You should sleep.” I argue. 

“I know…”. Her voice is steady despite the raw edges. 

“But I feel awful, and I don’t… I don’t want to sit here alone.” She answers softly. The way she says it punches through my defenses. I sigh and lower myself onto the edge of the bed. Just until she nods off, I tell myself. Then I’ll leave. 

The silence stretches between us. She shifts slightly toward me, her breath catching, and I can feel the faint tremor in her hand where it grips the blanket.

“I’m still so nauseous.” She murmurs after a moment, her eyelids half closed. 

“Everything aches. Just… Miserable.” She grumbles. My hand curls into a fist. I hate this. Hate seeing her hurt, knowing there’s nothing I can fight or claw to make it stop. Finally, I let out a deep breath.

“Turn a little.” I say. She turns immediately, not questioning my request. I rest my palm on her lower back and begin moving it in slow, steady circles. Strong enough to ground her, gentle enough not to jostle her. Her breath hitches, then eases. 

“That’s helping.” She whispers. Something in my chest softens. I keep going, steady and rhythmic, until the tension drains from her shoulders. She leans into my touch, just slightly, and the quiet trust of it nearly undoes me. Minutes pass. Her breathing deepens, her body is starting to relax. When her head tips toward me I start to ease back, to slip away before I do something reckless.

“Oz?” Her voice stops me cold.

“Go back to sleep.” I murmur, forcing calm into my tone.

“Wait.” Her eyes flutter open just enough to catch mine. 

“Don’t leave. Please.” She pleads. I have to fight the urge to immediately give her what she wants. 

“You’ll be fine…” I say automatically. Her lips press together before the words spill out, soft but raw. 

“Last time I went to sleep, I woke up with Raylah standing over me. And then I was dragged to Faerie. I… I don’t want to wake up like that again. I don’t want to be alone.” She confesses anxiously. The sound of it tears through me. Kavia isn’t weak. She’s fought all night, held her ground, sparred with lords and ladies who would happily eat her alive. But now, stripped of all of that, she’s just Kacia, tired, scared, vulnerable. And she’s trusting me to keep her safe. I close my eyes, dragging in a long breath as the weight of it settles on my chest. I know I shouldn’t do this, in the long run it’s just going to make things harder. But how can I refuse her?

“Alright…” I say finally, my voice rough. 

“Just for tonight.” I warn. I’m rewarded with a warm smile. I settle properly onto the mattress this time, sliding under the blankets. Kacia shifts closer instantly, curling against me like she’s been waiting all along. Her head rests against my chest, the faint citrus-sweet scent of her hair cutting through every trace of fae magic still clinging to me. I wrap an arm carefully around her, steady and protective. Her breathing slows. Softens. Within minutes, she’s completely asleep. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to her steady breaths. Every protective instinct in me thrums. My mind replays the night in flashes. The stares, the whispers, her name on the herald’s lips, Raylah’s smirk. All of them circling her like vultures. But then I look down at her, tucked against me, trusting me even in sleep, and the fury in me turns into something heavier. Affection. Need. Something I can’t put back in its box. She asked me to stay because she was afraid. And damn it, I know I’ll stay as long as she needs. Because right now, she’s safe. Right now, she’s mine to protect. And I don’t ever want to let her go.

I SHOULD be asleep. I’m bone deep exhausted, the kind of tired that sinks into marrow and makes every muscle ache. But my body won’t let me rest. Kacia is curled against me, her breathing soft and even, her weight warm against my chest. My arm is still wrapped around her, steady, protective, and every now and then she shifts closer in her sleep as if she knows I’ll keep her safe. And damn it, I love it. I love having her here, in my arms. It feels right in a way that terrifies me. But it hurts too. Every second stretches the wound wider, because I know this can’t last. I’ve told myself a hundred times that I have to keep my distance, that I can’t let this happen. And yet here I am, holding her, listening to the soft sound of her breaths, aching with how much I want this to be permanent. And the worst part? I know I’ll have to leave her eventually. Whether it’s for her safety, or because of the curse bound around my magic, or because fate’s already got its claws in us. Whatever the reason, the clock is ticking. I’ll have to let go. The thought feels like claws raking through my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to chase it away. I tell myself I can’t stay tangled up in her forever, that my siblings are waiting for me. They have to be. Even if I don’t know what state they’re in, even if I can’t be sure they’re still alive, I cling to the idea of them. Home. My family. The ones who will pull me back together when this ends. Probably. The word tastes bitter. It doesn’t give me comfort. It doesn’t soothe the gnawing dread in my gut. Because even as I tell myself they’re waiting for me, my body is betraying me. Every part of me wants to stay right here. Kacia’s head shifts slightly against my chest, and I feel her breath ghost across my chest. Kacia is still in her formalware, as am I. We should probably have changed. But I don’t think either of us are up to that just now. My arm tightens around her on instinct. Then I lie there in the dark, exhausted, torn in two. Loving this moment. Dreading the end of it. And knowing, deep down, that no amount of promises to myself will make it hurt any less when I finally have to let her go.