Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 45

**OZ**

Eventually, Kacia’s breathing starts to shift. It’s still uneven, still shaky, but it’s there. Real. Ragged. Hers. I can feel the way her chest loosens against mine, how the tremble in her hands gradually fades. She’s still clinging to me, her face tucked into my shoulder, and I don’t dare move until she does.

“How are you feeling, beautiful?” I murmur, my voice low and careful, like I’m afraid I’ll startle her back into her panic. She sighs. It’s not a good sound, not exactly, but it’s better than before. Tired but more grounded.

“I’m still not okay, but I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.” She whispers. Something in my chest loosens at that. I hadn’t even realised how tightly I’d been holding my breath until now. When I first saw her, her face pale, her eyes wide and unseeing, gasping like the air had turned to water. I thought something had gone really wrong. Not just panic. I was ready to fight something off, to break a curse, to carry her to safety if I had to. I honestly thought she was dying. My brain was screaming poison or magic or something worse. And when I realised it was ‘just’ a panic attack? I felt relieved. Relieved! Which makes me feel like the worst kind of bastard. Panic attacks aren’t nothing. They’re a different kind of hell. I know that. Better than most. I’ve seen that look of complete hopelessness and dread in so many people’s eyes when they’ve looked into my real eyes. I never wanted to see that look in Kacia’s eyes. But for half a second, the word had felt like a lifeline. And then came the helplessness. I couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t kill it. All I could do was hold her and whisper every gentle, stupid, useless thing I could think of in hopes that something might cut through the noise in her head. I hate that kind of powerlessness. I’d rather be punched in the face by a troll than feel like I can’t protect her from her own pain. But she got through it. Somehow. Maybe because I was there. Maybe not. I want to believe I helped. That I can be someone she can lean on. But how long will that last? Because once I tell her the truth, once she knows what I was sent here to do, I doubt she’ll let me hold her like this again. So I hold her just a little tighter. Just a moment longer. Let myself feel it. Then she pulls back. Her eyes are still a little glassy, her voice hoarse.

“We need to go look for Dave.” She says. And I nod. No hesitation.

“Of course, lead the way.” I answer. 

Kacia and I follow the not so subtle trail the troll left behind, and when I say not subtle, I mean it looks like someone let a wrecking ball loose on a residential street. There are shattered mailboxes, crumpled fences, upended garbage bins, and what I’m pretty sure used to be someone’s ornamental frog collection. The whole neighbourhood’s been redecorated in post-apocalyptic chic. Even without the destruction, I could follow the scent. Trolls have this pungent, revolting stench, like hot garbage that’s been left to marinate in a gym locker. And it sticks to EVERYTHING. Normally, I don’t get scent trails this clearly unless I’m actively trying, but this is like following a smoke trail from a burning landfill. Not exactly subtle, not exactly pleasant, but helpful, I guess.

“You’d think he was trying to get caught.” Kacia mutters beside me, stepping over a splintered fence post.

“Yeah, but trolls aren’t exactly master strategists. Subtlety isn't really in their toolkit.” I reply.

“I’m not sure anything is in their toolkit except ‘smash.’” Kacia responds. 

“Fair point.” I agree. We don’t have to track him long. The scent, and the destruction, lead us into a small and dodgy looking park with a single swing set and some weird metal thing that I’m pretty sure spins around. It doesn’t really seem like the kind of area children should be allowed in. Which is probably why the troll ended up here. We hear the troll before we see him. Specifically, we hear Dave.

“Well that’s just rude!” Dave yells, clearly unbothered. 

“You kidnap me and then insult my hair? Do you know how long I spent styling this morning?” he objects. Well, the good news is I don’t think he’s injured or anything. He’s too cheerful for that. 

“You talk too much.” The troll growls back, voice gravelly and annoyed. We round the bend and find them in a clearing. Dave is sitting on a bench, just casually sitting there, like he was invited for a casual stroll, and the troll is pacing nearby, clearly agitated. He’s enormous. Broad, boulder-like, his skin a sickly greenish colour with brown undertones. His limbs are thick, his knuckles leathery and cracking. And…There are dark, inky tattoos wrapping around both his forearms, twisting, curling lines that immediately make my stomach drop. Because I recognise them. Shit. They're the same kind of markings I have. The same kind of markings the fae branded me with when they summoned me here. Before I can process that, the troll spots us.

He sees Kacia first. 

“THE HUNTER!” He bellows. Then he charges.

Kacia meets him head on without hesitation, blades flashing. She ducks under his first wild swing and slashes his side. He howls, not in pain, more like a toddler who didn’t get their favourite snack, and swings again, this time faster. She dodges, but he’s relentless. Strong and clumsy, but dangerous because of it. Not to mention, she only has a couple of small daggers that she must have been keeping in the car because she certainly didn’t have weapons when we left home. We were in too much of a rush. 

“Come here, pointy eared little pest! I break you, I go HOME!” He shouts, as if he can force her compliance with sheer volume. Kacia freezes momentarily as she takes in his words and her hands fly up to her ears, still covered with her beanie. She steels her shoulders and snarls. 

“You want a fight? Fine! You got one!” He nearly matches the troll’s volume. She’s good, better than good, but he’s got brute force and wild desperation, she only has two small knives. It’s a dangerous combination. When he lands a glancing blow to her shoulder that nearly knocks her off balance, I snap out of it. Why am I just standing here stupidly? I should be helping! I charge forward, catching him just as he rears up for another swing.

“Get away from her!” I roar, slamming into his side. He growls and grabs at me, and for a moment, it’s claws and fists, chaos and instinct. I slash across his arm and he lets out a furious snort. Then he does something unexpected, he twists. Pain erupts through my wrist. Something pops, wrong, sharp, and I stagger back with a shout, cradling my arm. The troll stops. Eyes narrow. And then… He sees them. My wrist. The markings that very obviously match his. His eyes go wide, dumb recognition dawning.

“You… You got the marks too.” He grunts. His expression is confused.

“You’re one of us. So what’re you doing helping her?!” He demands. Kacia freezes behind me. I feel her eyes on me. Probably fixed on the matching markings. The troll scowls deeper, thick brow furrowed like he’s trying to remember something he was told but never really understood.

“We were sent for her.” He grunts, gesturing at Kacia. 

“We get her dead, we go home. That’s the deal. That’s the only way home.” He states, the words sound almost rehearsed, like someone told him this same thing over and over until it stuck. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The world tilts. My heart doesn’t just pound, it thunders, like it’s trying to escape my chest. I feel Kacia’s eyes on me. Then the troll’s voice cuts through the silence, loud and stupid and impossibly sharp.

“Why ain’t you helping me kill her?” He demands, confusion and frustration twisting his tone. “You forget the rules? You wanna stay stuck here forever?” He asks. And he’s genuinely asking. He isn’t attacking me anymore, he actually seems almost concerned about me. As much as a troll can be that is. I flinch. Kacia’s silence behind me is louder than any scream. I can feel her eyes on me. Feel her brain scrambling to put together the pieces I’ve been hiding. It’s like her breath has been stolen from her, and now mine is going with it. Panic flares. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to TELL her. It was meant to be a calm conversation, where I could tell her my side, explain things properly. The only way this could have gone worse would be if the fae turned up in person and invited me to tea. Without thinking, without meaning to, I drop my glamour.