Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 70

**OZ**

This might be the longest night of my entire life. It takes over four hours, four painful, silent, dragging hours, before Kacia finally begins to settle. Even then, it’s not true sleep. Her eyes flutter closed for minutes at a time, only to snap open again, searching the room until they land on me. Like she’s making sure I haven’t moved. Like she needs to know I’m still here, still keeping my distance. Still safe. And I am. I haven’t moved from my spot against the wall. I don’t dare. She hasn’t asked me to come closer, so I won’t. I won’t do anything that might make it worse. Even if every single glance she throws my way feels like a knife straight through the chest. When she looks at me like that, it’s not her. Not really. It’s the magic. The fear. The remnants of whatever instinct was triggered when she looked directly into my demon eyes. But that knowledge doesn’t make it easier to sit here and watch the aftershocks tear through her. I thought it felt like a long time when I was blindfolded and trapped after being summoned. I was vulnerable and in pain.Then when I was trapped by the drainers, more pain, and it felt like there was no hope for me at that point. But this? Watching her go through it? Experience those feelings? That’s so much worse. If I could take it from her, every shiver, every tremble, every jolt of waking panic, I would. I’d rip it out of her veins and drag it into my own without hesitation. I know this fear wasn’t real. Not in the way it felt. It was magically induced, triggered by my eyes, by my failure to maintain control. And that’s the most twisted part. Because even though it was the magic doing the damage… It was still me she looked at. It was still me she feared. And no matter how much I try to tell myself it wasn’t my fault, that doesn’t erase the impact. Magic or not, the fear she felt was real. The pain was real. Her retreat from me, that was real. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I never would. But I did. Just by being what I am. And maybe that’s the part that breaks me most. I didn’t lose control because I was careless. I didn’t drop my glamour to scare her or to intimidate her or to make a point. I kissed her. I let myself want something. I let my guard down. Just a little. Just for a moment. And that was enough to undo everything. What’s maddening is that while I know I caused this, I can’t bring myself to accept the full weight of blame. Not completely. I didn’t ASK for this magic. I didn’t ASK to be made this way, to carry this curse in my eyes and blood. It’s not my fault that the universe decided to lace my biology with terror. I didn’t choose for my true form to unravel people’s minds when they get too close. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Intent doesn’t erase consequence. And now I’m left with this bitter, unfair truth, I can’t be myself around her. Not fully. Not safely. Not without risking this happening all over again. I want to relax around her more than almost anything. I want to laugh and tease and lean into her warmth without fearing what will happen if my control slips. I want to belong in her world without having to wear a mask the whole time. But maybe I don’t get that. Maybe this is the trade off. Maybe being near her means constantly holding myself back, measuring every breath, checking every flicker of magic in my body like I’m balancing on a tightrope above a pit. And I’m not perfect, of course I can’t hold a glamour perfectly all the time, especially in a situation like that. It’s not fair that I can’t be myself, I feel like I’m being punished for it, not by Kacia, just… By the universe in general. It’s not fair that I can’t ever really relax. And… It’s REALLY not fair that if this happened once… It could happen again. And there is no way I can risk that, because I don’t think either of us would survive a second time.

I don’t sleep. I stay up all night, motionless on the floor, watching over Kacia. My back is killing me. My legs are numb. My ass feels like it’s fused with the floor. But I don’t move. Not an inch. Not even when the cramp in my left side starts to pulse like a second heartbeat. Not when the ache in my shoulders settles in like an old friend. I sit still because the alternative, shifting, getting up, doing anything that might disturb her, feels unthinkable. In the early hours of morning, just before the sky outside starts to pale, Kacia finally slips into something like real sleep. The twitching stops. No more flinching awake, no more frantic glances thrown my way like she's checking for a monster in the dark. Her breathing evens out, relaxes by degrees. It should make me feel better. It doesn’t. I sit there and stew. Think. Overthink. Try to come up with a plan, like any of this can be solved with strategy. And part of me, some small, cowardly part, wants to run. To leave while she’s still asleep. If I’m not here, I can’t hurt her again. It’s simple math. Remove the threat. Problem solved. But I know that’s a lie. A tempting one, sure, but still a lie. She’s not safe if I’m gone. Last time I left her, she was attacked by a wraith and barely made it out alive. If I’d been there… Maybe it wouldn’t have gotten that far. Maybe she wouldn’t have come that close to dying. So yeah. I can’t risk that happening again. Which means I have to stay. And I WANT to stay, more than anything. That’s the truth that twists inside me like a knife. I’m relieved I have an excuse to remain by her side. But there’s guilt in that too. Because I wasn’t supposed to be here this long. I was supposed to be finding a way home, to my siblings, my family. I do miss them. Of course I do. My brother. My sister. The pieces of myself I haven’t seen in what feels like forever. But the thought of being separated from Kacia now? It feels just as unbearable. Maybe worse. I try to ease the guilt by telling myself the truth, I can’t get home right now. Not with that damn fae lord keeping the way blocked, my magic still tangled and half shackled by his curse. But even if that changed, if I was suddenly handed a perfect portal home, I’m not sure what I’d do. I tell myself I’d leave. That it would be the right choice. The safe choice. But if Kacia asked me to stay? Hell, I don’t even think she’d need to ask. If we were together, really together, I could make it work. I’d find a way to balance both worlds. I’m sure of it. But that’s not where we are. That’s not the reality I’m sitting in. Not after what happened last night. Not after I terrified her by just existing wrong for one second. Maybe I shouldn’t get any closer to her. Maybe I can’t. As much as it kills me to admit it, that kind of closeness, it’s dangerous. She was finally starting to trust me again. Starting to let me in. And I shattered that without meaning to. So what happens the next time? What happens when we get too close, too comfortable, and I slip again? Because let’s be honest, I will. I’m a disaster when it comes to her. I flirt without thinking. I tease without restraint. Being near her feels good, feels natural, and I always end up leaning in closer than I should. It's not calculated, it just happens. Every single time. And if I stay, it’s bound to happen again. We’ll get caught in one of those moments where her eyes soften, and my guard drops, and the space between us disappears like it was never there to begin with. And I can’t let that happen. Not again. So I guess the best thing I can do, the responsible, rational thing, is go home. I’ll help Kacia deal with the fae lord, finish this cursed detour, and then leave. Get out of her life before I cause more damage. Before my presence becomes a curse instead of a comfort. And I hate it. I HATE it. It’s the right option, the safest one, and I despise every part of it. Because it’s not what I want. What I want is her. I want to stay. I want to be close, to be needed, to matter. But unless some miracle drops from the sky and rewrites the rules of what I am, unless I can look at her without fear ever being a risk, it’s not going to work. So I stay still, spine screaming, heart aching, watching her sleep in the pale, creeping light of morning. Knowing that I’ve already made up my mind. And knowing I’ll hate myself for it either way.