Damsel to the Demon

4. Azaruk

4

AZARUK

T he night air carries the stench of unwashed bodies and despair. I wrinkle my nose, disgusted by the weakness of these dark elves.

Damn , their arrogance reeks worse than their bodies.

My skin itches beneath the illusion of a dark elf soldier—a disguise I've perfected over centuries of deception. The magic clings to me like a second skin, concealing my demonic features beneath a facade of pointed ears and ashen skin.

Torchlight flickers across the camp, casting long shadows that dance between shabby tents and makeshift barracks. Dark elves mill about, their faces etched with a mixture of cruelty and boredom. I've infiltrated their ranks with ease, slipping into the role of a nameless grunt.

It's almost insulting how readily they accepted me, never suspecting the predator in their midst.

A commotion draws my attention. The captain, a brutish excuse for a leader, drags a human female behind him. Her white dress, torn and stained with blood, catches on every stone and twig. She struggles feebly, her movements as ineffective as a newborn kitten's mewling.

"Move aside," the captain barks, shoving past a group of soldiers.

I step back, keeping my eyes lowered like a good little soldier. But I can't help stealing glances at the woman. Something about her captivates me, stirring an unfamiliar sensation in my chest.

"Sir, shall I take her to the cells?" I ask, hoping to get closer. The words feel strange on my tongue, subservience an ill-fitting mask for a being like me.

The captain sneers, his breath reeking of cheap ale. "No need. This one's mine."

The human female thrashes in the captain's grip, her voice raw with anguish. "Kill me! I'd rather die than?—"

Our eyes lock.

Time stops.

My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes—they're... mesmerizing. Deep pools of liquid amber, flecked with gold. Sorrow and rage swirl in their depths, a tempest of emotion that threatens to drown me.

I've never seen anything like them.

My fingers twitch, longing to pluck those exquisite orbs from her skull. To preserve their beauty forever in my collection. My mouth waters at the thought. It's an urge I've indulged countless times before, a hunger as familiar as breathing.

But then I truly hear her words.

"Please," she begs, "just let me die."

Something shifts inside me. A foreign sensation, unfamiliar and unsettling.

Is this... empathy? Impossible. I'm a demon, for fuck's sake. We don't feel.

Centuries of existence have taught me that emotions are a weakness, a human frailty I've long since abandoned.

And yet...

The despair in her voice echoes through me, resonating with something long buried. Memories of my own past, of pain and loss, flicker at the edges of my consciousness. I push them away, unsettled by their sudden resurgence.

My nails lengthen into razor-sharp talons, hidden beneath the illusion of my disguise. The urge to kill rises—but not her. No, I want to tear into the smug bastard who dares treat such a treasure so callously.

I force myself to remain still, to think.

This changes everything.

My original mission seems trivial now, compared to the prize before me. The noble I was sent to assassinate fades from my mind, replaced by the burning desire to possess those eyes.

Those eyes will be mine. But not like this. Not broken and lifeless.

The captain's words slice through my thoughts. "Take her to my quarters. I'll be there shortly."

My blood boils. The urge to rip his throat out nearly overwhelms me.

But I can't. Not yet. I need a plan.

The camp is crawling with dark elves, and while I could slaughter them all, it would draw unwanted attention. Subtlety is key.

Those eyes. Fuck, I can't look away from them. Amber pools of sorrow and rage.

They're more captivating than any I've collected before. And suddenly, I realize - I don't want them lifeless. I want to see them change, to witness every flicker of emotion.

What would they look like filled with joy? With desire? With... gratitude?

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut.

I want her willing. I want her alive.

It's a revelation that shakes me to my core. Never before have I cared about the state of my prizes, only their beauty.

How dare that pathetic excuse for a dark elf covet what's mine? Those eyes belong to me. I've claimed them the moment I saw them. The captain thinks he can just waltz in and take her? Fuck that.

A messenger rushes up to the captain, whispering urgently in his ear. The captain's face contorts with rage, veins bulging in his neck.

"Fuck! Take her to my quarters. I'll deal with this first."

He storms off, leaving the guards to drag the woman away.

Perfect. I fall in step behind them, my mind racing.

How can I get to her without raising suspicion?

The guards' eyes slide over me, seeing only another faceless soldier. Their complacency will be their downfall.

The guards shove her into the captain's quarters, slamming the door. I linger nearby, straining to hear. Her muffled sobs pierce through the wood, each one twisting something deep inside me. It's an alien sensation, this... concern for another being. I should be revolted by my own weakness, but instead, I find myself drawn even more to her.

Then her voice changes. The sorrow transforms into white-hot fury.

"You bastards! I'll kill you all! Every last one of you!"

Her words drip with venom, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. This is no broken victim. This is a woman with fire in her veins. My kind of woman.

"I swear by all that's holy, I'll have my revenge! Even if I have to crawl back from the depths of hell itself!"

My lips curl into a grin.

Oh, she's perfect. Those eyes, that spirit - I must have her. But how?

I pace the corridor, my disguise itching like ill-fitting skin. I could simply slaughter everyone and take her. But no, that would draw too much attention and blow the mission I was sent here for. I need subtlety. My mind races, considering and discarding plans rapid-fire.

Her curses continue, each one more creative than the last. I find myself chuckling at her inventive threats.

Who knew humans could be so delightfully vicious?

An idea begins to form, taking shape like a sculpture emerging from raw clay. Perhaps I don't need to rescue her at all. Maybe what I need is to give her the means to rescue herself. To fan those flames of revenge into an inferno.

But first, I need to get her alone. Away from prying eyes and pointed ears. The captain's quarters are too well-guarded, too central. I need to move her somewhere isolated, somewhere I can work my magic without interruption.

My eyes glint as a perfect idea forms in my head. While I don't like soul binding contracts, I can make an exception for her. This fiery human with the captivating eyes deserves more than a quick death or a life of misery.

She deserves vengeance, and I'm just the demon to help her get it.

As I finalize my plan, a strange excitement builds within me. It's more than just the thrill of the hunt or the anticipation of a new prize. There's something else, something I can't quite name. A feeling of... possibility. Of change.

For the first time in centuries, I find myself looking forward to more than just the acquisition of a new pair of eyes. I want to see what this human will do, how far she'll go for her revenge. And perhaps, just perhaps, I want to be there to witness it all.

The game is about to change, and I can't wait to play.