Page 183 of Starside

Relief slams into me. I open my eyes, blinking away sleep, only to see a creature with a skull-like face reaching toward me, with claws of glimmering steel. They scrape against each other gently as they stretch out. Fear grips my chest.

Demon.

Without moving, my gaze travels to the mouth of the cave, where the rain has stopped. The water that was like a door in front of it is gone.

I don’t dare breathe. I don’t dare blink.

The claw goes right toward my face, sliding against my cheek—not stopping until it reaches my sword, still on my back, the metal peeking up from behind me. My hands tremble against the stone ground.

The creature seizes. Stops. Then it throws its head back and screeches, revealing rows of sharp, mismatched teeth.

That’s when I strike. I kick it with all my strength, and when it staggers back, I reach for my sword, fast as ever. It recovers quickly, and lunges forward.

I put my blade up to block it, both hands gripped tightly around its hilt. Entranced by my metal, the demon launches forward, claws of steel extended, reaching.

It hits me with the force of a wagon, slamming me against the wall with blinding speed. My head hits the jagged rock. My vision spins.

Those claws reach past my blade and wrap around my neck.

I gasp.

Before they can shred my throat to ribbons, the demon is pulled back by its protruding spine.

Raker doesn’t waste a moment before putting his blade right through its skull.

Raker.

Relief washes over me in a wave. Not just because he saved me from the demon. But because he’s … alive.

Chest heaving, I grip the wall for purchase. I shoot a look at the mouth of the cave, and the water that’s no longer there, but mercifully, it seems we won’t need it any longer. The entrance begins to be bathed by the first signs of day.

But Raker isn’t looking at the sunrise. He’s not looking at the dead creature. No, he’s looking at me.

At my throat.

He takes a step forward. Am I bleeding? The cuts can’t be deep or I would be dead. I reach a hand up.

And that’s when I feel it. The long tears in the fabric. I swallow.

“What. Are. Those?” is all he says.

“Nothing,” I say, voice sharp, as if I could command him to forget this.

Instead, he takes a slow step toward me. Another. I can hear the intensity of his breathing. “They are very clearly not nothing.”

I turn to leave, but his arm juts out, blocking my path.

I could stab him. I don’t know if it would do me any good. He’s seen them already. There’s no taking that back.

The fear, the shame, the guilt of these markings … it has consumed me like a poison. Now the truth is out. It can’t ever be locked away again.

“What. Are. Those?” he asks again.

Instead of shrinking away, I lift my chin.

Fuck shame. Fuck hiding. I’ve been through too much—this body has survived too much to be ashamed of itself.

I rip my shirt over my head and throw it to the ground. Only the tight band of fabric around my breasts remains. He sees it all now.