The Survivor - Veil Walkers Book One

Chapter Nine

Denmark, 1387 CE - Deza

"WELL, the food's not poisoned," Deza flicked the computer display on her wrist from existence.

"That doesn't mean it's edible, though," Galen answered, prodding the pasta-laden bread questionably.

"It's nothing but carbs," Deza grumbled. "Jesus forbid we have to fight after eating this. We'd be so bloated."

"Maybe we can save the pasta to sling at the demon. I've heard it sticks when it's cooked." Galen grinned, shifting his meal to one hand and touching her hand with his other.

Deza felt him probe her mind, checking her stability. Her hand still trembled, but he tried to take her mind off such matters. They both knew she was dying, but Galen had hidden the fact from the others. There was nothing about the situation that could be changed, and, with Galen's help, she could be useful to the end. She refused to be another body at the compound, unable to complete a mission, and Galen would see her desire fulfilled.

Her own strength for life had given out almost fifty years ago, but Galen had stepped in, shortening his own life to grant her a longer one. Every demon-induced seizure took a few more days away from them both, yet no such creature lingered in her mind. They slipped in through the dreams, sometimes triggering seizure-traps that took her into depths of darkness she couldn't bring herself from. She had spent many exhausting, pain-filled days with Namid searching for the 'off switch' in her head, to no avail.

Then, one terrible night, Galen found her unconscious in the hallway and established the start of the link between them. She had only vague memories of those weeks following, while Galen increased its power, ultimately asking her not the question she wanted to hear, but one that, in her heart, felt almost as perfect: Will you allow our minds to bond?

She only wished he would bind their lives as well. She loved him dearly. And here, now, looking down into those hazel eyes and watching the wind toy with his messy caramel hair, she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. She had tried, oh, so many times, but he always refused. He always said she deserved better, but would never explain his meaning.

She loved him so much that it hurt.

"Pasta only sticks to walls," she chuckled, then turned her bread over behind the fence, dumping the pasta and scraping the last few noodles out.

"What did you do that for?" Galen looked from the pasta puddle to her.

"Just in case we need sticky ammunition later," she ripped off a piece of tomato sauce-soaked bread and started eating.

They spent several hours talking, nibbling on their bread, and watching the tavern. People came and went, drunk and sober alike. Singing broke out from time to time. A group of women, one of whom looked very much like Danika, stormed in and dragged several men out, to the delight and taunts of others. Two fights started, one inside and one in the yard, but they sensed no additional demonic source and left history to play itself out.

Full dark encompassed them, and they waited. Midnight came and went, and still the tavern buzzed with activity. Every so often, the possessed woman stopped in the doorway to smirk at them.

Deza frowned as her bracelet buzzed again. "Two in the morning," she grumbled and rubbed her eyes. The lack of sleep annoyed her. They sat on the ground now, as the night air had grown chilly, and Galen had an arm around her in what she suspected was an attempt to keep himself warm. They didn't have the energy to spare, else they would use their shields for the purpose. She, at least, had the wool dress. Galen had grabbed the wrong shirt for himself, and his thin fabric let the chilly air cut through to his skin.