{WATTYS 2023 WINNER}
• Book 1 of the Daegelus series •
While hunting for his missing friend, Elijah stumbles upon a fiery journalist, who so happens to be looking for the same people as him: the doctors who experimented on him when he was a child. B...
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When his back hit the wall of a dark, piss-pungent alley, Elijah grunted and grimaced.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" the orange-haired journalist exclaimed as she hurried to him while the rift closed behind her.
But the demon pulled his arm away from her before she could grab it. "Where the hell are we?" he snarled, looking up and down the alley. He couldn't see anything he recognized at either end, only deserted streets.
"We're just off Sycamore Boulevard," she told him. "The Central Dawnward Hospital is nearby. They can help y—"
Elijah tensed up at the very mention of a hospital. "No hospitals," he snapped, silencing her.
"But you've been shot! If you don't get that looked—"
"I'll be fine," he grumbled, watching a car drive by the left end of the alley. He had no idea where Sycamore Boulevard was; he hadn't been anywhere in the city other than the street the El'Vorian Horizons sat on and the garage he had a few blocks away from it.
That was where he needed to go. He had to get to his garage, grab his things, and get the hell out of Dawnward.
"But what if those people find us and you can't get away?" she asked.
"Those people are precisely why I'm not going to a hospital," Elijah uttered, looking at his leg. "They'll have people in every hospital and clinic by now looking for us." He carefully used his index finger's claw to cut the hole in his trousers where the bullet had cut through, and when he saw the silverish smoke steaming from his congealed wound, he scowled irritably. If he didn't get the bullet out soon, the silver would poison his blood to a point his body wouldn't be able to recover from.
"What do we do, then?" she asked worriedly.
Keeping his leg straight, Elijah slowly sunk to the ground and reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a butterfly knife.
The girl stepped back with an anxious look on her face.
But Elijah didn't have time to convince her that he wasn't going to kill her. He sliced his wound wider, grimacing as he did. Then, he reached into his leg with his thumb and index finger and desperately fished around for the bullet.
"Uh...you should wash your hands," the girl said.
He found the bullet and gripped it with his claws. "Aren't you a demon?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at her disgusted face. Then, he pulled the bullet from his leg and dropped it on the ground.
She frowned at him. "Yeah...but germs."
Elijah tore the bottom of his trouser leg off and tied it around his wound. Then, he used the wall to help him climb to his feet.
