The hut fell silent. The witch didn't answer. He simply stood there frozen, terrified… but stubborn as stone.
And for the first time, Demian realized that Valerie's time might be slipping away, and he could not, would not, lose her.
Demian stood before the witch, a young man whose beauty was far too striking for someone living in a place as rotten as this.
His silver hair fell in disarray, and his emerald-green eyes glimmered under the lantern light, pretty yet slick like a serpent studying its prey. A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips, the kind that never meant anything good.
He looked at Valerie, lying helpless on the cold stone slab, then back at Demian with a lazy, almost bored tone.
"So," he said, crossing his arms. "What will I gain if I wake this woman for you?"
Demian straightened. His voice was rough, exhausted, but steady. "Anything you want."
