"Valla!"
Racing down the alleys she fires bolt after bolt, felling demons with every shot. The more demons that come, the more magic that flows through her. She enjoys it, watching them fall. Seeing them writhe in agony is satisfying. Her body burns with the power. She shoots a group of feasting zombies off of a human. Walking up she stares down at the man, his eyes wide with pain and horror.
"Please...help me." The man begs, shaking as he tries in vain to push his intestines back inside the gaping wound. She bends down, and to her horror, she sees that her hands have become elongated, jointed claws. She scoops up his innards.
"Valla."
Her eyes snap open and swing wildly on the figure above her. It catches her hand expertly, albeit wobbling from her strength. When her senses return she realizes it is only Lyndon in the darkness of the room.
"You know, your eyes are just terrifying in the dark," he quips, letting go of her hand. He shuffles, then lights a match, lighting a lamp at the bedside in turn. The dim light seems blinding for a moment and she squints to block it out. When she adjusts, she finds him sitting on the edge of her bed. Valla sits up and pushes the covers off, feeling the heat escape from under the thick blankets. Her mind tries to cling to the dream she was having, but it is fading fast. The feelings still linger though, and she swears she can taste blood on her tongue. She looks at her hands, turning them over to inspect them. They were thin and nimble, fingernails trimmed short instead of claws.
"You were screaming again," he states. She pushes the hair out of her face and sighs, leaning back against the headboard.
"Are you alright?"
No.
The answer was instinctual, but it never made it past her thoughts. What good would it do to tell him that?
"I'm sorry I woke you," she apologizes flatly.
"Do you remember what you were dreaming about?" He asks.
Demons.
"I don't recall," she breathes.
"Remind me never to play poker with you," he narrows his eyes skeptically. Her body begins to chill as the sweat evaporates, she welcomes the cold. Closing her eyes she focuses on her senses. The sway as the sailed through the sea. The smell of the salt and wood of the ship. The pressure on her spirit from Lyndon's life force. Her heart still pounding against her ribs.
"How close are we to morning?" she asks.
"Closer to it than sunset, but that is just a guess." He replies, "You know you can talk to me right? It might help."
"You are being intrusive, Lyndon."
"Oh, I'm sorry, being woke up to you screaming is also quite intrusive." He frowns. Valla takes a deep breath, feeling her rage building. Swallowing hard she pushes it down. Lyndon was trying to help. Part of her appreciated that he did even when she was short with him.
"I dream about my the death of my parents. I dream about Halissa. I dream about the faces of the dead. I dream about demons and blood. I dream about the power inside me and the fact that it comes from being part of the very thing I hate. I dream about the death to come," she rattles on until her chest feels tight. The lump in her throat is almost unbearable, but she does not let tears come. Crying would do nothing.
"I think that is the most you've ever told me about yourself," he jokes, and in an instant, the tightness recedes. She runs her hand back over the top of her head, pushing the long front locks out of her face. It felt like physically slipping back on her waking mask when she did. As her awareness expands she realizes he is shivering.
"You should get back to bed and warm up," she dismisses.
"I don't think I will be sleeping any time soon," he replies. "Anyways, my bed is under the window and this far north there is no escaping that wind."
"Sorry," she whispers.
"I don't expect you to control the weather," he laughs.
"No, I meant for everything. Rea, the children, for making you feel like you have to follow me on my quest. I know you hate Bastion's Keep, you didn't have to follow me. You don't owe me anything." She looks away from him
"That's not why I follow you. None of what happened is your fault," he says softly. "I was the only one that could stop any of it and I failed," she feels the words continue even though she does not want it. His hand rests on top of hers and she nearly recoils.
"What are you talking about? You did stop it. You're still stopping it. You cannot possibly think that you alone can protect everyone. Anyways, I get all the gold I could ever have in a lifetime fighting with you. At very least you should be proud of inspiring my positive life changes."
She feels the corners of her mouth tug up and turns back towards him.
"Green," he says, making more eye contact than she was ever comfortable with.
"What?"
"Your eyes, when they're not glowing, they're green. I like that." She realizes his hand is still on hers from the slight tremors of his shivering. She pulls back and sighs, casting her eye over him skeptically. Part of her distrusted him, but another part of her, one she does not understand, piques.
"Get in," she throws back the covers.
"What?" He asks not comprehending.
"I will not offer twice," she replies. She sees it click and he hastily climbs under the covers with her. Valla scoots backward, creating distance and lays down facing him.
"I never thought I would receive such an invitation," he smirks suggestively, but keeps to the opposite side, careful not to touch her. One of his positive traits was his ability to discern what he could get away with.
"I already regret this," she sighs.
"I knew you would not be able to resist me forever," he continues dramatically.
"Would you like to go back to your bed?" She asks bluntly and he pouts.
"Here is fine. Much warmer," he replies quickly. "After you help finish cleaning up Arreat, where will you go?"
"Probably back to the Dreadlands to rejoin with the other hunters, but Arreat will be a large task on its own."
"Do you really think you need to be fighting demons all the time? Don't you ever think about rest, or what you want to do outside of hunting demons."
"I died with Halissa, a part of me at least, the demon hunters restored me by making me what I am. That is our mission, we carry it so that others may not have to."
"Gods, you are always the martyr, you know that?" He scoffs. She frowns at him.
"It is easy for you to not understand, you were not given power. You do not carry the weight that comes with it."
"I understand grief and guilt, and I think that your choices have more to do with that than your sense of responsibility. And I have my own talents, thank you very much." The criticism hits deeper than he probably intended.
"I wish that you could have had closure with Rea." It had been another disappointment to have traveled all the way to Kingsport to find that she and her children had fell victim to Maltheals invasion. They were buried by Rea's surviving family well before they managed to arrive.
"At least they got proper burials right?" He sighs bitterly. "I guess you're the closest thing I have to family right now."
"Likewise," she mutters realizing it was spoken aloud this time. Lyndon does not miss it, he was rather perceptive like that.
"Glad to hear you say so, though it is utterly out of character for you to be this...warm," he looks around the bed for effect.
"Don't get used to it."
"I know better, I'm sure you'll be stone again tomorrow. We'll go about our time together pretending that you don't have crippling night terrors and an insatiable appetite for self-destruction. Fighting endless hoard of demons for gold so that I can chase my own wanton desires. Living the horror of the burning hells every single day."
"You don't have to follow me you know," she replies defensively.
"Valla, I'd follow you into the depths of hell itself," he brushes against her hand under the blanket.
"You're a foolish man, Lyndon," she scoffs but lets him lace his fingers with hers. "You have nothing to gain from me."
"I am foolish. My desires are always unreasonable, but that has never stopped me. Consider that maybe I don't want anything from you. You might actually like what I'm offering if you try it."
"Your efforts would be better spent elsewhere."
"Hardly," he squeezes her hand gently and she looks away, breathing deep, feeling the lump again.
"You're not fucking me," she says bluntly.
"Trying is half the fun and tomorrow is always a new day."
"What did I do to be bothered so?"
"All you have to do is tell me to stop." He coos, but she stays silent. "I feel like I might be making progress." She sharply kicks out and hits his shin.
"Perhaps I spoke too soon."
"Perhaps."
"But really am I the worst thing for you? Who else would keep you company out there slaying demons? You would be incredibly lonely without me. I am excellent moral support."
"Lyndon," she sighs his name.
"Yes?"
"Shut up," she smirks and shakes her head, turning back to him. He huffs, but nods. She closes her eyes once more, feeling the brush of his thumb across the back of her hand. For the first time in a long time, she falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.