Page 109 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

T he jagged edges of the dead vein pressed against my back, as I lay outstretched with my arms and legs bound by chains.

Staring up at the sky left me wondering if Raivox might’ve been up there, looking down right then.

If he was, the position in which I’d been placed certainly didn’t look all that friendly.

Beneath me, chalked onto the black stones, was a strange symbol that I’d come to learn was associated with Deimos. At the edge of the vein, at least five meters above where I lay, stood the villagers, all peering down at me with curious eyes.

I trailed my gaze over them, in search of Zevander, but only found Father, Corwin and Aleysia, whose worried expressions told me they weren’t entirely at ease with the plan.

“The vein is, in fact, dead, is it not?” A chuckle died in my throat, when the priestess gave a sharp tug of the chain.

“For centuries.”

“Good. And you’re not secretly capable of reigniting it?”

“Only a god can reignite a vein. Once dead, a vein remains dead.”

“That’s a relief.”

“We will summon Deimos. If he spares you, the prophecy bears no truth. If he doesn’t, you will burn.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “And you intend to summon him? Why not just allow him to show on his own, if he’s so determined.”

The priestess raised a brow, tightening the binds at my feet. “Do you fear his judgment?”

“Of course not. I’m perfectly confident.” Again, I searched the crowd for Zevander, trying to decide if I preferred him there, or not.

“Very well, let’s begin.” She turned toward the crowd of villagers and raised her hands.

“From the time our ancestors arrived in the mortal lands, centuries ago, we have guarded this vein.” Her voice echoed through the deep trench.

“We mean the Vasmora no harm. Fate has shown two paths—one of birth and life, one of sablefyre and death. Morsana will choose. As her humble servants, we will accept whichever our beloved goddess decides.”

Erithanya turned back toward me and knelt at my side, yanking a small, skinny blade from her cloak.

Arm bound too tight to wriggle free, I watched as she slid the blade over my palm.

A white-hot sting trailed behind the tiny dagger as a skinny rivulet of blood spilled onto the rock below me.

“God of sablefyre, lord of flame, we call upon you by your name. Deimos. Deimos. Deimos. Blood is spilled upon the vein. Through sundered bones, we call your name. Deimos!” The crowd chanted along with her, their unified voices echoing through the chasm. “Deimos! Deimos!”

Unless I imagined it, heat warmed my back, and in that split second, the first tendrils of doubt crept over me. The crowd repeated the chant along with her, the rock at my back getting warmer, taunting my nerves.

Had I made a mistake?

Again, I searched the crowd for Zevander, wondering if he could see, could sense the panic rising to my throat. I tilted my head back toward the sky. How quickly could I summon Raivox, if needed?

Hotter, the rock burned, and as if she realized herself, Erithanya shifted on her feet, frowning. She scampered away, toward the crowd, and three of her Lyverian men pulled her up by the arms, lifting her out of the vein.

I closed my eyes to calm myself as they kept on with their chanting.

The heat beneath me dissipated like a dying candle. The rock turned cold. At first, I couldn’t tell if it’d gotten so hot that I’d turned numb, but I opened my eyes, and the chanting silenced.

Minutes ticked by as I lay staring up at the stars above me, an ache blooming in my back where the stone pressed against my spine.

At last, the priestess waved toward the Lyverian man standing beside her. Without hesitation, he climbed down into the vein and placed the flat of his palm onto the stone.

“It is cold,” he said. “The rock has gone cold!”

“Then, it is decided. She lives! Morsana has chosen her path, and we will welcome her and protect her. We will await to see what wonderful blessing she brings!”

The crowd behind her cheered, and my muscles sagged with relief. A cloaked figure caught my attention, slipping through the crowd, and lips pressed together, I shook my head.

A rms crossed, I stood across from Zevander, who sat sprawled in a chair, looking painfully delectable with his tunic untied. “You just couldn’t help yourself.”

A smirk played on his lips as he shrugged. “It was harmless.”

“Maybe, but I did feel something.”

“Yes. You were shaking. I assumed you were cold and sent heat through the rock.”

I tipped my head. “How did you do that from so far away?”

“Radiant heat.” He held out his palm toward the floor and warmth leeched into the soles of my feet up to my chest where it sank into my bones like a smoldering ember. “Same way I warmed you and Aleysia on the trek toward Foxglove.”

Lingering pulses of heat swept across my skin like fevered hands and a shiver rippled up my spine. “Well, you had me terrified for a moment. I thought they’d actually summoned a god.”

Zevander sat forward, curling his fingers around my waist, and yanked me close.

“Moon Witch, not even a god should dare to touch you without consequence.” Pushing a curl behind my ear, he drew my lips to his for a kiss.

“I have been very patiently waiting to strip you out of this dress.” He cocked his head slightly, trailing his gaze from my face to the high slits that exposed my thighs, and ran his finger up my skin there.

Desperately trying to ignore his caress, I narrowed my eyes on him. “Did you watch me at the Somnial, too?”

“Are you asking if I watched the pathetic mortal proposition you with his seed?” He snorted a laugh. “Yes.”

Brows raised, I tilted my head. “I’m impressed. I was expecting a more violent reaction.”

He raised a shoulder. “Not at all.”

Studying the impassive expression he wore, I frowned. “What did you do?”

Lips pressed together, he shook his head. “Nothing serious.”

“What’s nothing ?” I asked in a flat tone.

“Just added a small tincture of purganroot to his wine.”

Eyes wide, I slammed my mouth shut to stifle the laugh crawling up my throat. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Purganroot was a potent laxative known to last for hours. “Where did you find that?”

“The priestess has quite a collection of elixirs.”

“You broke into her temple?”

“The door was unlocked. Unguarded. I considered it an invitation to take what I wanted.” With a nudge of his arm, he urged me onto his lap, and the dress raised to just above my thighs as I straddled his legs.

He lifted his hips high enough to fish out small vial of pink fluid from his pocket, holding it up for me.

“What is that?”

“An aphrodisiac,” he said and leaned forward to kiss my neck.

I nabbed the vial from his hands and set it down on the table beside us. “I don’t need an aphrodisiac with you.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hmmm.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, as he kissed a line along the edge of my throat. “Very easily aroused.”

“Not nearly as aroused as I’ll be when this dress comes off,” he said against my neck, hooking his fingers into the tops of the slits at my thighs.

He lifted it up around the bare curve of my bottom, palming my cheeks as he tipped his chin up to seize my lips.

It was in that kiss that his demeanor switched.

Hands that had, only moments before, gripped me with unfaltering intent trembled over me, not with want, nor lust. He clutched me with the splitting tension of a dam just before it breaks.

His gaze lowered, severing the kiss. His brows knitted together, and once again, that rare flicker of vulnerability flashed over him.

The only time he seemed to let his guard down. “I need …”

I pressed the pad of my thumb to his lips and kissed the top of his head. “I know,” I whispered. “You don’t have to ask me for it.”

The sharp intensity in his gaze dulled to something haunted and hollow, brimming with unspoken nightmares.

Gentle hands slid to the small of my back, as he seemed to search my eyes for any sign of hesitation.

Perhaps a faltering blink, or a flicker of repulsion.

Instead, I kept my gaze steady, assuring him I was okay, despite my loathing to hurt him.

His palm cupped my cheek, and through that tormented stare, he looked at me as if I was something sacred, a secret he longed to keep for himself.

I’d watched him lash his blade through men and monsters, with unflinching brutality, but the way he held me with such reverence, like a fragile relic in his scarred hands, had my heart clenching for him.

“I had dreams of you, Moon Witch. When those things swarmed me and the church crumbled.” He dragged my lips to his and greedily swallowed every exhaled breath in a kiss that was graceless and raw, devouring and clutching me as if I’d vanish from his arms. “Through the pain, you came to me.” He kissed my jaw.

“An elixir in my blood.” Lips trailed down the column of my neck, and he kissed the base of my throat.

“A calming breath to this rage that seethes inside of me. You quiet the noise in my head. The ringing and screaming.” He ran his palm over my shoulder and kissed the curve of my bone.

“I can’t find peace without your touch.”

I threaded my fingers through his hair and wrapped my arms around his broad and sturdy shoulders. “Let me give you what you need.” With a gentle tug, I tipped his head back and kissed his throat, smiling when a masculine sound of satisfaction vibrated against my lips.

Higher, the dress rose, his palms trailing after it, touching every curve and dip of my body.

Until he reached my arms, forcing them up as he peeled the dress over my head and tossed it aside.

Light from the hearth’s flame flickered over his eyes, illuminating the glimmer of reverence in them as he stared back at me.

He gathered my hands behind my back and drew one of my breasts into his mouth, groaning as he sucked on my nipple.