Page 122 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

MAEVYTH

S kinny, brittle roots crackled beneath my boots as I stepped through the dense fog.

In search of a way out of the strange woody labyrinth, I’d turned around, retracing my steps back toward the hole I’d stepped through.

Surely, I should’ve made my way to the center of the tree again, but the more I walked, the more lost I felt, surrounded by tall roots that seemed to reach out for me as I stepped over them, and that awful green glow.

Where do I go?

I lifted my gaze toward the darkness overhead, certain that something was watching me, and stumbled forward.

The tip of my boot sank into a soft depression in the ground and a white pocket of air hissed out.

The stench of rot and decay filled my nose and I slapped a hand to my face, stumbling away.

Another hiss told me I’d stepped on a second pocket. And a third.

My vision flickered and wavered, my head light, as dizziness claimed my balance.

I threw my hand out to steady myself against one of the roots, and a prickle raced across my knuckles as tiny, vine-like branches crawled over them.

Yanking my hand free, I staggered on, vision growing wobbly and unfocused.

Once outside of the steam pockets, the dizziness seemed to lift a little, and a tickle of nausea settled in my stomach.

The crackle of roots from behind sent an urgent rush to my muscles and I hastened my steps. Over roots and under low-lying branches, I traversed the strange landscape by nothing more than that unnerving glow of light.

Another crackle.

Hiss.

Someone was following me.

With light steps, I moved faster, in no particular direction, desperate to find a way out of the damned labyrinth of trees.

More cracking. Closer than before.

Not daring to turn around, I dashed through the darkness.

As my boot struck an upturned root, a force crashed into me, knocking me to the ground and the air exploded out of my lungs on a scream.

I turned onto my back, horrified as Zevander’s massive body scrambled up mine, his eyes, black as pitch and barely discernible in the darkness.

He pinned my wrists at either side of my head, his gaze wild and ravenous.

“Zevander?” I whispered, desperate for one flicker of recognition.

There was nothing.

Not the man I’d made love to the night before. Not the one who’d fought back at the church until his body had given out on him and the walls collapsed around him. Not the angel who’d whispered to me in the darkness of my cell.

Something else stared back through his eyes. An ominous presence with no soul.

“Come back to me.” Through a mist of tears, I watched for a twitch. A shift of his eyes that told me he was still there, fighting. The small glimmer of hope that I’d seen the few times he’d slipped into his head.

He wasn’t there.

The man I’d grown to love was gone.

A golden heat bloomed in my wrists where he gripped me, a kindling of warmth at first that settled the chill across my skin.

It sank beneath my flesh, clinging to my bones.

The gold shifted to orange as the heat writhed in my muscles, lashing and curling through me as it pulsed through my body.

Sweat trickled down my skin and my breath hitched with the feverish grip of my lungs.

His eyes held no tension. No sign of restraint.

He was burning me from the inside without a flicker of remorse.

Tears streaked down my temples as a sharp resignation cut into my heart.

I needed to trick him into consuming my blood—a perilous gamble, seeing as the Lyverian guard had perished.

My very soul shook at the thought of possibly losing him, but he didn’t deserve this fate.

Even at the risk that he might also perish, he’d suffered too much in his life to live as a mindless, monstrous beast at another’s command.

I loved him too much to let that happen.

“Bond with me,” I whispered. “I accept.”

The surge of heat slowed to a lazy pulse, and as he pulled back, the rage from moments ago slackened to something that turned my stomach.

A greedy, sickening lust burned in his eyes, but not one that belonged to Zevander.

It wasn’t borne from love and trust. What reveled in my surrender was something predatory. Something that sought power.

The monster who longed to make me his.

“I belong to you,” I lied, forcing myself to believe that somewhere behind that rapacious mask, Zevander might’ve been touched by my words.

He released one of my arms and took hold of my jaw, but not in a loving way.

His grip was steadying and painful, as he yanked my dress up to my thighs and pressed his groin into me.

Eyes rolled back, he let out a deep groan, and when he lowered his face to mine, I turned my head, giving him access to my throat.

He was too hasty, too willing to take from me to be my beloved assassin.

“Make me yours. Bond me to you eternally.” Despite the steely resolve of my words, my voice wavered with tears.

He dragged his nose over my throat as if he were savoring his prey. “Eternally,” he echoed, mesmerized, and loosened his grip on my wrist.

I sank one of my metallic nails into the delicate skin on my neck and slashed a quick line, gasping at the ease with which it cut.

A sharp sting burned across my throat, and eyes wide with what I could only surmise was bloodlust, Zevander clamped his lips over the wound.

Pressure stiffened my jaw as he sucked at that small cut, a sickening gurgle chasing each pull.

His muscles tightened in my grasp, his body rigid, his hands hasty and frantic, touching me everywhere.

“No!” a voice roared from somewhere distant, thundering around me.

“I love you,” I whispered. “Please come back to me.”

Zevander fell to the side and raised a trembling hand to his lips, his black eyes wide, brows pulled into a look of panic. Perhaps the first flicker of emotion I’d seen in him.

His scorpion stepped from his back, stumbling on its insectile legs. Its stinger sank into its own body and Zevander arched his back, a roar of pain ripping out of him.

“I’m sorry.” I reached out a trembling hand but hesitated to touch him. “Oh gods, I’m sorry.” My body shuddered as I watched him succumb to my blood. What have I done?

He fell onto his back, mouth gaping, choking. His chest rose and fell in labored spurts of breath.

Spiders scampered out of his mouth, fading into black smoke that drifted toward me before dissipating.

Behind him, the scorpion buckled, falling to the ground where it twitched, its stinger still reflexively stabbing its body.

Until at last, he stilled. The scorpion stilled.

A deafening silence settled around us, as if the world held its breath.

My lips trembled as I fought to hold back the sob pounding at the back of my throat.

On hands and knees, I crawled toward him and reached for his hand. The cold of his skin had me recoiling, but I pressed my ear to his chest.

Stillness.

The world around me spun too fast when I pushed up from him and I clamped my eyes shut, shaking my head. “Wake up now. You’re supposed to wake. You’re supposed to be okay.”

I shook him, a sharp gasp of a sob tearing from my throat. I clenched my teeth, biting back the emotion, refusing to accept that he was gone.

“Wake up, Zevander! Wake up!” I shook him again, harder, my voice splintering beneath a wretched pain that threatened to tear me open.

Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t gasp for breath. His skin grew colder, his face, paler.

“No, no, no. Breathe!” I pounded my fist against his chest. “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t leave me!” I pressed my lips to his, forcing breath in his lungs. “Wake up!”

Hands fisting his tunic, I hauled his upper body just enough to lift his head and cradled him in my lap. My body shuddered with another sob, and I tipped my head back, the anger pounding through me in violent waves.

“Morsana! Give him back to me!”