Page 44 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

A loud crack echoed through his mind, and the outcry that followed struck his nerves like a tuning fork.

Teeth clenched, he balled his hands into tight fists, his muscles shaking with tension.

He opened his eyes, to see the girl had fallen to her knees, a bright red streak of blood stretched across her back.

A furious animal clawed inside his chest, the rage blurring his vision. Short, ragged breaths stuttered out of him, as he fought to rein in the urgency to tear through the soldier’s armor and rip him to bloody shreds.

The soldier drew back again, and like a crack of lightning, the whip came down across her back in another bloom of red.

She cried out again. “Please…I’m…I’m sorry!”

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one. I swear it.”

Another crack of the whip, and she sagged forward on a plume of upturned dust as her body collapsed. “I’m…not lying.”

Sneering back at her, he struck again, the vicious snap biting into her delicate skin, a deeper red streak than the last.

Her scream echoed around Zevander, cutting across his chest like a jagged blade.

“Who were you talking to!”

“Tell him,” Zevander said through clenched teeth. “Tell him the truth.”

“An angel. I was talking to an angel.”

The soldier laughed. “An angel. So, you lied, after all.” Without warning, he struck her again. And again. “Where is your angel now?”

As he drew back for another crack of the whip, Zevander stepped between him and the girl, and as the leather sliced through the air, he caught it like flames across his palm. Snarling, he wound the whip around his hand, drawing the soldier closer. Closer.

Brows pulled tight, the soldier snapped his gaze to the whip and back to the invisible entity tugging at him. He dropped its handle, while Zevander held on tight to it, and took a step back.

Zevander closed his eyes, and the first glyph that came to mind was the one he’d learned most recently.

The flame.

He held out his palm for the flickering black fire.

“What is this? What is this witchcraft?” the guard said, fear and panic shimmering in his eyes.

Zevander thrust his hand forward, and a beam of fire shot from his palm, catching on the guard’s tunic and armor.

He’d never seen armor catch alight before, and eyes wide with intrigue, he watched the violet glow of the flame dance over the metal, gnawing at the surface as if it longed to bite through and consume the soldier.

The soldier’s outcry echoed through the trees, and he patted at his flaming garment. When he pulled his hand away, two of his fingers had burned to ash that carried on the wind. The guard screamed as the fire caught, and he dropped to the ground, rolling back and forth across the dirt.

Zevander let out a bitter chuckle while watching him panic, as he frantically tried to smother the flame.

He’d never taken pleasure in the torment of others, but his pain, his suffering, felt justified.

As Zevander watched the man’s struggles, a strange elation stirred in his chest. Satisfaction.

The kind of punishment he couldn’t inflict on his own tormentor.

He turned to the girl, whose face had twisted into an expression of terror.

Terror he had incited.

She pushed to her feet and ran toward the guard, falling at his side. “Let me help you!”

Help him?

Arms flailing, the guard didn’t bother to still himself as she reached for his hand, barely missing that flame.

“You mustn’t move! I need to smother it!”

Smothering it would burn her flesh, just as it had the guard’s fingers.

Zevander held his palm out, and the flame jumped from the soldier’s armor back to his hand.

The soldier held his trembling arm to his chest. “Get away from me, witch! Don’t you touch me! Sacton Crain will hear of this!”

“No, please. I’m begging you!”

“You’ll be banished to The Eating Woods!” He stumbled to his feet, teetering to the side, then headed down the path in the opposite direction.

“Please! I didn’t mean to …. I’m …. No, no, no.” She held her face in her palms, and the quiet, whimpering sobs cut across Zevander’s chest like knives.

Growling, he left the girl there and strode after the soldier.

Do not touch him , he reminded himself. But how could he possibly stop him?

He glanced around and spied a rock at the edge of the path—one with sharp edges. Swiping it up, he chucked it at the back of the soldier’s head. The crack against his skull ensured a grievous injury.

The soldier collapsed to the ground, his body seizing for a moment, before his eyes shuttered closed and he went still. To be sure he wasn’t dead, Zevander knelt beside him, listening for breath. A faint wheezing expelled past his lips, and Zevander leaned closer.

“You will remember nothing of this day,” he whispered in the soldier’s ear. “When you wake, your thoughts will be nothing but a black void.”

He turned back toward where the girl tearfully gathered her basket of fruits and strode back to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She shook her head, the shine of tears glistening down her cheeks. “I’ll be banished to the woods by day’s end. I cannot talk to you.”

“You won’t. He won’t remember anything…if he bothers to wake, at all.”

“Did you kill him, Angel?”

“No. But I wanted to. I could have. Tell me your name.”

“I would imagine an angel would know my name. Unless you’re not an angel, at all.

Forgive me.” She gathered up her cloak, fastening it around her neck with trembling hands.

As she stepped in the direction of the cottage, she hesitated.

“Whatever you are…I promise to keep your secrets. But I cannot speak with you again. Agatha is waiting for my return. I should be on my way.”

Zevander stared at her, the urge to draw his calloused fingers across her face compelling him closer.

Closer.

He reached out, eager for one touch.

A hand gripped his arm, and Zevander’s muscles lurched as he turned to find Alastor glaring back at him.

“You must never touch them!”

The girl kept on the path, the scenery around them fading to blackness.

“It isn’t real, remember?”

“How did you arrive here yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Zevander lied. “I longed to be here, and I arrived.”

“You must never venture to Caligorya yourself! It’s dangerous. Had I not found you, you might have never returned.”

“Why would I want to return? What awaits me when I wake? More suffering? More brutality? More wounds that need stitching? Why wouldn’t I stay here?”

“Because you have a destiny, and that destiny does not reside in Caligorya.”

Zevander’s chuckle held little mirth. “What destiny? To die a slave? To be humiliated and shamed?”

“The gods have favored you. They will see you set free.”

“To Hell with the gods!” Zevander growled. “The gods have forsaken me!”

“They have not forsaken you, boy. They are simply not ready for you. Patience. Do not return to Caligorya again without me.”