Page 52 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ZEVANDER

Z evander frowned, clutching his throat where a phantom ache lingered. Memories curled around his mind like barbed vines.

Golden skin. A dark pit. Screams. Horrible screams. An enormous serpent. Vaelora’s terrified eyes.

He squeezed his own eyes shut, the tension burning in his face as he fought to unsee that final image lingering in his mind. Zevander shook his head, desperate to relieve himself of it, but it remained there, branded in his thoughts.

Her hand reaching out for him.

Help me.

His eyes shot open, and he inhaled a sharp breath.

Distraction. He needed distraction. He lifted his gaze to the surroundings.

Dark, almost black, cobblestone streets, sparsely populated with only a few villagers.

Rain clouds looming overhead. A stretch of small shops at either side of the road, leading up to the town square and a stone fountain.

Caligorya, he suspected, but he saw no sign of Alastor. Perhaps he’d been slipped an elixir to have arrived without invitation.

Standing outside of a seamstress shop, the girl he recognized held a basket at the crook of her elbow, her long, midnight hair dancing over her shoulders.

She carried herself with a mystical grace, reminiscent of the moon goddesses he’d studied back home, as if she’d stepped out from the pages of those sacred texts.

Lunamiskza. The beautiful moon witch about whom he so often dreamed.

An overwhelming feeling of warmth surged through him, and he drew closer to her, desperate for that comforting embrace of familiarity she exuded. Zevander intended only to observe, to remain there for a while.

He couldn’t stand to imagine his reality.

No, it was safer in Caligorya.

With her.

A white cloth covered half the basket dangling from her arm, the other half peeled open, and she stared down toward whatever might’ve been inside, not bothering to look up at anyone passing by.

Curious, Zevander approached from behind, so close he caught a whiff of sweet citrus.

He couldn’t recall many scents from Caligorya, but hers was distinct.

Memorable. Like the fresh, ripe starshade fruit his mother sometimes brought home from the market.

A strong citrus tempered by sweet vanilla that he used to devour.

Peering over her shoulder, Zevander caught sight of a book tucked inside the basket, the pages of which she held open before flipping to the next. He glanced toward an older woman, whose wrinkled face twisted to a grimace as she approached the girl.

The older woman offered a wide berth, stepping into the street, in an effort to avoid her, it seemed.

A gentle breeze caught the errant locks of shiny hair that caressed the girl’s delicate neck.

So badly, he wanted to run them through his fingers, to feel the softness of her hair.

Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled her, wishing he could bottle that delicious scent.

Lips mere inches from the column of her throat, he dared himself to whisper in her ear.

To tell her she was the most magnificent creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Well, look what crawled out of the grave.”

Zevander turned toward a young girl who seemed roughly the same age as her, with light brown, almost sandy colored hair and blue eyes. A boy with similar features walked alongside her, a younger sibling, judging by appearance.

“The lorn,” she spat.

The dark-haired girl quickly covered her hidden book and turned to face them, her expression souring. “I’m in no mood today, Lilleven.”

“Awww, she’s in no mood today,” Lilleven said, turning to her brother, who sneered.

“The lorn is having a bad day.” She glanced up toward the shop and back to her, eyes raking over her in appraisal.

“What could you possibly want with the seamstress, when the only clothing you’re permitted to wear is the same ugly, black dress you’ve worn your whole life. ”

She pressed her lips together. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m waiting on my sister.”

“Oh, yes, the village whore.”

Fists clenched, the girl stepped toward her. “Don’t talk about Aleysia that way.”

“Or what? You’ll turn me into a toad with one of your spells?”

“Why are you so detestable? What have I ever done to you, to earn your hateful attention?”

“You exist.” Lilleven hissed.

“Mother says she should’ve been left by the woods,” the boy beside her taunted, before dragging his tongue over the blue lollipop clutched in his hand. “We’d have been better off.”

“I think she should be burned,” Lilleven sneered.

“You do not want to know what I think of you, Lilleven.”

“Tell me, you wretched witch. Tell me what evil thoughts plague your mind, so my baby brother can hear how awful you are. So awful, not even your own mother wanted you.”

The raven-haired girl’s jaw shifted, as though she chewed on the wicked words. “I long to see you trampled by horses, you terrible beast!” She turned her back to the girl, likely to hide the tears that’d sprung to her eyes.

Zevander smiled at the satisfying visual. Yes, he longed to see that, too. The more he imagined it, the clearer the image grew in his mind.

A savage growl tore from Lilleven’s throat, and teeth bared, she lunged toward the girl. “You ugly witch!”

Zevander shot out his palm for the Aeryz glyph, and the impact knocked her backward, into the street. Shouts and screams drew his attention toward a carriage barreling toward her.

“Lilleven! Watch out!” her brother screamed.

The squelch of squished meat and crushed bone was a harrowing echo beneath the screams of townsfolk.

The rogue carriage, with its two massive horses, trampled the girl.

He glanced back at the other girl, whose face had turned a ghostly pallor, her eyes reminding him of the same fear he’d seen in Vaelora’s.

“What have you done, boy?” At the familiar voice, Zevander twisted around to see Alastor looking on. “What have you done!”

“Nothing. I did not lay hands on her.”

“No.” His lips twisted in disgust. “You imposed your will. You took a life. One must be given.”

“What do you mean, one must be given? It isn’t real. It’s a dream.”

“I told you not to come here without me.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally. Something brought me here.”

Alastor looked skyward, his lip curled back in disgust. “You will leave here. Now.”

“No. What happens to her?”

“Leave now!” Alastor threw out his palms, and a force struck his chest, hurling him into a black void.