Page 93 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER SIXTY

ZEVANDER

E yes anchored on the stocky man ahead of him, Zevander clutched a torch in his hand as he followed after Corwin, down the staircase to the temple’s undercroft.

On occasion, the mortal would glance over his shoulder, wearing a sheepish smile, but in doing so, his bumbling feet nearly cost him his balance.

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Corwin turned in the direction Zevander had gone the night before, when he’d trapped the entire village in the tomb with his scorpions.

Corwin unwittingly made his way down the dimly-lit passageway, until something squelched beneath his boot and he came to a stop. “What in heavens …”

A smile toyed at the corners of Zevander’s lips as he watched him examine the trail of liquefied organs.

Corwin ran his finger over the streaked blood and raised it to the torchlight. “It seems something was…injured.” He twisted around, undoubtedly realizing that the trail he’d failed to notice at first stretched all the way from the staircase to the long, dark path ahead of them. “Something was …”

“Yes?” Zevander prodded, amused by the dawning realization on the other man’s face.

“Not sure.” He cleared his throat and hastily wiped the blood on his pants. “Shall we keep on?” Spinning on his heel, he ventured deeper down the passageway, only glancing occasionally back at Zevander, though his nervous smile had hardened into a look of concern.

Good .

“So, have you known Maeve for long?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

Zevander bristled at the diminutive. “A while.”

“We’ve been friends for years.” It didn’t require much instinct to know he was lying. “She was always so sweet. A nice, sweet girl.”

Zevander could sense the nervous vibrations in the air, and while he had no ill intentions, it stirred something predatory in him.

Corwin lowered his gaze again as they approached the tomb, toward where the trail of gore was still apparent. “Wow, whatever it was lost quite a bit of blood.” Again, he sent a quick glance over his shoulder, before turning back toward the iron doors ahead.

His paces slowed, head slightly tipped.

He ground to a stop just short of the door and ran his finger over the soldered seam. “This was…your doing?”

Zevander strode up alongside him, and the other man flinched. “Allow me to be very clear. You speak a word of this to anyone, and I will watch you burn from the inside out.”

Corwin swallowed a gulp and lowered his hand away from the door. “Never cared for them, anyway. A whole village of child-starving bigots.” Without another word, he strode down the adjacent corridor.

Sensing movement on the other side of the door, Zevander held his torch above the crack near the floor, where a shadow flickered beneath. A faint tapping told him one of the villagers was still alive. Ignoring it, Zevander stalked after Corwin.

The end of the corridor widened at a set of wooden doors that Corwin pushed through into a vast room. Twice the size of the tomb, it was filled with stalls. An overwhelming odor of hay and shavings, beneath a slight acrid odor of ammonia, burned Zevander’s nose as he followed Corwin inside.

Puffs of white mist blew from Corwin’s mouth, and he shivered. “Always freezing on the north side of the temple.” He sailed a smile back at Zevander. “Unless that’s just you.” The smile on his face withered beneath Zevander’s apathy, and he twisted back around.

The horses paced, whinnied, and flared their nostrils, as if nervous.

“Only four left. Good God, they must’ve slaughtered the others for meat.

” Corwin rushed to calm two of them, while Zevander strode toward the opposite stalls, eyeing a black gelding who paced less than the others.

One that reminded him of Obsidyen back home.

As he approached, Zevander could hear a sound like bone scraping on bone, and realized the horse ground its teeth, its ears pinned back.

Zevander reached out a hand, and the horse whinnied, side-stepping his reach.

“Oh, that’s Vane. The gelding who thinks he’s a stallion around the mares. Likes to bite, the moody beast. Always thought he had a little demon in him.”

“Hey, now, shhhhh .” Zevander reached out again, allowing the horse to sniff his hand, and again, the stubborn beast recoiled. As the animal turned away, Zevander ran his palm gently down the horse’s neck, then paused, sending out a warm vibration of heat.

The grinding in its jaw stopped, its ears perked up, and Zevander smirked. “That’s it.”

“Of course he likes you. Well, then, it’s settled.

Vane is yours. We’ll get them tacked up.

” He pointed at a doorway at the opposite end of the stall.

“That’s a tunnel that leads out of the temple.

Goes beneath the wall that surrounds Foxglove, so no need to fiddle with the gate.

Was supposed to be an escape route for the clergy in the event of siege. ”

“You’re full of useless information, aren’t you?”

Vane let out a slight whicker as Zevander brushed his hand down its forehead to its muzzle.

“I find it fascinating, actually.”

“Of course you do.”

Corwin fished out some straw from a net hanging just outside the stall and fed it to the horse he petted. “The, um…dragon bird outside. Is it safe? Or should we just remain here until civilization rebuilds itself and avoid the possibility of dying?”

“You’re not required to go. In fact, I recommend you stay.”

“I’d prefer to follow the group. I just thought the group might be inclined to not leave the highly secured temple.”

“Highly secured?” Zevander snorted at that. “Two young women managed to gain entry without breaking much of a sweat.”

“I see.” Corwin’s brows lowered. “I just assumed you blew the doors off. Okay, then. Onward.”