Page 13 of When Death Called Life Home (When Deities Awaken #1)

Chapter 13

The Commander

ALORA

S creams still echoed in her mind. Different from the ones that had brought her here to Elysia. These cut off when blades touched the victims’ necks, ended short of their true potential. These didn’t call to Alora like the other ones had. No, they sang to her, just like the dark eyes of her stranger she saw as she’d escaped the massacre. Alora couldn’t get them out of her head. It was enough of a distraction from her hand to get her to the ground.

She’d left Kallias and shoved her anger at him down until she’d made it away from the carnage. Maybe she would no longer need to stick him with her new ice dagger. She’d be surprised if Xylia hadn’t been killed, even with the short time they’d been there, she doubted it’d be enough to get the nymph walking without help. The ladder to the ground would almost be a death sentence itself.

Something large bumped into her thigh, drawing her attention away from her thoughts long enough for her to realise she’d slowed her pace. A quick look downwards and Alora sucked in a breath at the beautiful feline trying to push her forward, keep her heading away from the slaughter. She complied, quickening her pace and putting more and more distance between herself and the treehouses. She cradled the arm of her burnt hand to her chest, limiting what it could bump into or scrape against.

No sounds of footsteps reached her ears, and eventually even the screaming faded into nothing. Not quite a thousand bodies and they were all taken in a mere heartbeat. She’d looked back on multiple occasions, and even though she knew she should be disgusted at what the Reapers were doing, too much of her marvelled at the way they moved. Alora read in books that fighting was often compared to that of dancing, but the parts of the human wars she’d witnessed looked nothing like the group dressed in black cloaks.

The Vitarce she’d witnessed fighting? They could perhaps be considered the middle ground. Not quite as elegant as the Reapers, but not as robotic, not as forced, as the humans.

The feline’s head bumped into her leg again, this time keeping pressure against it.

A puma’s body laid alongside her own, her hand brushing lazily over its soft fur. The sun glared around another’s body who stood over her, casting shadows over their face. Only the black, messy mop of hair atop their head gave her any clue as to who it might be.

“I swear that precious mind of yours is forever in the clouds.”

Alora squinted, trying to see better as she responded. She snipped back playfully, “It’s better than staring at your face all day.”

“Alora!”

Alora blinked away the scene from her mind, shifting her gaze from the now empty spot by her thigh to Kallias and the struggling nymph beside him in the near distance. They both stared back, Xylia trying to offer a smile but it appeared as more of a grimace.

“Over there!”

Kallias ripped his gaze from hers as his head shot in another direction and his eyes widened, jaw slackening. Alora backed away from them, tingles fizzed at her fingertips, creating a renewed burning in her injured hand. Vines and leaves brushed her arms while boots crunched over fallen ones from the direction Kallias stared. He couldn’t do anything. Not unless he left Xylia, it sat on his face in full view of Alora. And she knew he wouldn’t. As much as he thought of her as leverage, Xylia was his family. Alora wasn’t, though, so she wouldn’t put herself in the way of whatever trouble they were about to be in.

A force pulled her backwards, a vice like grip locked around her midsection and kept her against a solid wall of muscle. The movement sent her hand flying into her shoulder and sent searing pain up her forearm. Another’s hand slapped over her mouth, muting the whimper that worked its way up her throat and threatened to give her away .

The wall of muscle at her back froze at the sound, soft lips brushing her ear as they quietly spoke. “I’ll take my hand away but you can’t scream.”

Alora stilled at the voice. It provided him with enough response that his hand slipped from her mouth and she sucked in a quiet breath. “I’d really appreciate it if people stopped putting their hands over my mouth.”

If she thought the wall of muscles were tense before, she was wrong. Every single part of her back that brushed against his chest shifted as it went rigid. An intake of breath ended in silence as a group of people approached Kallias and Xylia, the brute who’d put her in her current condition amongst them. A short, dark-skinned woman with patches of pale scattered over her face and neck led at the front, flipping a dagger almost mindlessly between her fingers. Her long, black hair was braided away from her face, making her upturned sky blue eyes more vibrant.

What did they want now? Not that it mattered. Alora didn’t want anything more to do with Kallias.

“Your requested presence by the Elders has been moved forward. You’re to accompany us to a cell where you’ll stay for the night and await punishment sentencing upon sunrise.”

Kallias lifted his chin and straightened his back despite the weight of Xylia at his side. “I have received no word from the Vitarce Elders. Were they informed of the sentencing?”

A scoff echoed from the group, but from who specifically, Alora couldn’t tell. She did see the dagger within the woman’s grip stop spinning and disappear within a white-knuckled fist.

“I am not privy to the Elders' meetings, so I couldn’t tell you and nor does it matter. If one third of the council calls for a punishment trial then you attend without questions and receive your punishment,” the woman growled sharply.

The man’s chest rumbled behind Alora with a chuckle. “First time I’ve seen Izel use that tone.”

Alora turned her head but fingers within her short hair gripped tightly and stopped her.

“Uh ah, amorsa , always keep your eyes on the danger,” the man whispered.

Alora held back from rolling her eyes. “I was trying to but I only have one set of eyes.”

If humans could purr, she swore she heard it coming from the chest behind her. He readjusted his grip in her hair and firmly pulled her head back. Warmth exploded within her belly and sank deeper still. Her eyelids dropped down, half shielding her eyes from her mysterious stranger.

“Good girl,” he hummed. “I’m glad you recognise I’m anything but safe.”

“You’re like having my own personal stalker,” she teased halfheartedly. “Though at least you show up at the most convenient times.”

His dark eyes scanned over her face, and Alora imagined one of his eyebrows raising. “Stalker?”

“Someone who follows you around and gives you unwanted and obsessive attention.”

A feral grin stretched his lips wide, he angled her face forward again on the now empty space ahead of them and leaned down close to her ear. “I know what a stalker is, amorsa, and I hardly believe my attention on you is neither unwanted, nor obsessive.”

Alora sucked in a sharp, shaky breath as her eyelids fluttered closed. Damn it if he wasn’t right in his thinking, but she didn't want to crave that attention. She’d fought for three years on earth to not gain a man’s attention. Yet here she stood, barely holding herself back from begging for it. Not that she currently needed to. She needed to snap herself out of it, put distance between them .

“Why’d you do it?”

Hesitation filled his movements as his grip loosened a tiny amount on her hair. “Do what?”

“Kill all those people in the camp.”

He paused for mere seconds before his hand fell from her hair, fingertips lingering at the base of her neck before he pulled away from her completely and she could breathe. Only, Alora found a tightness around her chest preventing her from doing just that. The panic the space between them brought only heightened by her realisation of that fact. She did everything in her power to drag her focus away from it, from the crippling fear of dependency and onto his words.

“My Elders ordered me to.”

Alora spun to face him, her brows pinching together. “Your … Elders ordered you to murder a bunch of people?”

His gaze shifted to meet hers and she saw conflict within them like two bulls charging one another. A jarred moment when they collided and he blinked and looked away, directly towards the burned skin of her hand. Alora swallowed.

“They have more power over you.” She didn’t exactly ask it like a question, more saying it to herself. Anything to pull his attention away from her wounded extremity.

His gaze hardened, the muscles in his jaw flickering. “Who did that to you?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Alora replied.

The man pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “Earth has its own leadership, does it not?” He asked her. “One you can’t question or go against?”

“Yes. At least, for the most pa—wait.” Alora lowered her arms in front of her and narrowed her eyes back at him. “How’d you know I’ve been on Earth?”

“The serpent,” he answered. As if that explained it clearly enough.

Alora shook her head. “No, that would have just confirmed I haven’t been to Elysia before.”

The man stared down at her, jaw set as though he debated a hard decision. Perhaps she shouldn’t have confirmed not having been here before. Maybe he hadn’t already come to that conclusion himself.

She didn’t know what she expected to come from his internal debate, but it certainly wasn’t him offering her his hand. A quirk of her brow and he sighed.

“Walk with me?” When she still didn’t respond, he added as though saying the word was painful, “Please?”

“Why? So you can take me before these Elders of yours?” She queried, glancing at the abandoned space where Kallias and Xylia had been before they were taken.

The man scoffed. “If I were going to do that, I wouldn’t have hid you before the others arrived.”

Alora pursed her lips as her gaze dropped to his hand again, the rough callous’ that covered every inch of skin there. The neatly trimmed nails that allowed only a sliver of blood to cake beneath them. The muscles that shifted beneath as he kept his hand and arm outstretched for her. She looked back to his face and slowly slipped her good hand into his, and at the same time, the tension keeping her breath hostage fell away.

A genuine, breathtaking smile drew her closer. Only, the man took it as his sign to move, too. Alora refocused on their path, noticing creatures of all sizes crossing ahead of them. Every single one paused to look their way before disappearing into the forest foliage again. The beautiful puma who’d pushed her away from the massacre was the only one to appear and remain. Her head sat in line with the man’s torso, body relaxed despite the earlier events. Neither appeared to have a care in the world. Yet, high on his forehead, wrinkles formed from what she could see with his hood sheltering them.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked quietly, scared to disturb the peace of the forest.

The man only flashed her that breathtaking smile again and continued down the wild path. It could be called nothing else. Alora saw footprints if she looked closely enough, but they weren’t recent. At least not to her. She’d be surprised if someone walked the path even daily.

“I am capable of hurting you,” she stated confidently after another five minutes of walking.

“I know,” the man replied without hesitation. “Probably more than you realise, but that hand of yours needs healing and you need to know you can trust me.”

Alora bit back her next words and studied him.

“As much as I love you undressing me with your eyes, it would be safer to keep them on the path. You’re less likely to fall on your face, then.”

Alora rolled her eyes but shifted her attention back to where she walked. “Like you would allow me to faceplant. You come off as mean and scary, but you couldn’t help yourself from rescuing a damsel in distress. ”

“You don’t seem like the kind of damsel that wants saving when in distress.”

Alora’s gaze snapped to him at the same time her foot caught on a tree root, sending her towards the ground. The grip on her hand tightened, slowing her fall but not stopping it, and her other hand shot forward to prevent the incoming face plant. The pain that followed was immeasurable. She tugged her other hand free from the man’s and pushed herself onto her heels, only to find the ground refusing to let her wounded hand go. Alora wrapped her free hand around her wrist and pulled but it barely made any movement.

Above her, the energy shifted around the man and she felt his arms wrap around her chest to help her pull. His head pressed to hers as he pulled, but nothing gave. The ground kept its grip on her, eating at her hand until finally – whether it was the forest's choice, or the man’s strength – its hold on her lessened and they fell backwards.

“Thanks,” she murmured, half distracted by the normal feeling left where the pain had been. His head moved further over her shoulder as his own hand moved to cup hers.

“What…”

No burns remained. No reddened skin, still singing with pain. Only melted scars that covered the expanse of her palm and fingers. It’d healed her. Somehow, in some magical way, the ground healed her.

“I definitely can’t return to Earth now. No suitor will take me with a scarred hand.

The man helped her up as he stood, moving to stand in front of her. “As an old friend once said, scars remind you of the battles and pain you’ve survived. Any suitor as you put it should wish to court you because of them, not in spite of.”

He lifted the hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the newly made scars before he turned and pulled overgrown brush out of the way to reveal a field of flowers. Hauntingly beautiful flowers. He used a nearby vine to wrap around and keep it parted before he removed the scythe from his back and set it against a tree trunk.

“You’ll need to leave any weapons you have on you here. Nothing can enter the field.”

Alora frowned as she tore her gaze from her hand and towards the dagger she’d dropped so she could catch herself when she fell. “There’s consequences for those who do?”

The man nodded. “ Deadly consequences.”

Alora pulled her gaze from the dagger and stood up, stepping over the vine and following the man into the field. It didn’t make sense why he’d brought her here, specifically. Not until she saw the stone. A headstone. A headstone with the name Alora Vaine at the top.

Alora froze, her hand falling from her immediate thoughts, and her feet no longer willing to take her towards her name. It had to be her name. Why else would this guy bring her here? Had she actually died? Was this heaven, hell, or somewhere in between?

She lifted a hand to her chest, felt the rising of it with each breath she drew in, and the fall with each that she exhaled. Her head shook without her telling it to and then she turned away from him, from it, from the field, and ran. No one could run if they were dead, so she couldn’t be. She could run, so she wasn’t dead.