Page 110 of Eldritch
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.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ZEVANDER
Present …
The cobblestone road stretched on toward the temple, as Zevander trailed both Maevyth and Aleysia through the village. With a constant sweep of his gaze, back and forth, he maintained a vigilant watch for anything that might’ve charged at them from one of the abandoned shops at either side of the road. All was quiet and still.
Too still.
A heaping glob of white fell from the sky. On instinct, Zevander ground to a halt and reached for the dagger at his side, seconds before it splattered to the ground, only just missing him. When it occurred to him what it was, he snarled, looking upward at the enormous bird dragon that circled overhead. Muttering a curse, he released the dagger and kept on, imagining the size of the arrow he’d have needed to spear the surly shit-sack right out of the sky.
Aleysia interlocked her arm with Maevyth’s, shooting him a glance over her shoulder. One that, had he been more astute, he might’ve considered possessive in nature. Scowling, he turnedhis attention back to the task of watching for danger, ignoring the niggling instinct that neither Maevyth’s sister, nor the bird dragon, cared for him much.
Movement in his periphery brought him to another stop, and he trailed his gaze over the nearby chandlery, ears strained.
Once again, his hand drifted to the hilt of his blade, as a strange sensation prickled his spine, and he focused, searching for movement through the dark and broken windows.
“What is it?” Maevyth asked, pausing.
A quick glance toward the sky showed Raivox still circling over them. “Keep on to the temple. I’ll meet you there.”
“Zevander …” Maevyth stepped toward him, but seemed to quickly realize something was amiss, because she gave a nod and stepped back. “Okay.”
The two girls hustled toward an old cathedral, with pointed spires and flying buttresses, with the Corvugon following after them, offering a small measure of relief, in spite of Zevander’s dislike for the beast.
