Page 111 of Eldritch
A crackling sound swung his attention back to the chandlery, and Zevander drew his sword, stepping lightly as he made his way toward it. Pressed against the edge of the building, he paused to listen again.
Nothing.
A flash of metal was the only warning before the business end of a sword flew toward him, and Zevander ducked just in time to avoid the lopping off of his head.
The blade clanged against the stony exterior, and Zevander drove his sword upward in a counterstrike. As if anticipating the move, the cloaked figure jumped backward, missing the attack.
Zevander recovered and parried another jab toward Theron, he presumed, who skirted it. Again, he missed, but pivoted quickly, when his opponent struck out again. “Who in seven hells taught you to sword-fight? An aging mule?”
The figure sneered and thrust his sword forward, failing to make contact with Zevander’s shoulder. “Was your mother, as I recall. Right before I fucked her senseless.”
Zevander growled and swung wide in a clash of steel with Theron’s sword. As his enemy parried another stab, Zevander quickly blocked and deflected with a kick to his chest, knocking him backward, into the chandlery’s lobby.
“Your insults are as weak as your riposte.” Zevander charged forward in a fast series of strikes, backing Theron toward the counter behind him, where he tumbled over to the other side. As Zevander came around for the attack, Theron leapt onto the countertop, his sword poised for the next strike.
“You can’t keep her safe. I will take her from you.”
“When I’m fucking dead. And while I breathe, you won’t come within arm’s reach of her.” Zevander swung wide and fast, grazing Theron’s calf just as he hopped into the air to avoid having his legs severed.
“Oh, I intend to come within arm’s reach. About the length of my cock, to be exact.” He let out a dark chuckle, and the very visual of that sent an oily, black rage pounding through Zevander’s veins. “I’ll have her virgin cunt stretched like a butterfly’s ass over a rain barrel.”
Zevander ground his teeth so hard, a jagged flash of light struck his skull. “You so much as lay one finger on her, and I’ll string you up by your ankles and gut you like a prized doe.” He lunged, jabbing his blade toward Theron’s thigh, but his opponent leapt into the air, landing on the ground on the opposite side of the counter.
“You always had a way with words, didn’t you? And what do you want with her, anyway? You could never love her properly. You can’t even stand her touch.”
“Silence yourself, or I’ll gladly unburden your mouth of its tongue.”
“It’s true. Tell me you don’t clench your teeth and long for your blade every time she draws a gentle hand across your flesh. Does it not bring back the memory of those abnormally soft hands? Does it not make you want to crawl right out of your skin and throttle her?”
Desperate not to engage, Zevander didn’t bother to respond, and instead drove his sword forward, frustrated when it clanged against Theron’s.
“You’ve convinced yourself that you desire her because she’s your mate. But if she knew the truth, she would find yourevolting. She would know that you are utterly repulsed by her innocent curiosity. That you feel ashamed for what you did.”
“Enough.”
Theron raised his sword again, giving Zevander little time to round the toppled cart in the center of the room, before he thrust his sword toward him.
Zevander managed to sidestep the deadly strike, the tip of Theron’s blade streaking across his abdomen in an infuriating burn that had him clenching his teeth.
“Remember Vaelora? Sweet Vaelora. How easily you could’ve saved her…if only you’d have obeyed. That could’ve easily been your beloved mortal. Taken by vicious animals. Eaten alive. Because of you. Because of yourpride.”
A roar of fury pounded through his chest, and he parried with a brutal, fast-paced attack. Metal clanged, their breathing hard and fast, as neither showed any sign of a weak spot.
Zevander drove Theron backward toward the front of the shop, pushing his opponent toward the broken window. One powerful kick sent Theron flying rearward through the glass, shattering loose the clinging shards that hung from the top of the frame. Zevander charged after him, ignoring a hot streak across his arm where a piece of glass had undoubtedly cut through his tunic.
Icy rain poured down from the sky, so cold, it kicked up vapor as it hit the cobblestones. Zevander hardly noticed the bone-chilling dampness of his tunic and cloak.
“I told you then…defiance is death.” Kicking backward on the ground, Theron held his sword up to block Zevander’s strike and chuckled. “Tell me, do you think she’ll survive the general’s pets, once Loyce gets ahold of her?”
Before he could stop it, he felt the stirring of his scorpions, the heat of the flame warming his skin. The larger scorpion on his back leapt out onto the cobblestone, and Theron’s eyes widened on seeing it. He kicked back again, stumbling to get to his feet.
The scorpion struck fast, its tail lodging into his old friend’s chest.
The sword he’d clutched clanked to the ground as he fell backward, panting hard through his nose. The metal stinger retracted, and exhausted, Zevander collapsed to his knees beside Theron.
“Loyce…will come for you.” Theron gave a weak chuckle and gurgled on a glob of blood that poured out of his mouth. “You don’t…deserve the mortal…or your…forcedbond.”
His words bit into Zevander’s conscience, and he longed to drag his blade across the already dying bastard’s throat, for good measure. A thought struck him, and remorse clawed at his conscience with the realization that he might’ve been able to force a bond between Aleysia and Theron, for her to cross the Umbravale.
