Page 120 of Eldritch
His pulse roared in his ears, his hands burning with wrath and violence.
“If you take another life, the gods will punish you.”
“Let them,” he growled. “I will burn them all. I will set fire to every one of them!”
“And your mother? Your sister? Would you have them punished for your foolishness?”
Zevander let out a shaky exhale and pressed his forehead to the door. “How can one man contain so much rage? I am brimming with it.”
“Use it. Channel that rage into your power. Make it stronger. Give it teeth. And I promise you, one day you will have yourvengeance. Your wrath will know no bounds. And every soul who has ever harmed you will suffer.”
“Keep on.” Sacton Crain waved his hand, urging the witch pricker to resume his torture. “She bears the mark somewhere. I want it found. The girl speaks with demons, claiming they’re angels!”
Zevander focused on his face in particular. Every detail of it, every line and wrinkle committed to memory. Should the gods decide, and the visions he’d seen come to pass, he would find Sacton Crain.
And he would make the man pay for her suffering.
“Shall we resume our training?”
Alastor’s voice was nothing more than a distant sound beneath the violent dreams dancing through his head. Zevander gnashed his teeth and placed his hand against the door. As the heat warmed his palm, threatening his vicious flame, a firm grip on his shoulder broke his concentration.
“Nothing would be more damning to her than a door bursting into flames of its own will. Be reminded, none of this has yet come to pass. The gods will decide how she suffers.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
MAEVYTH
Present …
The ominous red doors of the temple stood just a short distance off, as Aleysia and I made our way through the vine-covered galilee porch, shivering from the frigid rain that soaked our dresses. Dread curled in my stomach. Visits to the temple had never been pleasant, and I’d associated those red doors with hostility.
Exclusion. Rejection. Pain.
I couldn’t think about that, though, not when we so desperately needed shelter.
One hard push against the doors failed to open them, and frowning, I rattled it harder.
Aleysia groaned and fished one of the pins from her hair, before kneeling at the level of the lock.
Awestruck, I watched her slip the pin inside and stare off, while she wriggled it around.
Scowling, she shifted and jerked her hand. “You stubborn thing!”
“What, exactly, are you doing?” I asked.
“Almost…got it.” The lock clicked, and she smiled. “There we go.”
Mouth hung wide, I frowned. “How did you learn to do that?”
“Uncle Riftyn showed me.”
“I won’t ask why.”
“Probably a good idea,” she said, pushing the doors open on the vast belly of the temple—the nave that stretched toward the altar, where the ghostly silhouette of The Red God loomed like a terrifying spectral in the dark. “Unnerving, isn’t it?”
“Definitely isn’t my idea of comfort, that’s for sure.”
“Well, go on, then. I’m certainly not going first.”
