Page 132 of Eldritch
I placed a hand on his cheek. “What is it?”
“To escape my thoughts before, I relied on a very potent toxin. It was all I had to pull me out of my head. I fear that you might be the alternative. My own personal poison.” Brows crinkled, he traced his finger over my shoulder and kissed me there. “The only thing I have to ground me right now.”
“I asked you to turn to me. To keep you from hurting yourself alone.”
“My concern is that I won’t be able to stay away from you now, moon witch. I crave every part of you—body, mind and breath. You consume me, and gods help you, there is no escape. You’re in my blood.” He cradled my cheek, brows pulled tight. “Mercy be damned, I’ll tear the world asunder to feed this relentless ache carved by your hands.”
CHAPTER FORTY
ZEVANDER
Past …
Muscles weak from trembling and exhaustion, Zevander could hardly raise his head as he hung from the manacles, and a cramp throbbed in his foot as he fought to keep himself upright, to lessen the pressure at his wrists. The pain in his groin had long given way to every other ache that outweighed it, and a darkness loomed on the fringes. His descent had begun. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed.
The tickle of movement across his skin hardly registered, until the scent of fresh figs struck his senses, and he opened his eyes to the beady gaze of the Golvyn, who pressed the food against his lips.
“Eat,” he demanded.
Zevander’s lips, so dry and cracked, parted as the fruit was pushed into his mouth. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, the first he’d eaten in days. He couldn’t say how many had passed since his last sip of water, as he gulped hard to push the chewed fig down his too-dry throat.
“I’m afraid…your food…is wasted on me, friend.”
“You are not well. But you breathe.” The Golvyn scampered back down his body and dashed across the cell to the water outside of it. After scooping the ladle into the bucket, he carried it back to Zevander, carefully climbing up his battered body, hardly spilling the fluid before he poured it into his mouth.
Zevander coughed and sputtered, but held it down, letting the water seep into the deep cracks of his lips and tongue. “Thank you,” he rasped.
“I’ve seen many of your kind come and go. You’ve outlived all of them.”
“I’m not sure…if that’s a blessing…or a curse.” Zevander chuckled weakly.
“I hear you speaking to someone at times.”
Zevander stared toward the shadowed corner of the room, where he’d seen hallucinations of his father and Vaelora crawling out for him. “I am tormented by my remorse.”
“It’s not the ones you refuse to look upon, but the other. The one from whom you can’t look away.”
The lorn. The beautiful goddess from afar. The only times he’d ever prayed to the gods were a desperate plea to return to her in Caligorya. She was his secret. A precious treasure in his miserable existence that he longed to protect and keep for himself.
Not wanting to lie to the Golvyn who’d helped him, Zevander turned away, his expression guarded.
“You do not owe me explanation. I will not speak a word of it. But if it is Death which beckons you, perhaps you might decline her invitation, no matter how enticing it may be.”
The distant sound of approaching footfalls alerted Zevander to more hell, but he couldn’t force his body to react. There was nothing left of him, no inch of his flesh that hadn’t been beaten,burned, or mutilated. All he could do was hope to be breathing by the time they’d finished.
“You will survive this place, friend.” On those parting words, the Golvyn darted back to the shadows, leaving Zevander to face his abusers.
The cell door opened on a long creak, and when Zevander lifted his gaze, his muscles sagged with relief on realizing only Theron stood in the doorway. To Zevander’s disappointment, he wasn’t carrying a speck of food in his hands.
“Dear gods, what has she done?” He crept closer, his eyes appraising as they scanned over him.
Anger vibrated in Zevander’s muscles, the first tremor of life he’d felt in days. “She administered the punishment, but this is your doing.”
“Mydoing?” Brows pinched, Theron recoiled. “How so?”
Zevander had already anticipated he’d deny the accusation and didn’t care to engage in any more of the conversation. “Give me the elixir,” he growled, ignoring his question. “The one that heals.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, given your state. You’ve clearly not eaten and it?—”
