Page 134 of Eldritch
“No.”
“It is my condition. I will not stand by and observe your death.”
Zevander was far too desperate to return to the girl. To know her fate. He nodded. “So be it.”
After only a moment’s pause, Theron reached into his pocket for the ampoule there. He broke it open, staring at it. “If the gods do favor you, remember this kindness.” He poured the ampoule into the wound at Zevander’s shoulder.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ZEVANDER
Zevander glanced around as the surrounding mist parted for a dark corridor, lit only by flickering sconces. Quiet whispers reached his ear, and Zevander strode toward them, passing one of the many cells that lined each side of the passage, in which a graying woman stared up at the ceiling. Hard to tell if she was alive, or dead, but the marks that covered her arms showed she’d suffered. Other cells held younger women, some children, all of whom showed some sign of neglect, or abuse.
The light faded, the further he ventured, the sconces spaced farther apart. Until he reached the last cell, where only a sliver of light found the girl through the iron hatch of the door, showing her curled in the corner. The sound of her quiet sobbing chewed at his ribs, as Zevander slipped through the cell door as if it wasn’t there at all and knelt beside her. The dress she’d worn the day she’d been pricked and prodded lay tattered against her bruised and marred skin. The long locks of hair that’d been shorn had begun to grow back, indicating she’d been imprisoned for some time.
Kept in darkness, just like him.
The damp stone walls around her wept with trickles of water, perhaps from a pouring rain outside of the temple. She sat with her head tucked into folded arms that rested upon her bent knees, and her body trembled as she quietly whispered prayers that faded into white mist from her lips. Beside her lay nothing more than a scrap of tattered fabric for warmth. No bed. No pillow. Nothing but the cold, stone floor.
Zevander quietly cursed the gods for ignoring her and summoned the flame to his palm. Careful not to touch her, he hovered his hand over her arm and slowly ran the flame upward, toward her shoulder.
Her flesh prickled with the heat, and she lifted her head, staring down at the gooseflesh across her arms. “Angel?” she asked, frantically glancing around. “Are you there?”
So badly, he wanted to answer her.
“Please. I don’t want to be in the dark alone.”
“Why?” The question left his mouth before he could bite it back. “Why do you fear the dark?”
“I can’t see. It’s cold. And terrifying.”
Again, he sent a surge of warmth over her, the violet light dancing across a canvas of cuts and bruises that painted her skin. The sight of them brought his own flaring to mind, and he winced at the thought of her suffering that way. “It’s best not to see,” he said, more for himself. Knowing the malice behind those marks, the ignorance and cruelty, stirred rage in his heart. “Light illuminates the horrors that the darkness shields from us.”
“But you’re an angel. Don’t you prefer light over darkness?” She stared off, her gaze unfocused. “Sacton Crain says only the evilest creatures find comfort in the dark.”
Perhaps he was evil, then. He didn’t bother to answer, instead silently admiring the way that sliver of light from the corridor shined across her misty-gray eyes.
“I want to see your face,” she whispered.
“Why?”
Tears wavered in her eyes. “I’m to burn for what I’ve done. I’d very much like to see the face of an angel before I meet that fate.”
The mere suggestion of them burning her enraged him. “I will not allow it.” Ifhewas the reason she’d been punished,hecould change her fate. He could be the reason they’d fear laying their hands on her. The thought took root inside his mind.
“I’m scared, Angel. I’ve heard the screams of women before me who’ve burned. I could almost feel their pain.”
“You will be spared. Their fire will be useless against you. And anyone who dares to harm you will burn themselves.”
“I am cursed. They will not spare me.”
“Yes, you are cursed. But not by their god.”
She stared up toward him, her eyes gleaming with warmth, in spite of the cold, their sparkle shadowed by the bruise across her cheekbone.
“I am your ruin. The shadow that consumes your light. The curse that has damned your soul.” A tendril of her hair taunted him, the way it cascaded over the delicate curve of her shoulder. How silky and soft it might’ve felt between his calloused fingertips. “I’m told you’ve yet to be born. That the gods will choose your fate. But I will not let you burn. I will shield you from their flame.”
She glanced over her shoulder as if she could sense his presence. “But you’re an angel. Surely, you trust the gods’ will?”
