Page 139 of Eldritch
Zevander stepped even closer, rounding the figure, until he stood face to face with the masked stranger.
Air wheezed out of him, and he tumbled backward, catching himself on the edge of the bed. Even masked, he knew the face staring back at him. He recognized those eyes far too intimately. The branching of a black vein that stuck out of the mask.
The stranger in her room was himself. Aged, but unmistakably precise in its features. He studied the other’s face in detail—every line and scar not concealed by that mask. How was such a thing possible?
His doppelganger raised a hand toward the bundle of blankets beside Zevander, and the glyph that glowed on his palmsent a jolt of panic through him. He jumped in front of his target, and a blast of heat struck Zevander as the black flame bounced over his skin.
As if disturbed, movement at his back confirmed something, or someone, was beneath those blankets.
His other self pulled back the flames, and a soft moan reached his ears. He turned just as the bundled form shifted, and he tugged the blankets enough to reveal her face.
His breath hitched, heart pounding so wildly, he feared it’d call out for her. Relief poured out of him in a shuddering sigh—an anchoring breath amid the ruin of his battered conscience.
She had aged enough that he knew she’d survived those dank cells in the temple. Knew she’d been spared. Her angelic face was peaceful in sleep, and he prayed she dreamed of anything but those dark days. He fell to his knees beside the bed, wanting so badly to touch her. To assure her that he’d never left her.
He turned to see his other self marveling at her, also. As he reached out a hand toward him, to confirm that what he was seeing was real, he hesitated, glancing back toward the girl. When had their paths converged?
No. He wouldn’t dare allow the gods to intervene, to change this fate.
For reasons he couldn’t reconcile in his head, though, the sight of himself stirred a jealous rage. Zevander jerked his elbow, hitting him in the groin, and the older self grunted, adjusting his leather trousers.
His cloaked version raised a hand again, sending another blast of flame toward her. Just as before, Zevander lurched, taking the brunt of the fire across his back, as he stared down at her beautiful face.
She shifted again, raising her arm above her head to show a marking there—feather-like with metallic accents. Once theflame had eased, Zevander ground his teeth, turning around to face the doppelganger.
“Enough of this.” He summoned the scorpion to his palm. Without warning, he curled his hand to a fist, crushing the scorpion, and a series of sharp stings prickled his body, from his hands to his legs. The other self grunted and jerked in a way that told Zevander he felt the stings, as well.
It was true, then.
He was staring at what he’d become. A rough and angry beast. Soulless, if he could so easily take the life of a sleeping girl.
What could’ve driven him to seek her that way? What had changed?
The other threw out his hand again, and Zevander parried with the flame, sending it back into him.
If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel that glimmer of frustration streaking through the other’s blood. Could sense the impatience. The indignity.
Zevander stared at him, the way he seemed drawn to her, in spite of his determination to kill her.
Why?
“Do you not remember her? How much you longed to touch her?”
As if he sensed his question, his other self closed his palm and reached out for the girl.
One touch. Zevander could feel the yearning in his aged self, the curiosity burning in his blood. His hand hovered a moment longer, contemplating. Jaw set, he reached for the blade at his hip instead.
As Zevander lunged to block his attack, a force threw him backward, and the bedroom wall crashed into his spine.
“You ignorant fool!” Alastor stood at the corner of the room and strode toward him, his eyes ablaze with a fury he’d not seen before.
Zevander pushed to get to his feet, but a force kept him in place against the wall. He watched in horror, as the masked doppelganger held the blade to her throat.
“No!” he cried out, writhing in futility against the invisible grip of his body.
Her eyes opened. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Not a speck of recognition in his furious gaze.
The cloaked figure vanished into a cloud of black smoke, and the girl shot upright in bed, glancing around.
