Page 176 of Eldritch
“Why?”
He pushed a stray hair back toward the pillow beneath me. “You’re more than beautiful.”
I hiccuped again and slapped a hand over my mouth, giggling. “I think you might be a little drunk, if you think I’m more beautiful than magical rats becoming princesses.”
The smile on his face faded for something more serious. “Beautiful is too ordinary a word for you.”
“Ordinary?”I breathed a laugh. “And what would the mighty assassin call me if not beautiful?”
He trailed his fingertip down my temple. “I would call you the soft glow of moonlight in a pitch-black world. A prayer I never spoke aloud, but somehow the gods answered anyway. The strike of lightning I dare to behold without flinching.” Hisbrow flickered as he ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “The reason I breathe.”
I stared up at him, certain that not a single person in my life had ever looked at me with the same gleam of reverence as he wore right then. “Perhaps I’m the one who’s intoxicated.”
He bent down and kissed me again. “Get some sleep, or I’ll be forced to carry you all the way to the Lyverian Mountains.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
ZEVANDER
Past …
The heady stench that clung to the air clogged the back of Zevander’s throat, triggering the urge to retch. He couldn’t stand the dampness of blood and fluids that’d absorbed into the bedsheets tangled around General Loyce like a lingering embrace. The undying, traitorous thing between his thighs, whose piercings marked each decade of his misery, remained stiff and rigid, thanks to his moon cycle—an agonizing ache Loyce couldn’t relieve no matter how hard she’d tried. She’d grown too jealous and possessive over Zevander to allow anyone else to attempt giving him the release he needed to lessen the pain, which meant he'd have to take care of it himself. Later though, when he’d be alone. When he could draw a blade across his flesh, without the general’s hands guiding it, and fantasize a different face, perhaps his own mate, somewhere far from this wretched place.
He sat at the foot of her bed, stroking his thumb over the skinny, white scars across his palm. Useless scars, linked to power he’d never wield.
Behind him, General Loyce lay sprawled across the bed, naked and satisfied enough to have fallen asleep. He eyed the dagger left on the table, beside cuts of cheese and meat that she’d tried to share with him earlier. Beyond it, a zephromyte guard stood in the shadowy corner of the room, watching him. Daring him.
Always present, even during their fucking.
Zevander no longer cared. The act meant nothing. After decades of it, he felt nothing. Not even shame. How many had he bedded and killed on her behalf? Thousands, maybe. Each one honing his skills. His mind and heart had grown so numb, he wondered if either were capable of perceiving and feeling, at all.
He could almost taste the blood that would splatter across his face, were he to split her throat open. The only complication would be the zephromyte, who’d take a bit more than a stab to the heart to kill, but godsteeth, he contemplated it. Could almost feel the elation of running that blade through her and watching the shock of betrayal fade from her eyes.
A knock broke into his musings. Zevander didn’t bother to cover himself, when the guard strode across the room for the door, and as he opened it to a Solassion soldier, Zevander eyed that dagger again, calculating its proximity to him and then to her.
“I’ve a message for General Loyce.”
She stirred at his back like a writhing serpent. Rough hands came from behind, palms gliding over his bare chest, and Zevander forced away the violent thoughts. “What is your message?” Her warm, humid breath wafted over him like swamp mist, as she planted a kiss on his neck.
The soldier stepped forward, gaze toward the floor, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of Zevander’s unclothed body. “Perhaps I might speak with you alone, General.”
“Perhaps you might get to the point of your intrusion, before I order your throat removed.”
He cleared said throat, glancing to the zephromyte and back.
A wet tongue caressed the shell of Zevander’s ear, and he braced his hands against the bed, for fear he’d reach back and throttle her.
“Mercenaries in Solassion armor were sent to Eidolon castle.”
Zevander froze, his body no longer registering her touch as his blood turned ice-cold.
“Who ordered this?” Loyce asked.
Gaze still cast downward, he shook his head. “I can’t say.”
“Well, I suggest you attempt to say, if you long to keep your cock attached to your body.” She continued to fondle Zevander, further stoking his impatience and irritation, as she issued the threat.
“I was not made privy to that information, General.”
