Page 178 of Eldritch
“He’s very ill. Weak and frail.” Another lie, for his brother’s sake.
“And yet, his prodozja managed to attack a dozen mercenaries, allowing only one to escape.”
“Even the frail can summon strength when defending his family.”
Her lips pulled to a smile, and she took another sip of her wine. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’ve seen impressive feats of strength when passion drives it.” Slowly, she sauntered toward him and lowered herself between his legs. “Give me your seed. Bond with me. And I will deliver your vengeance on a golden platter.”
For years, she’d begged him for it, and as Zevander had come to learn, it was the only control he wielded over her. The only piece of himself left unsullied by her hands. While his body reacted to her abuses by ejaculating, it wasn’t the same as the binding essence between mates. A silvery opalescent fluid that, upon entering a mate’s body, was known to be the most transcendent pleasure in existence. It required a very sacred ritual and the exchange of blood.
His stomach sank at the thought, but with his last breath, he would see to it that the attack against his family was properly avenged. “I’ll do it.”
“You long to humiliate me. Is that it?” General Loyce paced in front of Zevander, as he lay bound by his wrists and ankles, the stony slab of a bed beneath him pressing against his spine. The air around him crackled with her rage, and Zevander wondered if he’d ever seen her so angry. For days, she’d milked him for release, exchanged enough blood to make him dizzy, and had forced him to fuck her for hours. She’d even brought in other female servants to initiate the bond.
His body refused.
As much as he’d prayed to the gods, had coaxed himself into believing she could possibly be his mate, he couldn’t bring himself to consummate with the binding essence. Not even when she’d resorted to violent punishment.
He’d heard of arranged bonds before, knew that, unless mated to another, two individuals could successfully form a bond. Why his body was so adamantly against it was a mystery.
Fury flashed in her eyes, and she gripped the hilt of the dagger at her hip. “You’ve bonded with another. You must have!” The palm of her hand came swift, cracking against his cheek.
The slaps to his face no longer fazed him, and he kept his gaze locked on her. “I’ve been a prisoner of these mines since I was a boy. Far too young to have stumbled upon a mate.”
Lines of worry wrinkled her face, as she ran her hand through her long, blonde hair. “I have sought the council of mages. The only circumstance that would prevent a bond is another mate. I will know who you bonded with, if I have to kill every fucking slave and prisoner!” she snarled.
“You are familiar with every inch of my flesh, so you know I do not bear the mark of another mancer.”
“No, and still, your body rejects me.” She stood over him, hands at either side of his body, an unbridled rage clouding her eyes. “You aremine. If I have to draw seed from your corpse, I will have you.” Her chin quivered, her face a battle of emotions, and Zevander would’ve laughed at the indignity of it all, if he weren’t so desperate to exact his revenge. An unsettling calm bloomed through the cracks of her anger, and she caressed his cheek where she’d slapped him. “I will not fault you for what you cannot control, though.” She waved her hand to the other guard in the room, who quickly exited at her command.
Seconds later, he returned with a man, a blond whose face bore the swelling and cuts of a beating.
She urged him to his knees, and with little resistance, he sank to the floor. “This is the mercenary who escaped your family’s home.”
Zevander’s muscles tensed, his eyes fixated on the man with the wrath of a rabid animal. “Free me from the binds,” he growled.
“I’ve some questions for him first.” She casually circled the prisoner, dragging her fingers across his chest, and he flinchedwhen her hand brushed his cheek. “Tell us again what happened to Lady Rydainn.” Clearly, she’d already interrogated him once, judging by the way his lip quivered.
“She …” He swallowed a gulp. “She had been violated.”
“By one. Two of you. Three of you?” the general asked, and Zevander’s blood surged with heat and adrenaline, the need to physically destroy something tingling across his palms.
When the prisoner didn’t answer, she hammered a punch to his face that kicked his head to the side, knocking a tooth loose.
Not enough punishment to satisfy Zevander.
“All of us.” He spat blood on the floor and let out a whimper. “All of us!”
“And the young girl?”
His lip trembled, and he snapped his gaze toward the empty half of the cell. “They went after her next.”
Zevander’s muscles shook, pain streaking across his wrists where the manacles bit into them. If only the gods were merciful enough to break his binds, the man would be nothing more than a pool of blood and bones.
“They?” Loyce asked.
“I…had wandered out to take a piss when…I first heard the screams.”
“Whose screams?” Loyce sauntered back toward Zevander and ran her hand over his arm, which was so rigid, he hardly registered the touch. She gave a squeeze and dragged her palm over his tightly clenched stomach.
