Page 264 of Eldritch
A flash of his face—the sadness in his eyes when he must’ve realized there was no hope, no saving him—lingered in my head like a constant, pricking agony. I rubbed the tips of my fingersover where his had slipped through them, desperate to recall the feel of his skin. Those hands that’d held me, protected me, caressed me.
No, this is not real. Not real.
“Why?” I asked, staring off at that mesmerizing shimmer. “Why would he fall into the chasm?”
“He tried to burn the damned thing.” It was Dravien who answered. “The Umbravale rejects anything it perceives as a threat.Aethyrians true of blood and purpose.”
I recalled Zevander having told me that once and still, the reason wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t acceptable.
A skittering in my periphery drew my attention to a spider darting down Kazhimyr’s arm.
“Kazhimyr!” I shouted, pushing at his chest.
Seeming to notice it himself, Kazhimyr released me and flicked at his arm, sending the creature flying just a few inches away from us. “Fucking hell!”
Instead of scurrying off, it twisted around for Dravien. A white mist seeped from its face covering the leaves and vegetation in frost. It darted toward Dravien, but before it could reach him, I slammed my boot down and splattered its black guts.
Over and over, I stomped and grunted, tears in my eyes as all the rage of watching those wretched beasts come after Zevander tore out of me in a malicious attack. I stomped until the guts of it were well stitched into the vegetation, and for good measure, I touched one of its legs, turning the damned thing to a pile of dust.
Then I stomped on the dust.
“Maevyth. I think it’s dead.” Kazhimyr reached for my arm again, but I shrugged away and crawled toward the barrier.
Zevander's words echoed in my head. Ones he’d said to me not long ago.
“Fate could change the path a thousand times over, but in the end, it’ll always be you and me.”
I crumpled into myself. Lifeless. Hollow. Broken.
As if I’d tossed my own heart into that chasm and watched it shatter.
“Well, well. What have we here?” a feminine voice said from behind, and as Kazhimyr muttered a curse behind me, I spared only a quick glance to find the blonde woman I vaguely remembered from The Becoming Ceremony.
At her back stood at least a dozen, or more, soldiers, all of them armed with weapons.
“Your vein…it was severed. We killed you.” Dravien’s voice hadn’t held so much as a tremble when he’d fought off those colossal spiders, but the words shook out of him right then and his face ashened as if he were staring into the eyes of death itself.
A white bandage wrapped at the blonde’s neck held remnants of dried blood—details I didn’t care to ponder as I turned back for the boundary.
“Bring me Melantha,” the blonde ordered and not even the mention of a familiar name could pull me out of my thoughts.
Whoever they were, whatever they did, it didn’t matter anymore. My world had already collapsed, and I was suffocating in the dust.
“That’s her. Maevyth. His beloved mortal.” A more familiar feminine voice spoke that time and it was only because she’d said my name that I glanced over my shoulder.
A horrifically disfigured woman, who looked to have an empty eye socket stood alongside the blonde.
Not the same Melantha I remembered.
“Godsblood, you’re…Melisara.” Kazhimyr stumbled backward, his voice strained with shock. “You hired me centuries ago to steal the mortucrux. Your brother was Cad?—”
“Silence yourself!” General Loyce spat back at him. “Or I will see to it that your tongue is cut from your skull. And you …” She turned her attention back to Dravien. “Oh what wonderful things I have in mind for you, my sweet.”
My mind screamed at me to pay attention. Stay sharp. There was a reason two powerful men like Dravien and Kazhimyr had suddenly grown quiet, but exhaustion weighed heavy on me. I couldn’t focus.
I twisted back for the archway. Completely disinterested in them.
“Bring the girl to me,” the blonde said behind me.
