Page 33 of Eldritch
I spooned another mouthful, teasing out the meaning of his words. The remark was certainly coarse, but it shouldn’t have offended him. “You’re not hungry?”
Both hands returned to fists at either side of his bowl, and he cleared his throat. “I mean no offense to you when I say the food here is…rather bland.”
I smiled at that, stirring the root into the juices of the tomato. “Not even the king’s finest spices could liven the flavor.” When I looked up, the smile on my face faded on noticing the pallor of his skin, as if drained of all blood. “Are you all right?”
“Will you excuse me?”
“Of course.”
He pushed up from the table, his hands flexing at his sides as he strode toward the bedroom. Again, I sat pondering if his reaction was the result of what I’d said.
As much as I loathed the taste, I ate the remaining tomatoes in my bowl, determined to keep my strength up. With a sigh, I stared at his untouched plate and glanced toward the bedroom, where he’d disappeared. The door remained cracked, and while every fiber of my being longed to peek in on him, I grabbedElowen’s book of spells and settled on the rocking chair by the hearth.
Not a single word of that damned book breached the worry that stirred in my head, though.
Through the crackle of burning wood, whispers reached my ear. A sound of agony that had me setting down the book and tiptoeing toward that door. Though the crack was narrow, I could see Zevander seated on the chair facing the window, his trousers shrugged down to his knees. Scattered over the table beside him lay the collection of daggers that he unstrapped each night.
His bent elbow shook as his naked form hunched over himself. “Think of Maevyth,” he whispered. “My moon witch.”
Heat bloomed beneath my skin, a slow, tingling sensation palming the back of my neck. My pulse hastened as I watched him, a restless ache twisting in my chest. Hearing him speak of me had me wanting to go to him.
Don’t, my head warned. It was bad enough that I was spying on him.
Checking on him, my head argued back.
The large scorpion stirred to life, its insectile claws tapping against the tight bow of his back as it shifted about. Curls of smoke danced around the room, circling Zevander, before igniting into black flames. He grunted and groaned, the cords of muscle in his arm tense and stretched.
The scorpion’s sharp, metallic stinger rose upward, the pale moonbeams glinting off its silvery tip, before it sank into his tautened flesh.
My hands flew to my mouth, thinking him hurt, but instead, Zevander let out a sound of absolute ecstasy as the scorpion stung him over and over, frantically scampering across his back.
Frowning, I backed away from the door, the violent thud of my heart nearly audible as I hurried back to the rocking chairand swiped up the book. Words blurred on the page beneath the echoes of what I’d seen flashing through my mind.
His heavy breathing.
The grunts and moans.
The tension of his muscles.
The shock of having watched him pleasure himself that way dissolved into the horrific visuals of the scorpion attacking him.
Minutes passed before heavy footfalls interrupted my thoughts, and I forced myself to focus on the words scrawled across the page of my book. Zevander slumped into the chair beside mine, the bowl of food in his lap. Fresh sweat glistened over his bare chest that had regained its natural color.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Pardon?”
“You looked unwell while you were eating. I just wondered if you’re feeling better.”
“Yes. Much better.” He spooned some of the food into his mouth, paused a moment, then spooned another bite, more fervently than the last.
“You’ve worked up an appetite.”
“I’m famished.”
Go on. Ask him.
“I have a question. Did you… Were yourelievingyourself just now?”
