Page 69 of Eldritch
“Stop,” General Loyce commanded, and their maddening caresses ceased, but his body remained coiled in a turbulent mix of pleasure and mortification. Muscles trembling, he took deep breaths, willing the sensation away.
A sharp sting burned across his thigh, and Zevander eyes shot open to see General Loyce gliding a dagger over his skin. He hissed at the fiery pain and the blood that seeped into the water in ribbons of red.
“Stroke him again.”
Once again, the tormenting sensation returned, and his mind scrambled to place himself back in that arena. His bones and muscles battered and sore. Eyes locked on his father’s.
“Open your eyes, or I’ll cut them out of your skull.” When he refused, she set the blade to his thigh again, drawing another agonizing streak across his flesh. “Open your eyes, or by the gods, they’ll be next.”
Zevander opened his eyes and glared back at her with the same hatred he’d felt toward the orgoth who’d crushed his father’s skull.
“You will give me your seed, or I will have you sent to the incinerator where the ill are burned.”
“I’d much prefer death,” he challenged.
Intrigue lit her eyes. “Is that so?” She gave a nod toward the soldiers, and the cuff slammed into his throat once again, forcing his head below the water’s surface. Zevander kicked and writhed to get loose from their grip. What little air he’d managed to suck in prior to being submerged beat against his chest for escape. He shook against his chains, his muscles taut and burning, his lungs in flames.
“Stop fighting,”a voice he didn’t recognize spoke.“Let the darkness take you.”
He paid heed to the words.
An inky blackness filtered in from the fringes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ZEVANDER
Zevander opened his eyes to a single flickering candle sitting on a mist-covered surface below him. Beyond its halo of light was complete darkness, through which he couldn’t see. All was silent as he glanced around, trying to discern where he was.
“You’ve returned.” A disembodied voice—one he vaguely recalled from a long-forgotten dream—spoke from the shadows.
“Show yourself.”
The candle’s flame wavered, and from the darkness, a figure stepped forward, his face hidden by a black, hooded cloak. “I invited you then, as I’ve invited you now.”
“You.” Zevander narrowed his eyes on the stranger. “I saw you once. Years ago. You came to me in a dream.”
“Caligorya.”
“Am I dying?”
“That you’re here tells me you haven’t yet.”
“But I’m not here, I’m there.” Zevander trailed his gaze over the darkness, certain that, somewhere, General Loyce lurked.
“Your body is there. Your mind is here. I’ve taken your place. A swap of consciousness, if you will. I will witness your abuses, and you remain protected from it.”
He didn’t dare lift his gaze to that darkness again, for fear of what resided there. “How? Is your mind not here, as well?”
“The how of it is inconsequential.”
“Who are you? Your name,” Zevander clarified.
“My name is also inconsequential.”
“Then, so is your point.” Zevander turned away from him, no longer interested.
“Very well. You can call me Alastor. As I said before, I am a friend.”
