Page 78 of Eldritch
“I will not defend my loyalty to you. I have fought every day to return to you. Literally training to become stronger, so that I could properly protect you! So, I’ll hear no more?—”
My words were cut short by the movement of something behind Aleysia, and mid-sentence, I slowly pushed to my feet.
Behind her, making its way down the wall, crawled a spider the size of a bird.
“What is it?” she asked, turning around.
“Aleysia, move slowly.”
From the bedroom, another large spider appeared—that one nearly the height of the door’s frame and as pale as snow.
“Oh, God. How did they get in here?”
At the corner of the room sat the burlap sack in which Zevander had wrapped the remains of the rabbit. He’d instructed me to burn it after he left.
The burlap wriggled, and out crawled a much smaller spider that scampered its way toward the bigger two.
“Aleysia, we have to go. Now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ZEVANDER
Past …
Zevander awoke to the scent of venison and warm bread, his mouth watering for a bite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten meat that didn’t stink of rot. Years, maybe, but those delicious scents were unmistakable, stirring memories of home.
Across from him, the other members of the Gildona sat clustered around what must’ve been a feast, the way the smell of it overwhelmed his senses. One of the young men, likely Solassion with his blond hair and bronze skin, broke away from the others and carried a plate toward him. Zevander’s muscles tensed when the man sat down beside him, offering the piled food—venison and bread, just as he’d guessed, along with grapes, olives and figs. Delicacies he hadn’t had since before he’d arrived at the prison.
He cautiously accepted the plate, eyeing the scars scattered about the other man’s chest and arms, where he’d clearly been whipped. One particularly gruesome scar extended from the corner of his lips to mid-cheek. A golden band glinted acrosshis throat, and it was then Zevander grew aware of the one at his own throat. He pressed his hand there, his mind refusing to entertain the memories of the day before, when someone must’ve fastened it on him.
“I’m Theron,” the blond said, popping an olive into his mouth.
Instead of responding, Zevander bit into one of the small chunks of venison on his plate, the delicious, savory flavor exploding across his tongue. For a split-second, he thought of his friends, starting their grueling workday with a bowl of slop, but those thoughts quickly dissolved with the flare of pain at his thigh and the memory of what had been done to him. He’d have given away his entire plate of food to return to the mines.
“You’re Lunasier.” It wasn’t a question, and Zevander didn’t like the way the man stared at his thighs. When he reached for one of the wrapped wounds, Zevander batted his hand away, glaring at him like an animal ready to bite. Theron gave an unbothered smile. “I was just checking your injuries. I’m the one who stitched your wound.”
He hadn’t even realized his wound had needed stitching.
Instead of prodding, Theron settled on the pillows, resting his elbows on his bent knees. “She views your defiance as a game. So long as you refuse her, she’ll continue to torment you. Do as she says, and you’ll gain her favor.”
“What makes you think I aspire to be her favored whore?”
His cheek twitched, as if he took the question personally. “You will find acquiescence is far better than her punishments.”
“I’d suffer a thousand lashes before I’d ever bow to her whims.”
“You’d prefer to return to the mines?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head and sighed. “There are advantages to being here. Comforts. When was the last time you had freshvenison in the mines? Freshly-baked bread, instead of the stale and moldy discarded scraps. Pillows, instead of rough concrete. Hot water for baths. You’re still a slave, whether you’re here, or in the mines.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinions of what I am.”
“And I mean no insult. I’m the one who mends the wounds of those that defy her orders. I’d simply like to avoid having to sew together your ravaged flesh.”
“Sorry to disappoint. There will be plenty more wounds. Thanks for the food, but leave me alone.”
