Page 88 of Eldritch
“Why wouldn’t I talk to you?” What an exquisite peculiarity that she could hear him. That he could communicate with her and she understood him so perfectly.
He couldn’t imagine how such a thing was possible, given she didn’t yet exist, but he enjoyed it, nonetheless.
“Well…it’s just that…you’re an angel. And I’m…the lorn.”
“The lorn?”
“It’s what the villagers call me. It’s what they’ve always called me. Since I was a baby.”
“Abandoned?”
“Yes.”
“You have no family?”
“I do. And I love them very much. But I don’t know my birth mother. Or father, for that matter.” She let out a sigh. “Please tell me you’re real and that I’m actually talking to you, because if I’m not, they’ll think I’ve lost my senses, and I don’t wish to be both lornandsenseless at the same time.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Zevander’s lips. “You are not senseless. I am an angel, and I’ve come with a message for you and only you.”
“For me? Tell me. Please.” She pushed to her knees and pressed her palms together. “Am I to share this message with anyone?”
How badly he wanted to reach out and touch her wild, dark hair. “No. It is for your ears and no one else’s.”
“Please. Tell me. I promise not to say a word.”
“I have chosen you, which makes you exceptionally important to the gods.”
“Gods?” Her brows came together. “Are there more than The Red God?”
“Yes. And they have a task for you.”
“Of course. I am your humble servant.” She lowered her gaze to the ground, fingers so tightly curled into each other her knuckles turned white. “Please, I beg. Whatever it is you ask of me, I am prepared to do.”
Damn those very gods for the way his body hardened at her supplication. Zevander had never endeavored to be a deity himself, but he couldn’t deny the intrigue of her zealous devotion. “Reject their Red God. Reject everything you’ve ever been told about yourself.”
She recoiled, as if stung by the words. “Reject The Red God?” A look of fear claimed her expression, and she shook her head. “The others will brand me a heretic for that. A witch. They’ll banish me, or burn me at the stake, for such a thing.”
Zevander called to mind the glyph he’d learned from before, summoning the flame to his palm. “Do you fear fire?”
Eyes entranced, she stared toward the flickering flame as if she could see it. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“When we were children, my sister leaned over a candle and her hair caught the flame. I was so frightened, I had nightmares about it consuming her.”
“But it didn’t. Why?”
“I quickly patted it out.”
“You saved her from burning alive.”
She winced and nodded. “I suppose.”
Zevander closed his palm, snuffing the fire there. He pressed in close, so close, he wondered if she could feel his breath acrossher neck. “Then, I suspect if I were the flame, it’s your touch that would make me tremble.”
A smile tugged at her lips—the kind that, even while subtle, lit the entirety of her face.
“From this day forward, you are no longerthe lorn. You are worthy. Superior to the others. You are …” So enraptured by her beauty, his breath hitched.
