Page 33 of Devour
When the mist clears, it reveals my worst nightmare. Dozens of masked warriors watch me with black eyes.
They stand in a semi-circle, chins dipped, muscles tense. But they don’t move. They don’t grab. Even so, there is a tension in their stance, as if they’re ready to attack. As if, at any moment, they’ll be given the opportunity to tear me apart like wolves would a deer.
Predator or prey, you must choose.
I press my forehead to the ground, desperate to hide from the horror around me.
Someone steps up to me, and the smell of death is entirely washed away, replaced by the sweetest scent I’ve ever experienced.
My mind stutters when I find a set of flawlessly sculpted toenails, painted red. Feet decorated in golden straps, twisting up perfect calves.
I slowly look up to find another woman, more beautiful than should be possible. Golden dress and red hair curls down to her shoulders, covering her breasts. This is a different priestess. How many are there?
Her lips curl into a small grin.
“More unchosen?” she purrs, as if pleased by it.
Growls of rage and glee alike rise from the mob surrounding me.
“A heretic,” the warrior at my back says.
“Truly?” a second priestess with shorter hair says. Her blood-red lips part. This one wears a silver gown, instead of gold.
The two women circle me, examining every inch, but I ignore them. I search, instead, for evidence of other refugees.
I find only dread. A hundred of them. Men—or beasts pretending to be men—eager for the opportunity to have me as a meal.
Some of the men have black masks up over their noses and mouths. Some have golden skull masks. All have hoods covering their heads.
“What is your name?” she asks.
I cannot stop my body from trembling. I cannot help but showcase how weak and afraid I am. I wish I could be strong and brave. I’m supposed to make it out of this. Astella said so.
There is hope here, somewhere. There is, at minimum, a way out.
My heart aches. Did I miss that chance already by rejecting their magic? Was that the right way? I press my eyes closed tightly. The wrongness of that magic was so palpable, I knew then and I know now, that it was the right choice—the only choice—to reject it.
Whatever happens now, I will simply have to endure.
“Lina,” I finally force from my quivering lips.
One of the priestesses snaps her manicured fingers. A force yanks my chin up to her without touching me. “You come to our home, beg for our help, and you dare reject us?—”
“She begs for death,” a man says somewhere behind me. “Let me grant her such a gift.”
I suck in a breath as he draws his tongue across too-sharp teeth.
“Perhaps that’s what this is,” the redhead says with a tilt of her head. “You wish for death?”
“I want freedom,” I force out, tasting my own tears. It is something I know they will never give me.
“Death is a form of freedom,” she muses.
“I was brought here against my will.” That is a concept they don’t seem to grasp. Do they not know what the warriors do outside of their mountain? “I want to leave,” I growl.
“How rude,” the blond says. “A rude little rat.” She curls a lip.
“Rats have more fight than this one could ever have. Look how she trembles.”
