Page 31 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
In the blink of an eye, it was over. He stabbed one with his own knife, and he broke the neck of the last. He wasn't even breathing hard when he stepped forward toward me. Incredibly gently, he laid the palm of his hand—the same that had just killed six men—on my right cheek. "Are you hurt?"
My entire body shook, and the skin where he touched me burned. Six men lay dead at our feet, killed by him, all within a few blinks. And he wanted to know ifIwas hurt?
Who was this man?
Slowly I shook my head, unable to form a single word. He bent forward and picked me up, and this time I didn't protest when he carried me back to where I had first run. I was numb, both from the cold and from what had just happened.
The fire was still burning when we returned to our spot. Nervously, I looked around to see if there were more unsavory folks, but besides the dancing shadows from the torch and fire, there was no movement.
"You must be freezing," he said, pulling a dank-smelling, ripped blanket off the ground. "My apologies. I will see to it soon that you have better accommodations and warm clothes. I swear."
Who is this man? My mind screamed again.
Tenderly, he wrapped the stiff blanket around me. Despite its scratchiness, smell, and stains, it felt good. At least it was dry. A sniffle escaped me, followed by a tear, and my voice returned, albeit small. "Please, let me go."
He hunched down next to me, taking a lock of my hair. He wrapped it around his hand and let it spill over his fingers as if it were water. A smile curved his brutal-looking lips. "Trust me, Vaelora, once you remember who you are, you won't want me to let you go."
Insane! The word seared through me. That's what he was. This man had to be insane. Perhaps he had escaped from St. George's Fields. Now that would be ironic, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, I didn't have the mental fortitude to dwell on it, because the wordinsanerepeated itself in my head.
How did one treat a mentally unstable person? Abbie told me that she humored her brother sometimes when he believed he was back home and only a boy. I didn't want to humor this man, though. I didn't want to encourage his delusion.
"My name is Roweena," I said quietly.
"Roweena?" He smiled warmly, then shook his head. "No, that doesn't fit you, Vaelora."
"Who are you?" I had no idea where my courage came from, but something about him staring at me with those burning black eyes while his hand still played with the strand of my hair was hypnotizing.
"You don't remember." It was a statement, not a question, and the look of hurt and longing that passed over his face tore at my heart. Slowly, I shook my head.
"Vardor. You made me your god of war."
Oh my God, this man was even nuttier than I feared. Now he was a god? If his claim hadn't been so outrageous, it would have been fitting. Hadn't I thought earlier that he looked like a god of war?
"Where did you come from?"
"A long time ago," he answered enigmatically.
My stomach churned and cramped, trying to bring up more to throw up as my fear deepened. "What are you going to do with me?" My voice was barely louder than a breath.
"Hmm." He still rolled the lock of my hair between his fingers. His eyebrow arched, and a deep, arrogant smirk raised the corner of his lip. "WhatamI going to do with you?"
His voice was deep, barely a rasp. My heart stuttered, and a flutter moved through my stomach. A strange wetness filled my lady parts—had I just peed myself? It didn't feel like I did. Heat rushed through my insides, starting from an unmentionable point.
"I might have a few ideas."
Oh my God, his voice. The way he looked at me. Had I not been sitting down, I was sure I would have sunk to the ground. Nobody had ever looked at me like this. Spoken to me like this. He was like a magician, pulling me under his spell. I couldn't force my eyes away from him, he made me long for… I didn'tknow what. But a deep yearning for something was spreading through me, filling me. The sensation was bordering on painful, but in a strange, good way.
"Please let me go," I pleaded one more time.Please don't,another part of me contradicted.
His head tilted to the side, and his arrogant smirk turned playful. "I like it when you say please. You know I always have."
Fear warred with my already confused emotions. What was he doing to me? I fought the urge to smile back at him, to lift my hand and... place it on the side of his face. To feel the hardness of his cheek. A tremble moved through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
A deep sigh moved through him, and he let go of the lock of my hair. "You really don't remember, do you?"
I shook my head numbly. Remember what? Him? I would have remembered if I’d seen him before. He was everything I had always feared. I didn't like men with muscles, strong men. They reminded me even more of how weak I was. How unprotected. This here, right now, only emphasized how founded my fears were.
Men like him didn't have room in this world any longer. They inspired too much fear. Just look how easily he had overpowered Thomas and the others in the church—how he had killed six men! Sweet Jesus! He killed six men! And now he was sitting here in front of me, looking at me as if I was the most prized possession in the world. The scariest part? Something inside of me liked it.
