Page 51 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
I had no doubt I would do so again.
The sun had long since begun its descent, casting the streets of Gibraltar in a twilight hush. The golden glow of lanterns flickered against old stone walls, creating dancing shadows. Vardor led me through the narrow, winding alleys, his pace steady, unhurried, yet I could sense the tension in him—he was always a warrior first, always aware of his surroundings.
I was starting to get used to the different air, but with the evening, new scents emerged. Roasted almonds, spiced meat, and something charred mingled now with the scent of citrus and the sea. Footsteps echoed in the distance, the murmur of merchants closing their stalls, but ahead, the streets stretched too empty, too still.
The only warning I got was a chill creeping up my spine, then suddenly, a hand encircled my arm, like a cold, iron vise. I barely had time to gasp before I was yanked backward and my body collided with something solid and unyielding—Vardor. His grip on me was tight, possessive, his heat a stark contrast to the chill of danger crawling over my skin.
Four men stepped from the shadows, their faces half-hidden behind scarves, their eyes gleamed like the knives they brandished.
"Leave your coin and the lady and walk away," one of them sneered, twirling a wicked-looking curved blade betweenhis fingers. The weapons merchant had a similar one—he had called it a scimitar. The others fanned out, moving in a practiced, predatory formation. Different from the lowlifes who had accosted us in London. These men were organized and experienced.
Vardor's entire body went taut, his stance shifted as he braced himself. Every muscle in his frame coiled with lethal precision, like a storm ready to break. There was no hesitation in his moves, no attempt to parley with the men. His response was cold—a snarl, dark and furious, "Over my dead body."
I had seen him fight before, but never like this. One moment, the lead attacker lunged—the next, Vardor's hidden sword from inside his cane flashed, a gleaming arc of steel catching the lantern light before it met flesh. A wet, sickening cry ripped through the alley as the first man staggered backward, clutching his arm where blood now slicked his sleeve. Another attacker lunged, but Vardor was already turning, his sword a blur as he twisted the knife from the second man's grasp, flipped it in his hand, and drove his fist into the man’s gut with a force that sent him crumpling to the ground.
The last two hesitated.
"You should run," I heard myself say, my voice barely above a whisper, yet it rang sharp and certain in the night. It sounded like me, yet it wasn't me. Never in a hundred years would I have believed I would find the courage to speak in a situation like this. But I did, and to my amazement, they took my warning seriously.
But they never had a chance. Before I could blink, they were both dead and Vardor stood threateningly over the fourth, who was still bleeding on the ground. There was not a hint of mercy on Vardor's face as his blade crossed the man's throat.
I stood frozen. My back pressed against the wall; my hands trembled as much as my heart pounded. This had not been a fight. This had been a slaughter.
Vardor turned to me, his face set in stone, his breathing steady—as if he had done nothing more than swat away an inconvenience.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low, rough, as his dark eyes scanned me for injury.
I could only shake my head. Not from pain—but from something I couldn't quite name. I sensed that it was dangerous, though. No matter how hard I tried, I could not summon any pity for the four men. With their cold and merciless demeanor, they had scared the wits out of me. I had no doubt what my fate would have been had Vardor not been there. Had it been another man at my side.
Thomas' name came unbidden to my mind.
Would he have fought for me? Would he have stood between me and death like this? Or would he have smiled politely, offered coin, and left me to my fate? I closed my eyes, knowing with absolute certainty what he would have done. Tears threatened to bubble up.
Vardor had no obligation to me.
And yet, he had not hesitated to protect me.
For all his madness, for all his danger, for all the ways he frightened and infuriated me—Vardor would never abandon me. And maybe, just maybe, that mattered more than I wanted it to.
"Thank you," I said in a trembling voice that resembled mine more than my inexplicable earlier words.
"For what?" his brow creased. I searched his eyes, his expression, but he really didn't know. What he did was normal for him. Part of him. As natural as breathing.
"For saving me, for not leaving me," I said, our gazes still locked.
"Never," he replied, and in that one word lay so much meaning, so many more words, it pulled the air out of my lungs.
Later, when I laid down on the bed that smelled of mold, I turned so I could see him. Vardor. Sitting on a chair by the window, leaned back. One could have thought he was sleeping, but I knew better.
He only twice left me alone at night on boardThe Orion's Tide:the first night and one other. I didn't know where he went or what he did those nights, but unless he only needed sleep once a week and had found a hidden spot in which to do so, he really hadn't slept at all. No man could do that—nohumanman.
Twice I had seen him fight now against men outnumbering him. Twice he had fought with a speed and strength that seemed supernatural, and my mind began to wonder... began to go places, forbidden places, places that teetered on insane. Yet, what if hewasa god? The question repeated itself in my brain like a stuck gramophone, and with each turn, the possibility became more conceivable.
That wasn't all, though. Because even if he was insane, I was becoming more attracted to him. His insanity didn't sound as frightening anymore. It was becoming more acceptable to me, just like the alternative that he was indeed a god.
So what did that make me?
Given my track record with Thomas, I would have said I was like a chameleon—changing my attitude and mind, not my colors—had it not been for a deep-rooted sense that I was finding myself, that I was becoming myself more and more with each passing day.
