Page 26 of Chained to the Horned God
“Well, well,” he drawls, dragging a thumb along his jaw. “The healer with the magic hands.”
I freeze. My pulse stumbles. I glance past him, but the corridor narrows here—no one nearby. No exit close enough.
“Just going to my cell,” I say, stepping sideways.
His hand slams into the wall beside my head.
“You’re famous now,” he whispers, leaning in. “Everyone wants a piece.”
I don’t think. I shove him back hard enough to stagger him, my fingers already reaching for the tiny blade I keep in my boot. But I never get the chance to use it.
Because Barsok is there.
One second the corridor is filled with tension. The next, it’s filled with something colder. He doesn’t roar. Doesn’t growl. He just appears, silent and vast, and the air changes around him.
The boy turns, and Barsok grabs him by the collar, lifts him like a sack of grain, and slams him into the wall. The stone groans. The boy’s mouth opens in a squeak, too shocked to scream.
“No,” I say, reaching out.
But there’s no fight.
Just a sharp sound, like meat hitting stone. Then silence.
The boy slumps to the ground, his lip split, his nose broken, blood puddling beneath him.
I don’t ask if he’s dead.
Barsok stands over him, shoulders heaving. His fists drip. His eyes glow low in the torchlight like coals banked in ash.
Then he looks at me.
It’s not rage in his face. It’s regret. Dull and choking. He stares at his own hands like he doesn’t recognize them.
“I broke my promise,” he says, voice thick.
I take a step closer.
“I swore I wouldn’t become what they want. What they built me to be. A monster.”
I touch his face. Just the edge of my fingers on his jaw. His skin is hot, bristled with tension, but he doesn’t pull away.
“You didn’t become one,” I whisper. “You saved me from one.”
His throat works like he’s trying to swallow broken glass.
Behind us, the corridor stretches back into darkness. Somewhere, another torch crackles. The moans of the wounded echo in the distance. But here, in this breath, it’s quiet.
His eyes finally meet mine again.
“You shouldn’t have to need saving,” he says.
“None of us should,” I reply. “But here we are.”
He lifts one hand, hovers it near my waist, unsure. I take it and press it flat against my ribs, where my heart still hammers like a war drum.
“We all fall,” I say. “Some of us just land closer to monsters than others.”
He exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in hours.
