Page 8 of The Coven of Ruin
“Thank you for saving me.”
More silence.
“Go to sleep, witch,” he finally exhaled as if he was exhausted with her.
She laid her head down at the same time a realization set in. He had fought all those people without his god powers. To saveher. That explained why his wounds weren’t healing, and he looked so tired. She followed the steady rise and fall of his chest until sleep took her.
Trista was thankful that Ares hadn’t been there when she woke up. His blanket was folded neatly and stowed on top of the dresser. She was not a heavy sleeper, but she somehow slept through him getting up and leaving. That was three hours ago, and he still had not returned. A relief if only because she couldn’t stop crying, her body shaking with the effort.
Sobs clawed their way up from her lungs. Against her will, her brain decided to dissect everything that had occurred the previous night.
Blood. A thick layer of it coated her tongue. It trickled down the back of her throat and flooded her lungs. It clung to her nose and poured from her eyes, giving everything a crimson hue. She wasdrowningin it. All she could hear were rasping last breaths, lifeless bodies falling to the ground, and the squelching of boots in the soaked sand. She pressed the bottom of her palms into her eyes, trying to unsee it all.
But she was powerless against it.
When he returned several hours later, her eyes were bloodshot, but she was no longer sobbing. Her body failed to process it all. Instead, she sat in bed and stared at the wall. The plain ashen stone was as bloodless a vision as she could get.
He looked different somehow, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Probably the immense lack of gore.
“Let’s go,” he ordered without preamble, his voice like smooth thunder.
Inching off the bed, she was careful to keep the tunic from riding up her thighs. Standing before the god, she tipped her head back to look up at him. She realized what had changed about him then. His power. If he was intimidating without access to it, he was indomitable with it simmering right beneath the surface.
“I’d rather avoid being bit again, but I do have to touch you in order to get you back,” he explained with only a hint of amusement in his tone.
Trista nodded her consent, but her heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest as he placed his large hand around her forearm. Without saying anything else, she was pulled forward into space, the room disappearing around her in a rush.
Gating felt like falling through a vacuum only to be pulled into the middle of a squall. Closing her eyes against the tempest, it was several long heartbeats before she felt solid ground beneath her feet again. Dizzy, she leaned over to rest her hands on her knees as she took slow, deep breaths. Her magic thrummed strongly in her veins again, warm and comforting.
When she righted herself and opened her eyes, Ares stood in front of her, studying her.
Something unreadable flashed in his gaze before he gestured to their surroundings. “Do you recognize this place?”
They were in the middle of a sparsely wooded area. The trees stood tall and thin here. Their half-slumbering state with their grayed leaves was familiar to her. “Outskirts of the Akeso.”
“I can’t gate into the sanctioned areas of Witch Country, only the borderlands.”
The relationship between gods and witches wasn’t built on trust. It was built off betrayal and lies. On bloodshed and curses.Thatwas why he couldn’t gate inside.
She felt awkward suddenly as she shifted her weight. How exactly does one say goodbye to a god that had killed dozens of people and a giant wolf to save them?
“If you head straight here,” he pointed behind her, “you should find your way.”
“Thank you,” she said again, soft and uncertain.
He only inclined his head slightly in response.
It didn’t seem like enough. And before she could think better of it, the words bubbled up and tumbled out of her mouth. “In my culture, we have what we call a life debt. And I owe you my life.”
Making any sort of deal with a god was not advised—in fact, it was strictly taboo. But he acted on his own morality by saving her life, so she too would act on hers.
“That isn’t—”
“I insist,” she interrupted him and thrust her hand out, palm facing him. His golden eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, and she thought she saw amusement there.
“So be it,” he conceded and put his hand to hers, palm to palm, sealing the agreement before her magic even had time to fully surface.
She yelped as something burned into her side a moment later, surprising her. “What was that?”
