Eldritch, p.57
Eldritch, page 57
Hooking his finger beneath the hem of his tattered tunic, he peeled it off, and I ran my palm over the hard planes of his chest.
“Zevander…it’s possible that you might be infected, too. The scar on your face. It resembles Aleysia’s.”
“Is this your way of telling me you want to kill me?”
“No.” My smile faded. “Erithanya said that Morsana chose to return Aleysia. I’m not certain that she would return you, and the thought of that terrifies me. But if you changed into one of those things …” The rims of my eyes tingled with the threat of tears, perhaps a result of all the pent-up emotions from what happened back at the church and thinking Aleysia had died. I hadn’t had a moment to process, or absorb everything that’d happened, and throwing the possibility that he was infected on top of it all felt too heavy. Too much at once. I turned toward the basin beside us so he wouldn’t see the emotion that consumed me right then.
A finger hooked my chin, guiding my attention back to him. “I’ve had this scar for centuries. I don’t see why I’d turn into one of them now.”
“I hope not.” I quickly blinked away the mist of tears in my eyes. “It’d be strange kissing a spider.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Are you telling me you’d stay with me, even if I became one of those grotesque things?”
“I’d have to. We’re mated, aren’t we?” The humor in my voice died. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill you, knowing you were still there somewhere inside.”
“You remember what I told you? Don’t think. Act on your instincts. That includes me.”
“Let’s not talk about this right now,” I said, pushing away those somber thoughts. “There’s still plenty of vyrmish bits to clean.” I lifted a clay pitcher from beside the basin, poured fresh, warm water over the washcloth, and dragged it across his chest. The scent of lavender calmed my rattled nerves, and I paused to kiss where I cleaned.
Hands fumbled around at my back, and seconds later, the neckline of my dress slipped down, held only by my arms still caught in its sleeves. I slipped them out and let it fall to the floor, standing bare in front of him.
He rinsed the cloth in fresh water, as I had moments ago, and ran it over my shoulders and down across my breasts, where he paused to massage them through the heated cloth.
Eyes shuttered, I tipped my head back, and he bowed forward, taking one of my nipples into his mouth. He growled against my flesh, the vibrations tugging an ache between my thighs. Switching to the other breast, he gave one, long, painfully delicious suck, and I gripped his biceps, arching into him.
A soft moan escaped me as he flicked his tongue and ran his teeth over it.
Strong arms cradled my neck and back as he lavished both breasts with equal attention.
He dipped the cloth into the water once again, and eyes on me, he slowly lowered to his knees before me, his head conveniently level with my chest. The cloth glided down over my stomach, and he kissed my navel, before sweeping it over my hips to my thighs, where he pressed a kiss to the inner, fleshy part of my leg. After tossing the cloth aside, he lifted another from the clean stack and wet it from the pitcher. Eyes on mine, he hiked my leg over his shoulder and gently dragged the fresh cloth over my throbbing flesh in slow, lazy strokes. Rinsing it in the water again brought fresh heat, and I clutched the edge of the table to steady myself as a wave of dizziness swept over me. He lowered his face and dragged his tongue up that wet slit with the greed of a man who’d stolen the world’s last ripened fruit.
I fisted his hair and let out a moan, my toes curled into his back as he held my leg over his shoulder.
Hands gripped my bottom, the cloth pressing against my cheek as he urged me to his face, devouring me like a man who hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days.
I mindlessly circled my hips against his face, while he sucked and licked my flesh. Two fingers pushed up inside of me, the slickness of my arousal making for a wet glide. My thighs trembled as I fought to keep them from buckling beneath me. Moans slipped out of me, and I bit my bottom lip, a knot of tension winding tight inside of me.
Tighter. So tight, my whole body shook, muscles rigid.
One long drag of his tongue across that bud of nerves, and I tipped my head back, my body unraveling, splitting open with a burst of pleasure. A sound of ecstasy and agony ripped from my throat, as Zevander masterfully flicked his tongue, pressing me hard against his face as he sucked the juices he’d roused.
Ragged breaths sawed in and out of me, my flesh pulsing and throbbing as it fought to settle.
A knock at the door sent a jolt of panic to my muscles, and my breath hitched.
“Maeve!” Aleysia called from the other side of it. “Are you in there?”
“I’m…washing! Please don’t come in!”
“I just wanted to show you this dress! I look like you!” She chuckled, and I slapped a hand over my eyes, still trying to calm my shaken nerves.
Zevander dragged his tongue up my flesh again, and my hips bucked forward as I let out a grunt.
“I’ll be out soon!” My voice cracked, and I lowered my leg from his shoulder. “Let me …. Let me finish washing!”
“Okay! I’ll come back later!”
Zevander rose to his full height, his face glistening as he shoved his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. “The only one coming later will be you.”
Pressing my lips to fight a smile, I tapped him with the back of my hand. “You’re shameless, you know that?”
“Shamelessly obsessed with your cu—”
I slapped my hand over his mouth and pointed toward the door, where a shadow beneath told me Aleysia was still standing there. “Did you need something more, Aleysia!”
“Oh…no! I …. I was just…going back to check on Father! Later, then!”
He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Nosey, isn’t she?”
“I suppose both of us have had our nosey moments.” I tugged the cloth from his hand and rinsed it in the water that had already cooled. “You might want to warm this again. I don’t want you to freeze when I wash you this time.”
Zevander placed his hand over mine and gently pried the cloth out of my grasp. “Go eat something. I’ll wash.”
“I’d hoped to reciprocate your generosity.”
He smiled and leaned in to kiss my neck. “Tonight. I don’t want to start something we can’t finish.”
Lips curving, I turned to his ear and whispered, “I look forward to it.”
His arms closed around me, pressing me tight against him, and he squeezed my backside as he kissed the crook of my neck. When he released me, his tongue swept over his lips as he raked his gaze down my body. “As do I.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
MAEVYTH
The black feathers at the neckline of Aleysia’s dress bounced around her, as she danced alongside an enormous pyre. Two warriors from the village had taken an interest in her—both of them performing what I’d come to understand was a ritualistic dance, akin to two peacocks vying for her attention. Both clanked bones in their hands and wore headdresses made of black feathers.
“They’re best friends.” A woman who must’ve been only slightly older than me scooted closer, as I glanced around in search of Zevander.
While he’d agreed to stay back for the evening, I didn’t imagine he’d actually keep his distance the entire night, and I fully expected that he was lurking somewhere unseen.
“Whichever one she doesn’t choose will protect her and watch over her, as if she had,” the woman kept on, drawing my attention back to my sister.
I chuckled, watching her weave between the two men, holding her cup in the air. “I don’t think Aleysia is looking to choose a partner. I think she may just be a little tipsy from her drink.”
“The mortelias dance is a rite of passage. An aphrodisiac,” the Lyverian woman said, rubbing her round belly. “I was with child soon after my mate performed.”
I looked back to Aleysia again, imagining her mated to one of their warriors. Happy, as she was right then. Was it possible?
Behind her, Father sat with Erithanya and Corwin. All three of them donned in feathers, laughing and drinking in merriment. I closed my eyes, imagining their lives here, without me.
“Vasmora,” a feminine voice said, and I opened my eyes to find an older woman kneeling in front of me, holding a black rose with silver tips, just like the one I’d seen back in Aethyria. She placed it on the ground in front of me, along with a loaf of bread. Clasping her hands, she bowed her head and gingerly brushed what looked like a small bone fragment against my arm.
The woman beside me leaned in. “A gift of gratitude for Vasmora.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at the older woman, and as she rose to her feet, another knelt before me—that one younger.
She laid a knitted blanket and honeysticks on the ground beside the loaf of bread and flower. “Vasmora,” she said, bowing her head like the other and brushing the smooth edge of a bone over my arm.
Again, I offered my thanks with a smile.
Warmth filled my cheeks as I quickly looked away. All my life, I’d been shunned, spat on, ridiculed for what I was. An entire village had once looked down on me, but tonight, they knelt. As I trailed my gaze over the surrounding faces, I found myself humbled by their show of reverence. My throat tightened, and I reached for my drink with a slight tremor in my hand, burying my discomfort in another sip of wine.
A tall, sturdy man, muscular in stature, lowered to one knee before me and bowed his head. “Vasmora. I would be honored to give you my seed.”
A spray of wine shot out of me, and the woman beside me let out a quiet chuckle as I dragged the back of my hand across my face, remorseful for the errant drops that covered his.
A small smile pulled at his lips as he subtly wiped it away. “I would be incredibly grateful to share a bed with you. To fill your belly with child—”
“Wait,” I interrupted and cleared my throat. While I didn’t wish to insult him, I had no intention of entertaining his offer. “Thank you,” I said, wearing a sheepish smile.
Brows pulled tight, he gave a nod and, like the others, brushed a small fragment of bone against my arm. As he rose to his feet, he squeezed the bulge between thighs and strode off.
“He is our greatest hunter. Every woman in the village has sought him.” The woman beside me sighed. “I did once.”
“I mean no insult. I’m…mated to another.” As many times as I attempted to acclimate to the word, it still struggled to pass my lips.
“I understand. The warrior who arrived with you. Were I not already bonded to another, I would want to mate with him, as well.” Her comment left me struggling to smile. “Our priestess has assured us that our bloodline will one day be restored. No matter what you choose.”
I was relieved to know that she was suggesting a choice in the matter. I’d fought betrothal before, and I would certainly do it again.
So lost in my thoughts, I didn’t immediately notice Father hobbling his way toward me, until he plopped down on the ground at my side.
The rosy color of his cheeks told me he might’ve had a tad too much wine.
“You seem to have gained much admiration tonight,” he said, waving toward the gifts.
“I’ll admit, I’m not entirely accustomed to this.”
The smile on his face faded, and he stared down into the cup of wine he held against his thigh. “I’m sorry, Maeve. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of protecting you from the others.”
My skin prickled with a discomforting chill, as, once again, I swam through a foreign sensation. “Father, you don’t—”
He patted my shoulder. “Please, allow me to finish. I’ve spent endless hours in that cell, imagining what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again.” His eyes held a shine of tears that had me blinking away my own. “I thought that becoming one of the Red Men would earn us favor in Sacton Crain’s eyes, but it seems he tormented you regardless.”
“It isn’t your fault. He was a cruel man.”
Father nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “I always liked to think, perhaps there are circumstances that made us the way we are. What a cruel god to willingly inflict such torment.” It was strange, hearing Father speak that way about The Red God and I wondered if the wine influenced his thoughts. “For centuries, we’ve condemned Lyverians for their worship of Morsana. We tried to change them, convert them. We feared what they embraced. And yet, Caedes, The Red God, incited bloodshed and war.” Staring off, Father shook his head. “In the end, we were all worshipping death to some degree, only they were far less violent.”
The two of us stared off toward Aleysia, who was still laughing and dancing amongst the other women who’d joined her.
“You were treated as an aberration. The seed of blight.”
I turned to see his jaw quivering as if he fought to hold back tears.
“You were just a child. A child who sought nothing more than love.”
His words, as painful as they were for me to hear, fed my starving heart, and tears broke from my eyes, slipping down my cheeks. Arms wrapped around me, and I rested my head against his shoulder, surrendering myself to the acknowledgment, the validation and acceptance I’d fought so many years to grasp.
Through tears, I caught Aleysia slowing her steps, but seeming to catch sight of us, she smiled and gave a knowing nod, then resumed her dancing.
“This Zevander…do you love him?” The serious tone of Father’s voice failed to hide the lingering emotion in it.
Smiling, I sat upright. “I do.” Strange, how easily I could admit to that at last. “I feel like I’ve loved him all my life.”
Father nodded. “I felt that with Aleysia’s mother, as well. Her death felt like my own.” He lifted his cup for another sip of wine, but hesitated. “You long to return to wherever he came from.”
My chest tightened, not yet having considered how to broach the topic with him and Aleysia. “Well, I …. I’m not sure—”
“You love him, though. You’re certain about that?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you feel safe with him? Comforted and happy?”
“I do, yes.”
“Then, you should go.”
“You and Aleysia can’t cross the…boundary to where he lives.” Considering he seemed to struggle with the acceptance and possibility of another world, I remained careful with my words. “To go with him, I’d be leaving you behind.”
“This is our world, Maevyth.” Surely, it must’ve been the alcohol talking. “It’s the only one we’ve ever known.”
“I didn’t think you believed in other worlds.”
“I didn’t.” His brows pulled together as he stared off. “But nothing of this world could’ve fought those creatures back at the church. And we lived. Because of him. Because of you and your…abilities. We defied evil.” He raised his wine and tipped back a sip. “From the time you came into our family, I worried that our world, our hatred of others, would destroy you. I’m proud to be your father. And I’m glad The Red God chose our family to raise you. I want you to go where your heart leads you. Aleysia and I will be just fine.”
Through more tears, I glanced up to see her resting her head against a Lyverian man’s chest, as she slowly swayed with him. “Will the two of you be safe here?”
“Far safer than Foxglove ever was. The Lyverians are far more accepting than we are. I betrayed their priestess, told Moros where to find the vivicantem. It resulted in the slaughter of her people, and still, they’ve accepted us. Tended to our wounds. She has forgiven me, in spite of my wretched betrayal.”
“You are good, Father.”
“I want to be. Which is why I’m urging you to lead with your heart. Promise me you will.”
“I promise.”
From across the pyre, the priestess stared back at us.
“The somnial, is this similar to our solstice celebration?” I asked.
“In some ways yes. The somnial pays homage to the gods. It’s become exceptionally important for the Lyverians in recent years. They believe their inability to rise from death is their penance. Your presence gives them hope.”
“I’m not interested in birthing an entire generation. I’m not meant to be a vessel.”
“Perhaps not. Or perhaps Morsana has chosen another fate for you.”
As though privy to our conversation, the priestess rose to her feet and waved her hand toward me. “It is time we seek the vein and learn what blessings, or curses, our future holds.”
The jagged edges of the dead vein pressed against my back, as I lay outstretched with my arms and legs bound by chains. Staring up at the sky left me wondering if Raivox might’ve been up there, looking down right then. If he was, the position in which I’d been placed certainly didn’t look all that friendly.
Beneath me, chalked onto the black stones, was a strange symbol that I’d come to learn was associated with Deimos. At the edge of the vein, at least five meters above where I lay, stood the villagers, all peering down at me with curious eyes.
I trailed my gaze over them, in search of Zevander, but only found Father, Corwin and Aleysia, whose worried expressions told me they weren’t entirely at ease with the plan.
“The vein is, in fact, dead, is it not?” A chuckle died in my throat, when the priestess gave a sharp tug of the chain.
“For centuries.”
“Good. And you’re not secretly capable of reigniting it?”
“Only a god can reignite a vein. Once dead, a vein remains dead.”
“That’s a relief.”
“We will summon Deimos. If he spares you, the prophecy bears no truth. If he doesn’t, you will burn.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “And you intend to summon him? Why not just allow him to show on his own, if he’s so determined.”
The priestess raised a brow, tightening the binds at my feet. “Do you fear his judgment?”
