AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The pain never came. His hand remained at her throat, the coolness of his palm against her skin—but nothing more.
Anthea waited, her breath hitching as she dared herself to open her eyes and face him once more. “I-I told you,” she managed to get out, her voice a raspy whisper. “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know who you are. I just . . . I just want to go home. Please?—”
The stranger studied her intently, his brow furrowing, the glow of his hand gradually fading until all that was left was the moonlight’s eerie pallor.
“You just want to go home?” he echoed her words, his tone filled with a strange mix of disbelief and contemplation that sent another chill down her spine.
“I . . . yes,” Anthea nodded fervently. Her throat felt as dry as a desert, the remnants of her earlier bout of sickness coating her tongue with a bitter taste. “I have no idea how I got here, or where here even is. I just . . . I need to get back.” Her eyes darted around the room. The sight of it—the ancient looking scrolls on the bookcase, the peculiar artifacts, the ornate bed—it all felt surreal. The veil of disbelief shrouded her senses, making her question her own mind.
“How did you resist my spell?”
“I-I didn’t do anything.” She placed her palms on his chest and tried to push him away, but it felt as though she was trying to move a mountain. “I’m Anthea Clark,” she added hastily, hoping that giving him her name might placate him. “You’re probably not going to believe me, but I was waiting for my Uber, then . . . there was this man, and I fell . . .” Her voice trailed off, the absurdity of her tale dawning upon her. The words sounded ludicrous even to her own ears. The intensity in his eyes seemed to delve into the depths of her being, making her feel like a specimen under a microscope—exposed and utterly vulnerable. “Where . . . where am I? Who are you?—”
“I am Endreth Endoralier.” He raised his brows, as if expecting a reaction or some form of recognition. But before she had the chance to digest this piece of information, Endreth grasped the back of her neck, holding her in place.
“No! Please—” Anthea pushed harder against his chest.
His other hand danced in the air in a complex pattern, fingers splaying and tracing unseen symbols as he muttered something under his breath. A soft silver aura enveloped his hand, but as his fingertips brushed against her forehead, the glow dissipated into nothingness. Endreth’s brow furrowed. “Something is wrong. Spells don’t just fail . . .”
Was he implying magic? Was he deranged, or was she the one losing grip on reality?
“I don’t understand. This can’t be real—magic doesn’t exist. This . . . this has to be some sort of dream or . . . or a delusion.”
Endreth remained silent for a moment, simply observing her, letting his eyes roam all of her. His face was impassive, a perfect mask of concentration. Then?—
“You mean to say,” he paused, releasing her neck, “you come from a place where there is no magic?” His question, posed with such genuine curiosity, sent another shiver down her spine. Anthea could see the spark of intrigue in his eyes, and it chilled her to her core. She felt as though she’d unwittingly walked into a trap, saying too much and revealing a vulnerability she couldn’t afford.
“Yes . . . There’s no such thing as magic where I come from.”
The silence stretched, the sound of her beating heart deafening in her ears. His eyes darted to her forehead, and his hand shot up, making her flinch. However, he only stared at his fingers, flexing them thoughtfully. Then, he began tracing a pattern in the air, a glowing weave of light trailing his movements. Another spell, she realized, her heartbeat spiking with fear. His hand came closer, the coldness seeping into her skin. But just like before, the light seemed to fizzle out the moment it touched her.
“A defense of some sort,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “But there is no magical barrier—this is . . .” He trailed off, his gaze locked onto her, a myriad of emotions flickering through his eyes: curiosity, frustration, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Before she could say anything, Endreth’s hand grasped her brown locks, causing her to jolt back. He didn’t appear to register her discomfort. Instead, his other hand explored the curve of her ear, his face showing a deep interest that felt borderline invasive.
“What . . . what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
His touch roamed her earrings next, the delicate pressure of his fingers skimming the three silver hoops adorning her ear.
“Take them off!” Endreth commanded in a quiet whisper.
He released her then, stepping back and turning away—the lack of his touch came as a sudden relief. The whole situation still felt like a bizarre, ludicrous dream. Impossible.
“What?”
“Take off your earrings!” he said as he moved further away.
Anthea hesitated, her hand hovering near her ear. What did he want with her earrings? Thinking it better not to agitate the strange man, she reached up with trembling fingers and unclasped the small hoops one by one. As she held them, her fingers fiddling with the delicate pieces, a strange sense of loss filled her. They were a gift from Ari. But it was okay. She reasoned with herself. It was only a dream.
“Here.” She extended her hand toward him, the silver loops lying innocently in her palm.
Endreth remained unresponsive, his back toward her.
Her hand fell limply to her side, and with a resigned sigh, she dropped the earrings onto a nearby table. The soft clink of metal against the polished wood seemed unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. Her eyes followed his back as he navigated toward a lavishly decorated chest, its dark wood gleaming under the gentle caress of the moonlight. He undid the latch and opened it, revealing an assortment of garments within.
“Remove your clothes and put this on.” He took out a deep navy-blue cloak, so dark it almost appeared black. Without turning around, he tossed it at her.
Caught off guard, Anthea barely managed to catch it, the cloak’s fabric soft against her fingers. Blinking in confusion, she struggled to understand his demand. It was audacious, but the casual tone with which he delivered it was even more unsettling. It was as if he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. Who was he?
