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My breathing became a mix of gasping, wheezing, and stuttered whimpers. My eyesight blurred, my eyelids so heavy I could barely keep them open from the pain.
It wasn’t just a thud. Something cracked—she cracked something in me. That damned monstercrackedsomething in me.
I felt her footsteps on the ground. Felt the vibrations that echoed her coming closer and closer until she was almost over me.
Then there was the strong stench of something burning.
Fleshwas burning.
Was she burning me? My senses were failing me! I couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything, and I could be set on fire alive without knowing anything!
The metallic scent of blood tinged the air. Then there was smoke.
But if I could smell smoke, then… I wasn’t the one burning.
And if I wasn’t the one burning… then… who was?
Hands grabbed me. Big and strong and warm—too warm. They flipped my battered body until I was on my back. The brightness of the day stung my eyes and made me wince.
A shadow hovered over me, a large hand on my cheek, covering my entire left side.
There must have still been some strength left in me because I finally managed to crack my eyes open. It was all blurry at first, the world a mess of colours, but then my vision settled, and when it did, someone was staring down at me with an arched brow and the left corner of their red lips tilted upwards.
It was not Eon.
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Red eyes resembling the pits of hell stared down at me. A soft fire swayed within the endless sea of vermilion like a flashing warning sign.
Red lips curled up at the sides, opening slightly to reveal a mouth lined with the deadliest set of teeth. The sharpest, longest fangs one couldevercome across glinted above me, reminding me that I was completelyundertheir mercy.
This wasn’t Eon.
Not exactly.
Itwashim, but… something was off.
This side of him felt more dangerous, more the predator I was supposed to fear than bond with.
And it threw my instincts into chaos.
He was staring down at me with an amused expression; eyes relaxed and lips smirking, but he was showing off his fangs in a display of intimidation.
I couldn’t remember the last time my pulse quickened so terribly in this land. Couldn’t remember the last time my body went numb or my breathing becoming so sharp and cold, each inhale so icy and thin that it felt more painful than natural.
I gripped the grass beneath me with shaky fingers.
The Cyrva’s head tilted a little, his deep voice mirthful yet quiet when he asked, “Where have you been, little Elf?”
The unsteady swaying of the fire in his red eyes betrayed the light-hearted demeanour he was exhibiting. I had a feeling he was feigning that behaviour. Looking into his eyes became difficult because they were bright and blazing.
Something told me I couldn’t let my guard down around him.
His hand, the one on my left cheek, fell down to my throat—my throat which I noticed was wet. Without any warning, his fingers curled around my windpipe with enough pressure to cut my airflow but not crush anything.
My eyes widened, and I gasped, letting go of the grass to reach for his thick wrist with both hands, instinctively tugging to ease the pressure on my windpipe.
“Where have you been?” he repeated, and this time his voice became hard, demanding.
