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“Hold your hands out. I don’t want you coming at me in the night.”
Nur pulls his arms away. “Give me a little taste and I won’t. Just a drop.”
“Hell.” The angel curses and grabs his wrists again. “I’m not feeding you. That’s sick.”
This time he holds onto Nur, tucking both Nur’s wrists under his arm so Nur is facing his back. His arms bulge and he grunts with exertion, and something cool and unyielding snaps into place around Nur’s forearms.
The angel has cuffed him with a steel shank.
“We need to get going.” The angel cuts the rope around his ankles and drags him to his feet. “I’ll decide what to do with you later.”
Nur obeys listlessly. With the poison raging through his body, maybe hislaterwill comesoon,and finish what this arrogant servant of New Yden couldn’t.
Chapter 5
ARSENE
The hollow seemsto have lost all will to fight after his little scene. Heispathetic. But the truth is, that isn’t why Arsene failed to kill him.
The real reason is that he smells like a vergis, and when Arsene slid the tip of his knife into the hollow’s flesh by accident and saw black ichor well up it nearly caused him to turn the blade on himself. It took all his willpower to throw the hollow aside instead of yanking him close.Protectinghim.
His primusstillyowls in his breast. He shouldn’t have these feelings. The hollow is a foul Hellbeast, as far from a vergis as any creature could be.
The hollow’s movements are lethargic as they climb down the mountainside, his head hanging low as he stumbles along. Arsene doesn’t bother roping the hollow to him—by his own admission, he’s not likely to run. He can barely walk. What will Arsene do with a prisoner he doesn’t want and can’t kill?
Will his primus even let him leave the hollow behind?
It’s slow going with the hollow in such a poor state. When the terrain turns rough and requires them to climb he’s impeded by the bonds, and when it’s easy he slows to a crawl. Arsene burns with impatience.
“If you can’t keep pace on your own I’m putting a lead on you so I can drag you down the mountain,” he snaps finally.
The hollow flicks him a guarded look and doesn’t reply. His eyes are dark and his skin sallow. Arsene refuses to feel pity for him, even as his primus rattles the bars of his ribs and rails for Arsene to help the creature.
Defective, he reminds himself.
But it’s hard to hold onto his conviction.
He makes camp when night falls. Traveling in the dark through chimera territory is foolhardy even for an experienced fighter like him, especially with his burden trailing behind. He binds the hollow’s legs together, more to make a point than anything. It’s strange to wrap his hands around those ankles again. Details jump out at him—the jut of bone under the skin, the dark-tipped claws on bare feet. Arsene works as quickly as possible, disliking how his blood pounds any time their skin touches.
Hellbeast, he reminds himself.
When he’s a safe distance away, he begins laying out his bedroll as he addresses the hollow. “Once we’re out of chimera territory I’ll tie you up somewhere—by the time you gnaw through these bonds you won’t be able to track me down, so don’t bother trying.”
The hollow scoffs. “You’re too much of a coward to kill me, so you’ll leave me to die instead?”
“You won’t die.” He turns his back. Why can’t the creature be grateful Arsene is sparing him?
Wrong-footed, he tries to lose himself in the familiar rituals of camp. Boots brushed, oiled, and polished. Separate pieces of his mechanical sword carefully cleaned of dust. Knife whetted, its sheath wiped down. The smells and sounds of the routine should soothe him, but each swipe of the rag seems to crank him tighter. All the while the hollow lurks in the corner of his vision.
Finally he picks up the leather breastplate the hollow had clutched. A deep wound runs across the face of it from the hollow’s claws. The neck is ragged where those teeth sliced it open. He runs his finger along the rough edge, unwelcome thoughts burbling up.
He’s from a realm where obedience creates order and order is a boon to society. Yet alone in the wastes, the order that was once set in stone crumbles under his feet. Even the possibility of returning to New Yden triumphant from his mission, being given the mate he always wanted, is so distant it mocks him.
No one is here to discipline him for a less than perfect shine on his breastplate. His sword could remain unsharpened at the bottom of his pack, no enemies to challenge it. And the only thing obedience has gotten him is months and months of endless trudging, surrounded by humans with whom all he shares is a mutual distrust and a lack of understanding. If he fails out here, will the Seraphim Council even notice?
Is he truly any better off than the creature on the other side of the fire? No matter how much of his life he’s dedicated to being the perfect citizen, he remains flawed—forever failing to do what’s expected of him. Incapable of killing the Hellbeast. Unable to complete sentinel training.
When the moon rises, Arsene rolls over and leaves his tasks unfinished. He reaches for the pendant around his neck, an old habit he’s never shaken, and grips it tight until the point cuts into his palm. The pain calms him. Reminds him of the promise he made himself a long time ago.Push through, and you will achieve the things you want most.
