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My jaw works but I know better than to protest, waiting him out as his head flicks to the left, his gaze panning the woods. They’re not being subtle, whoever it is. But I have a feeling I know exactly what is happening.
Fear is a cold lump in my gut.
I catch his arm for support, leaning into his touch as if he could take this all away forever.Maybe he could, I realize, my eyes flaring open. Zyranth is a powerful adversary to have, and I have to wonder what he’s capable of when he’s fully engaged.
Could he destroy Lord Everan for good?
My pulse rises at the thought, and with the way Zyranth is coiled, I have no doubt he senses his own worst enemy. Lord Everan. I could beg him to leave this place with me. To go across the ocean and find somewhere we could call home, forever free of Everan’s cruel inclinations. He will continue to hunt us until he has what he wants or die trying.
I swallow hard, forcing my breath to slow.
Or, instead of running…
I glance up at Zyranth, measuring him up in a way I didn’t dare before. He barely fits in my vision with his wings outspread. He is a menace to the order of things, his shape defying nature itself. But I could ask him.
He could free me from Lord Everan.
I kiss his palm, which softens his touch, though he’s still intent on whatever made the sound in the forest. I need him, more than he will ever need me. But I have to try. If I face him on my own, I know Zyranth will follow.
There’s something about him that seems intent on protecting me, his quarry. His hunt.
And that’s when I decide we can’t run from this.
The woods have sheltered us long enough, and it’s time I take Lord Everan head-on or I will find myself running for the rest of my life.
13
ZYRANTH
The scent of elf is growing stronger with every careful step Ariella and I take. I keep her close as we move, knowing danger lies just a short way off. My senses are heightened to their peak. I hear the crunch of leaves like the crash of thunder and every scent is distinct in my nostrils.
And yet, somewhere deep inside me, my emotions are threatening to boil over. There’s something about the scent of these elves that rings of familiarity in my nose. Not a pleasant familiarity though. It’s like the smell of a food that once made you sick, full of foreboding and unpleasantness.
“Stay close,” I whisper to Ariella. “We’re almost upon them, we must move quietly. Do not leave my side at any moment.”
Ariella nods in understanding, her face the very picture of resolve. I feel a strange pride in her bravery and determination. There’s no time for that now though. The hunt is nearly upon us, and I must protect my Ariella.
The scent leads us into a small clearing within a ring of massive Tiphe trees. These are among the oldest trees in the forest, their trunks stretching seventy to eighty feet in diameter while the tops climb a good hundred feet toward the dark sky. As soon as we reach the clearing, a sense of intense foreboding sprouts inside me.
The scent of elves surrounds us. They are here. We walked right into their trap. I can pick out at least a dozen different elves by their scents, but only one matters to me. An old scent I have dreamed of far too often. A scent that embodies all of my fears and trauma.
I turn toward the scent, reaching an arm back to keep Ariella safely behind me. Fear has crept into her smell, spiking my desire to protect her. The need for violence fills me, boiling my blood and pushing rational thought aside. I will kill them all. I will finally have my vengeance.
A peal of cold, mirthless laughter pierces the air, and a tall shape steps out from the darkness of the forest. As he reaches the clearing, the dim rays of light that manage to struggle through the clouds and trees spill onto his form, his features materializing in a wave of terror.
His face, all straight lines and sharp angles, is framed by long obsidian-colored hair that spills lazily past his shoulders. His silver eyes glitter intensely with malice, seemingly piercing my soul. The beautiful, bright gemstone rings on his fingers stand out incongruously against his milk-white skin, so pale as to have no color at all. It’s him.
“So,” he says, voice dripping with sadistic charm. “My monster returns. I knew I’d find you one of these days.” As he speaks, a dozen tall, imposing dark elves emerge from the trees, surrounding Ariella and me.
His voice brings memories flooding into my mind. Days and nights full of torturous pain. That cold voice promising an end to it all if I only submit. This is the elf that made me hate elves.
It was a brutally cold day when I first met this terrible creature. I was hunting near the Dark Market because prey had become scarce in the severity of winter. I had no fear of the Market then, no fear of anything. That changed when this creature tricked me with his magic, capturing me and bringing me to his estate.
I spent months under his control, suffering his torturous experiments as he tried to figure out what I was. Eventually, after various dissections and experiments, he decided it didn’t matter what I was. I was nature’s greatest killer, and he wanted me to be his. From there on out, my torture took on a new purpose. He sought to break me to his will. To make me his very own personal killer. I resisted.
I bided my time, feigning weakness to make my guards lax, and when the opportunity arrived, I took it without hesitation. I managed to break free of my bonds and slaughter my elvish guards, escaping into the woods before anyone noticed I was gone. Elves became my favorite prey that day, and this elf became my greatest enemy.
“You,” I growl.
