Chapter 44 #2
Through my blurred vision, I see his yellow eyes flare, the black vertical slits in the center expanding to wide circles.
“You’re a fucking traitor,” he snarls again, lowering his face to mine. His features are so enraged that he looks animalistic. So far from human that I wonder if the Hound had been wrong—if being a Rogue was indeed a sickness. “You’ve ruined everything we’ve built here! EVERYTHING!” he roars.
It’s only then that I realize my eyes must still be yellow, and he’s screaming at me as if I’m one of them—a Rogue that had been living in the Estate.
Before I can figure out a way to use this to my advantage, he hits me again. Harder than the other times, and a fresh wave of biting pain lances through me. For a blinding second, I fear it will never end. That it will keep tearing through me until my heart can no longer withstand it.
Anger lashes through me despite it. Irritation that he would think, even for one second, that I’m one of them. That I had anything to do with the Sol they left in the dungeons or the cruel conditions they forced them to live in.
“I am…” I grit out, “nothing…like…” Each syllable takes tremendous effort, but it needs to be said. I’m content with it being my last words. “You.”
The Rogue scoffs, a false display of pity pinching his brows.
He nods his head, and the movement is blurry.
“That’s right,” he confirms. “You’re weak, and I’m strong.
” I watch him rear back, a swirl of what I can only assume is my death blow gathering in his hands, slithering through his fingers.
“I’m alive,” he growls, proud of the sentiment, “and you’re—”
There’s a burst of motion from the left and something massive plows into the Rogue’s side, slamming him to the floor so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked the marble.
It takes a handful of long, agonizing seconds for the pain in my chest to subside enough for me to take a full inhale. Even longer for my vision to focus, and for the sickening sound of something being hit over and over again to sharpen in my ears.
I force my elbows beneath me, eyes widening in horror when I see the Hound straddling the Rogue, pummeling his face into oblivion.
All I can see is his back—his black shirt ripped down the side, and his ivory skin stained red. Every visible inch of it is crimson.
There’s a deep gash in his bicep, cutting up his shoulder, but it doesn’t slow him one bit as his fist comes down.
Over and over again.
The sound is nauseating, and each time he rears back, blood flies off his knuckles, splattering the white walls.
“Salem,” I rasp out, pushing myself up to an unstable sitting position.
He doesn’t slow.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The Rogue lies motionless beneath him, turned in a way that I can’t see his face, but with how heavy the Hound’s fists are coming down, I’m willing to bet he doesn’t have much of a face anymore.
“Salem,” I say again, louder this time. My voice is hoarse, but it’s gradually getting stronger. The life funneling back into me is nothing more than a trickle—tiny grains of sand being poured back into the empty end of my hourglass.
The Hound doesn’t answer. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t stop hitting.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Blood pools around his body, seeping into the fabric of the Hound’s pants from where his knees are pressed into the hard ground on either side of him.
I suck in a deep breath. “Salem!”
He falls forward, his palms slamming into the floor.
I watch his lungs inflate, the sides of his torso expanding wide—once. Twice. Three times. On the exhale of his third breath, he straightens, keeping his back to me as he stands and gracefully steps over the Rogue.
When the damage is revealed, bile shoots up my throat.
I was right. He doesn’t have a face anymore.
Tearing my gaze from the sight, I swallow against the burn in my chest, my attention drifting to the figure walking towards me.
Salem takes one long step to my side, and I flinch when his arm juts out, realizing with slight embarrassment that he’s only offering me his hand.
My wide stare trails up the expanse of his forearm, rivulets of blood in different states of drying caked into his clothes, soaked fabric clinging to his chest as it rises and falls with deep, sated breaths. My gaze lifts further, stopping abruptly on his face.
There’s tension in his jaw, the bone locked painfully tight, and his nostrils flare as he inhales. Whatever he scents softens the line between his brows, and his expression becomes eerily soft and… calm?
But it’s his eyes that give him away.
There’s a storm raging within them. The color is vibrant, almost as bright as they are when he Snares—fractured blue shards swimming through his irises. Glittering like the sapphire of the Eldral my father gave me.
It would be a mistake to call them beautiful when there’s a very clear warning in them. A violence I would never want to be on the receiving end of. But it isn’t directed at me. It’s a lingering anger.
Preparing myself for the motion, I take his hand, holding back a groan as he hauls me to my feet. The Hound's fingers shift to my elbow, gripping me hard enough to keep me upright.
“Thanks,” I exhale, the words scratching my raw throat.
The pain still lingers, but it’s stabbing from a distance. It pierces hard enough now and then that my body jolts, but the jabs aren’t nearly as potent.
I go to inhale a deeper breath, but it catches in my lungs when Salem’s hand comes up beneath my jaw, lifting my face to his.
My heart stops beating.
The glow in his eyes dims as he searches my irises, the pads of his fingers cool and tight against my neck. A shallow exhale slips past my lips, my body having fallen into some state of shock.
“I’m fine,” I rush out, certain he can smell as much. There’s no need for…whatever this is.
His expression remains unreadable as he stares back at me, his grip firm. Deep, rhythmic breaths pulling at his chest, so heavy it slows the rapid pace of my own.
“Salem.” I tug at his hold, and he releases me, dragging in a deep breath as he does.
I watch him back up a step, putting some distance between us.