Chapter 14 The Wrath of the Vólkin #2
“I didn’t know!” he pleads. “I swear, I didn’t know you were in the carriage.
Arnold told me to meet him, that it was a job, just a job.
He didn’t say . . . he didn’t say it was you.
I only found out after we’d already left, and by then, it was too late.
” His voice cracks, and he sinks to his knees.
“I swear . . . I’m so, so sorry. Please . . . please, you have to believe me.”
I see the fear in his eyes, the regret, and I feel pity for him. He’s scared and confused, just like I was. Is it so unlikely that he was dragged into this by Arnold’s manipulation? My mind is torn. He doesn’t deserve to die like this, not when Arnold was the true monster.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can make a move, the ethereal, ghostly women who were surrounding the clearing appear beside me. Their luminous hands grip my arms, holding me back, their touch like a caress.
“Please, Your Majesty,” one of them whispers, her voice like the rustling of leaves in the wind. She stands beside me, her long fingers wrapped around my waist, her glowing eyes pleading. “Do not harm yourself for the sake of this man.”
Your Majesty? I blink, confused, but before I can question it, another woman speaks from beside Theron.
“Leave him to us,” she says, her voice low and full of authority. Her pale, translucent body moves toward Gregor, her dazzling eyes fixed on his face. “We will take care of him. There will be no harm done.”
She turns and offers me a gentle bow.
Theron’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, his muscles still tense, but I see the conflict in his eyes. He wants to protect me. But he also hears my word. Why would he listen to me? Why would my opinion matter so much to him?
Slowly, he steps back, his claws retracting to their normal length.
I glance back at Gregor, whose face is wet with tears, his breath shuddering with relief. The women move closer to him, their hands resting on his shoulders as I watch them guide him away. For now, I’m grateful that no more blood will be spilled.
Theron tears his gaze from Gregor, his expression softening as he approaches me.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice now gentle, the fury gone as if it never existed.
The way he says it, his eyes so tender and concerned, like he didn’t just rip Arnold apart, sends a strange warmth through me. Am I losing my mind?
I nod, but as he steps closer, I focus on his fur. Arnold’s blood stains his claws, streaks are smeared across his chest. The sight of it freezes me in place. My breath hitches, and for a second, my feet feel like they’re rooted to the ground. I have never seen so much blood in my life.
Theron’s eyes follow mine, and he stops.
Without a word, he takes a step back and turns toward the stream where he crouches low.
When he dips his claws into the flowing current, the red seeps off him, swirling in the water before disappearing entirely.
He scrubs at the fur on his chest, washing away every trace of the violence he unleashed only moments before.
When he finally stands again, his fur is clean, and he walks back toward me more cautiously, as if testing the space between us.
My pulse quickens.
The spirits clinging to me slowly move away, giving us room.
“You’re safe now,” he says. His paw hovers near my hand, as if waiting for permission to close the distance between us fully. “I won’t let anyone harm you ever again.”
My eyes search his. A part of me feels drawn to the safety he offers, but another part of me—a much more wary part—remembers what he’s capable of.
“I . . . thank you,” I finally manage. His presence is overwhelming, but instead of pulling away, I find myself standing still. I’m not sure if thanking him for killing a person was appropriate.
I glance back at the stream where the last traces of blood have already faded away, and silently, I remind myself: Be careful what you say to him. He ended Arnold’s life because of me, because Arnold hurt me. And that power . . . it’s comforting and terrifying. A dangerous combination.
As I step back to look at him, the spirits begin to gather, their movements synchronized as if driven by something unseen. They form a perfect circle, their brilliant eyes fixed on the shimmering water.
Theron, now at my side, watches with the same intensity. His body is still, but I can feel that he, too, is waiting for something.
The air shifts. A hum fills the space around us, vibrating through the ground beneath my boots and into my bones. The surface of the water ripples and glows, brighter and brighter, until it’s almost blinding.
“Stay close to me,” Theron says quietly. His paw brushes against my hand.
I nod, barely able to speak, too captivated by the unfolding scene before us. The light from the water pulses as if in sync with my own heartbeat.
Then, from within the shining depths, something moves.
A figure of a woman, but all made of light. I can barely make out the silhouette.
This is no spirit. This is something far greater. I can feel it in my very soul. My entire body prickles with goose bumps, a chill racing down my spine. I try to breathe, but the air feels heavy with her gaze as if every part of me is exposed before her.
She turns her head ever so slightly in my direction. The connection is immediate, intense, and I freeze, unable to look away. There is something ancient about her, a deep well of understanding. She can see through every layer of my being. It’s both frightening and welcoming at the same time.
I clutch at Theron’s fur for support, my fingers trembling as I cling to his warmth, needing to remind myself that I’m still here, still in this world.
She tilts her head, and her lips part, though no words escape. Instead, I feel it. A voice, not spoken but sensed, like a whisper that stirs in the back of my mind.
Noel.
She slowly raises a hand and points toward the center of the water. The spirits around us bow their heads.
I don’t know what she wants. What does this all mean?
Beside me, Theron finally speaks. “You’re in the presence of a goddess.”