Chapter 7 Fire and Ice #2
I melted a bit as I looked up at him, and then my body started sinking again, my ass sliding further over the backrest of the chair as my bones disappeared into mush.
The too-big hand on my arm pulled me up and forward until I slid from the back of the chair, and my feet found the floor with a grace I wouldn’t have been capable of on my own, but the monster didn’t move backward to give me any space.
Instead, he ate up the little space that had been there and stood so close that his mammoth body almost swallowed me up as he leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Careful there, Xiao Ying.”
The skin on my arms pebbled under the scent of his breath, a mix of mint and ash.
Fire and ice.
My lungs burned from a breath I couldn’t figure out how to exhale. Then it came out in a huff through my nose.
I attempted to wrench my arm from his grip, and he let out a cross between a laugh and a scoff.
“We need you in one piece,” he said, only slightly louder now, his hand still firmly wrapped around my arm. He had me in his grip, and there would be no escape for me.
“Soren, let her go.” Winifred’s gentle voice was too far away. Even if she were strong enough to stop him, he was close enough to snap my neck before she could lay a finger on him. “You’re terrifying the poor girl.”
She was right. Pure terror flooded my nervous system. I was shaking when he did finally release me, and I almost tripped over my feet as I tried to get out from between him and the chair. I scurried backward until I hit the clock.
Soren’s eyes widened and then narrowed.
He cocked his head to the side.
Then his voice raked across my skin like hot gravel.
“Didn’t I just tell you to be careful?”
When he took one step forward, enough to close half the distance between us, I put a hand up as if a lamb could stop a lion. It was then that I noticed my fingers shaking.
“S-stop! Wait! Look, I-I just came here because of that letter.” I pivoted so that I could take another step backward without implanting myself in the clock-owl’s bowels.
This time, Soren stayed put. He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging and pressing against his veins. Then he tilted his head in the other direction, waiting.
“I was told to come here to find out answers,” I rushed out.
With both of them watching me, waiting, I took another gulp of air and licked my lips.
Tell them the reason you came.
“The note mentioned my mark.”
That’s not the reason you came.
Soren’s eyes fell to my chest, and my still-shaking hand moved to cover what little cleavage I had thanks to the push-up effect of my sports bra. He shook his head with a slight smirk.
I looked to Winifred instead. “A-and the stationery the note was written on had this same mark.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly why I came here, either.
Just ask them how they know about your plan to kill Azazel. And how they’re going to help.
“Sweetie,” Winifred and her words approached me on the left. “We’re not going to hurt you. We want to protect you.” She nodded toward the hand covering my chest. “That mark is something very important to us. The fact that you bear that mark means you are very important to us.”
The rest of my body caught up with the trembling in my fingers. I looked from Soren to Winifred and back to Soren. Didn’t want to take my eyes off that guy for too long.
Shit, he’s scary.
I knew that wasn’t the only reason my eyes were drawn to him when a thrill of tingles ran across my chest and my thighs clenched on their own.
But the trembling had nothing to do with hormones or even the fact that Soren stared like someone who had committed a few too many murders.
I was scared shitless because those books about the boy with that scar on his head were also full of bad guys trying to kill him and all his friends.
Now, they were telling me that I was also marked as important.
I had always known I was different, but I didn’t want to be that different.
I was supposed to be the disgusting, abominable different, not the destined for something big different.
“We only have about twenty-five minutes to have this conversation,” Soren said to Winifred in a surprisingly gentle tone.
I only caught a brief sliver of the meekness in his voice when he looked toward her before he glowered down at me again.
“You need to climb out of whatever internal spiral you’re drowning in there if you want answers today because your boyfriend is on his way here. ”
Oh, shit. Zade.
I guess it would have been weirder if he hadn’t followed me.
I licked my lips. Again.
That was quickly becoming an annoying habit.
My lower lip trembled, and my chest heaved with the adrenaline I couldn’t seem to quell, so my reply sounded much whinier than I’d intended. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Good,” Soren’s chin dipped until his brow hooded his gaze, and then I swear his lips twitched with a whisper of a smile. “Then you won’t mind if I kill him.”
WHAT?!
I sputtered out some incoherent sounds. My fists clenched at my sides, and I took a step forward. Even at my tallest, I barely reached his chest. “If you lay a hand on him—”
“You’ll what?” he interrupted with a forward step of his own.
I swallowed and cursed the uptick in my pulse.
I had to crane my neck to look up at him now, so I didn’t see his hand move. The moment his chilled finger brushed the top of the lines scrawled in my skin under my neck, I jumped back.
That touch was nowhere near ice. It was fire. It was hot lava ready to wreck unsuspecting villages.
He laughed low and husky.
“Behave yourself, young man,” Winifred’s tone clipped as she eased between us. She looked at me despite her words being intended for him.
“He’s not going to hurt your friend, sweetie.”
Winifred flashed Soren a look I couldn’t quite catch, but he replied with a grunting sound. She brought both of her gentle hands to my shoulders, and the heaving breaths I’d been working on slowed.
“We are not going to hurt you either. You came here for answers, and we have them. We only want to help you, Eliana.”
Winifred shooed Soren away, and he retreated toward the loveseat opposite the sofa, his gaze dark and on me the entire time.
And that was the ice.
“Come and have a seat,” Winifred said, and she again eyed Soren. “We do have time. We’ll explain. Everything you want to know.”
My eyes danced between the two of them as she coaxed me back to the armchair. I made sure that I could see Soren out of the corner of my eye at all times and slid down into the chair until my weight sank deep in the soft surface.
Winifred took the sofa cushion closest to me this time, turning her body in my direction and taking a mug of tea to rest on her knee.
Soren just stood there in front of the love seat, watching, with his jaw straining and the occasional tilt of that awful, lethal chin.
Another shudder racked my shoulders, and I crossed my legs tight. Hot and cold coasted under my skin.
I’m horrible at this. Not cut out for the terrorist life.
Or the being ogled life.
Is he ogling me or imagining the fastest way to kill me?
Maybe the slowest?
“You came here today because of the letter,” Winifred spoke each word too slowly and nudged the mug of tea she had poured for me until it bumped the edge of the tray. “You want to know about the Mark of the Scepter.”
I risked peeking over at Soren again, but his steady gaze sent sparks crawling through my limbs. And into my chest, and my stomach. It curled my toes and spun my focus around in a dizzy rush on a merry-go-round of confliction. I turned my attention back to Winifred, the safer of the two.
“Well, I mean,” I tried. I wiped my sweaty hands on my sweaty thighs, and that was dumb. “Yes,” I lied.
“Tell her about Azazel,” a voice hissed at me in my head.
“What do you already know about the scepter?” Winifred sipped her tea again. The smell of it made my mouth water.
At least my tongue wasn’t bone-dry anymore.
I briefly explained the Administration’s previous attempts at removing the disfigurement and how no explanation other than genetic failure had been given for its appearance in the first place.
Her face fell as she listened, and her eyes held more sympathy than I was used to or comfortable with.
I reached for the mug closest to me to occupy my hands before I could start cracking my knuckles or drumming my fingers on my thighs. The less nervous I appeared, the better.
Pretty sure you’ve already lost any chance of dignity, but sure, keep at it.
Fortunately, the internal voice was mine again this time.
Those other voices made me question my sanity, and I had plenty of other reasons to question my mental state right now without hearing voices, too.
Winifred nodded at me, and I brought the mug to my mouth. Apples, cinnamon, and another spice I couldn’t recognize flooded my senses. It hooked and dragged me, ready to draw me into the cauldron.
I couldn’t stop my mouth from taking that first sip.
You idiot, you ate the damn house.
“That mark,” Winifred finally spoke again. “It’s been passed down as a promise for over 3,000 years now.” She paused and looked at Soren. I did as well, expecting him to explain, but it was Winifred who continued. “What do you know about The Way?”
I gulped down the sip I’d taken and parroted the news articles I’d skimmed through. “Um, it’s a terrorist organization trying to bring down the Administration.”
Soren scoffed. “Terrorists? When have they ever hurt anyone?”
“Er, I dunno.” I shrugged. “But that’s what you all are, right? You want to destroy the government. Isn’t that the definition of a terrorist?”
“You’re so ignorant yet dare to be so arrogant,” Soren said with a snarl.
“The Way,” Winifred spoke again after setting her empty mug down on the table without a sound, “Is a movement. We are a people who believe in a loving Creator. Some might call Him a god and say that The Way is a religion of sorts. We believe that the Creator has a purpose for humans as co-rulers in this magnificent creation of His. We want to share the Creator’s love with others. Even our enemies.”
I frowned.
Great. Not only are they crazy, they’re useless.
“Wait,” said that tiny voice.
“But,” Winifred took a deep breath. “There are those of us who follow The Way that have a more—” another fleeting glance toward Soren, “—active approach to what we believe.”
I straightened and inched forward ever so slightly.
“So you do want to bring down the Administration?”
“Yes,” Soren answered.
“No,” Winifred corrected him. “The Guild of Sharona is an organization founded by followers of The Way who have been charged with passing down and protecting a prophecy that will one day save the world from…” Her words trailed off, and again she looked to Soren.
Gonna get whiplash at this point.
This time, it wasn’t a glance, though.
I followed her line of sight to see Soren still looking down at me, but with a slightly softer brow.
Were those silver bits in his eyes before?
“It’s the Mark of the Scepter. A sign of your bloodline descending from Bethany, daughter of Pietre,” Soren spoke with his eyes trained on the mark.
Or your tits.
I squirmed and crossed one arm so that my hand cupped the opposing shoulder.
“The Guild of Sharona was created to protect a lineage of women descended from Bethany that would one day give birth to a Daughter of the Scepter that would give us another chance. That’s you.”
Okaaaay.
Huh?
That meant absolutely nothing to me. And why did his voice have to be that deep?
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from asking if I’d have to take flying lessons because I was scared enough of heights, and flying on a broomstick was not a part of my five-year plan.
“Well,” Winifred huffed. “That’s one way to put it.” She shook her head and addressed the giant in the room. “Soren, son, have a seat. And try to stop staring. I know she’s pretty, but you look a bit scary like that.”
I shifted in the chair so that my face was somewhat hidden from Soren, my messy auburn waves pulled back in a ponytail doing nothing to cover for me. He could probably still see the red streaking up my neck to my ears even if the pink dust on my nose and cheeks weren’t in view.
“Eliana,” Winifred turned back to me. “While we believe the Creator is good and loving and wants the best for His creation, we also believe that there is someone evil who has done everything in their power to destroy that creation. The prophecy is a promise that one day, a savior will return to deliver us from the Dark One. That savior will destroy evil and give humans their rightful place as co-creators.”
The grandfather clock ticked, tocked, ticked.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
I bit my tongue before it could lick my lips again.
“So,” I started hoarsely, “You think I’m going to…be that savior?”
Her laugh unlocked the vice that had tightened around my chest. No way was I capable of saving the world, and I had zero desire to do so.
Winifred waved a hand in dismissal. “Goodness, no, child. The Prophecy promises that the Anointed will defeat the Dark One.”
A smile followed my exhale, but my pulse stayed pounding.
“Then,” my brow furrowed, and I knew Astrid would scold me for all the wrinkles my frown carved in my skin. “I don’t get it. What do you want from me?”
Soren hadn’t listened to Winifred’s advice. He’d continued to stare, and now, instead of backing off, he closed the space between him and the armchair before I could scramble out of it. He stood over me with a hand on each arm of the chair. This beast was about to tear me to pieces.
All I could do was sink further back into the furniture. He was close enough that I could smell his breath again as he spoke, and I pressed my nails into my palms with balled fists to keep from visibly inhaling that scent.
Fire and ice.
“You’re going to find the Anointed.”