44. Vaner
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Vaner
Icame to consciousness in fragments. The horse’s cries and bucking forced me fully into the present. Just in time to twist my body as I landed on the ground. The treetops swam into focus above me, allowing only faint moonlight through.
As I got to my knees, I gagged.
Vaner battled with the horse’s reins, yanking and jerking to make it still. He tied it to the tree as it kept bucking. The whites of the horse’s eyes shone. Egan—no, Vaner managed to secure it. He turned to me with brisk strides.
“It will be the perfect distraction for the Hollows.”
“You are disgusting.” I eyed his impassive face. “How could you murder your son?”
“He is blessed to have served me. Besides, this is your fault.” He smoothed his hands over Egan’s chest. “I found him unconscious, weak and ready to host me.”
My hands went numb. I had rendered him unconscious so Cassiel and I could escape—so he could continue living. My mercy doomed him.
“I thought you needed Nocturn.” I could not feel my lips move as I asked the question.
“No, redblood, not to jump into kin. All I needed was Elixir and a son. Nocturn,” he murmured, “was to stop this incessant need to leave bodies when they grow too old.” He clicked his tongue. “If only Warlords were not immune to becoming hosts, I would have had no need for you.”
“What would you have done with Cassiel if you had managed to take me?”
“He would have lived within a beautiful coffin. I would have had immortality. And no need to escape a faltering, weak body.” He sneered.
He took my arm and lifted a thin blade, pressing the side under my chin to raise my head. I panted, dangling from his hold.
“Now tell me where the line appears.”
He slashed the edge down my arm. I flinched as blood dripped in a rivulet. The edges of my vision faded in and out, but the thin guiding line appeared in my periphery. The horse continued to scream as he wrenched me forth.
“Where is the line?”
He shook me, staring into my face. Egan was my first friend in the Kingdom. Whatever else was true about him, he had helped me many times. My focus fell to lips that had kissed mine. Egan was dead . . .
“Answer.”
“Fuck you,” I spat in his face, the vulgar words coming with ease.
His features contorted into rage, then his fist came flying at me. Again and again battering at my face until numbness spread under his assault. He spat to the side, shaking the blood from his hand.
I whimpered, lying on my side. Before my eyes, the gash he’d made on my arm had begun to close. The fact that I still lived said Cassiel continued to live. And every gash and hit I had would only go to weakening Cassiel.
I could not let something happen to me. If I could get him to the cavern, then maybe I could find a jagged stone.
It took three attempts to push the word out. “Okay.”
“Good.” He caught my arm and pulled me up. His grip was all that kept me balanced. “Where?” His impatience bled through his tone.
I pointed in its direction. We left behind the screaming horse. The familiar shriek of Hollows grew louder. Bushes swayed and trees rocked, then whatever was there was gone.
The horse’s screeches turned high-pitched. He had tied the horse to lure the Hollows.
My lip trembled. Vaner fished into his pocket and pulled free a piece of cloth. He pressed it to his face. He’d beaten me enough that my nose still bled. I wiped beneath it and flicked the blood onto the ground. I struggled to think through the pain in my head.
Fog coated the ground.
“Get me through the fog quickly,” Vaner ordered. He yanked me close, hot breath against my ear. “If you try anything, it will not go well for you.” My mind raced. He knew what the fog was and what it did to the mind.
The fog thickened, and I attempted to slow my stride into a limp. Vaner tensed his grip in warning.
Was Vaner attempting to collect more of that thick black liquid? More poison for Warlords?
I could no longer see before me; the line was faint through the fog.
A bit further and it thinned. I dragged myself forward, intending to leave him behind.
He barreled into me, bringing me to the ground.
Leaves crunched under my cheek. A blow fell on my back.
I cried out and writhed trying to escape, jolting with each hit.
All I could think of was Cassiel.
I would not be able to say my goodbyes . . .
My Cassiel.
Vaner did not stop beating his fist into my stomach.
It seemed a cruelty to see a face I cared for hurting me so. I drew my knee up before he slammed his fist into my breastbone. Vaner fell onto his side.
I wheezed out a breath. “Why do all this? Why did you cause so much damage?”
He climbed to his knees. A glaze coated his eyes.
“Because,” he snarled, still coming at me slowly as I backed away. “You disgusting parasitic redbloods should not exist.” This was his true self. This rageful man whose voice shook.
“You killed your son for your greed!” I spat back, still digging my heels into the dirt.
“No!” he roared. “It was your fault. You turned him against me. My son would still be alive if not for you.” He lunged at me.
I managed to roll. The barrier out of the fog was so close.
“You were supposed to take me.” He squeezed my throat harder and harder.
Tears welled in his eyes, and grief flitted over his features. “My boy.” He let out a wrenching howl.
Egan’s mouth widened, the sound so odd coming from his lips.
“I would have found another way to survive the plague. I could have sired a spare son instead of taking Egan if you had not escaped.” His voice choked, words turning garbled. He threw himself forward, catching my ankle. “You took him from me,” he spat.
With my free foot, I kicked his face and rolled toward the barrier of the fog.
I rolled into the other side, leaving behind the thick emotion. Vaner was too quick and escaped it with a lunge.
He fell flat on his face with a groan.
Leaden weight pressed down on my limbs.
The only other way it was possible to jump a host was Nocturn. All of this began with his greed.
He was still. I clawed for strength. Pushing onto my hands and knees, I rose. I stumbled on my feet, the world tipping.
I must get away.
A few steps through the dark forest left me facing frightening darkness. The trees seemed eerily still. The mountain leading up to the cenote stretched ahead.
A grip hauled me toward the path leading up. I gasped, about to wrench my elbow into his side, but something sharp cut into my waist. He held a blade to my kidney.
“I will disembowel you.” He pushed it against me. Pain pierced my skin. He forced me ahead. I was too weak to do much else.
My stomach pitched, and I turned my face, gagging. He did not slow going up the path. My body screamed in denial. I could no longer feel my feet.
He’d brought me to the cenote. He knew he needed a redblood to access it.
“What do you want with me?” We tread until he had me at the lip of the entrance. I stumbled on the jagged path.
“You are my way out from Sycarious.”
Away from Sycarious? Did he mean . . .
“You are going to turn me into a Sanguine Stone.” I faltered, lurching onto the side of the cave.
A faint smile spread across his mouth. “It is a joy not needing to explain your fate to you.” I dug my nails into the surface, but he was too strong for me, wrenching me with him and shredding my nails on the stone.
I cried out as his arm pushed into my stomach.
He carried me the rest of the way, easily dragging me, notwithstanding my kicking.
“I missed a youthful body,” he mused, using his strength with ease. The glow from the cenote made seeing easier. I dug my feet into the dirt, and when he wrenched me toward him, I brought my fist into his throat.
“You damn whore!” he roared, slapping me so hard I staggered and landed hard. He took hold of my hair and began to drag me toward the cenote. Over jagged stone that sliced into my skin and tore my dress.