Chapter 3 #2
He spits my name as if it had been snake venom, the disgust clearly felt.
My spine stiffens as I see him lean forward from his seated position. He still holds the match and I watch it burn toward his fingers and then he drops it, the only light source snuffed out by a puddle of water on the floor.
The only sound is the sizzle of the embered stick snuffing out. Darkness has once again filled the chamber, and I’m unsure of what this sick fuck has planned. He likes to play with victims, why else would he be toying with me right now other than he’s disturbed?
A match is lit once again, this time brought to the mouth of a lantern that is quick to consume the flame. Glowing light bounces off the walls and I can see that I’m in a dungeon with a single entrance which also means only one way to escape. Gods help me.
He leers right back at me.
“What game do you play?” His tone isn’t kind, in fact, it’s sinister.
I sit in silence, unsure of how to answer or what he expects from me.
“Who are you?” My response hangs in the air.
“I’m curious what game you play. How you think that you and the vermin called ‘The Hidden’ could parade around as anything more than heresy, while you crawl from your dwellings and just make life honestly that much more difficult for me.”
I hold my tongue because I know when not to aggravate a monster, I’ve seen more than enough beastly behavior by men.
The intensity of his glare vibrates my bones with an acute awareness that confirms, I definitely am in a bad position. Defenseless.
With heavy limbs, I drag myself closer to the warden in an attempt to appear undisturbed by his mere presence. His spine straightens with determination or challenge, I’m unsure which.
“Does the rebel bitch really think she can offer me anything I can’t forcefully take?”
Cold beads of sweat gather at my nape but I force my fear down to the place where my other nightmares dwell.
Praying to the gods, or any entity that might hear my plea, I simply say to the vile creature, not worthy to be called a man, three arm lengths away, “The game I play, my lord, is one of survival.”
I rise to my knees, from my numb ass, dress tearing more.
“Survival of those who are oppressed and forced into servitude simply for things out of our control, so a mad king can play with us like puppets. Puppets whose strings are cut at the whim of his boredom.”
I hear the angered growl in his throat a split second before his hands wrap around my neck. My breath is suddenly pinched off, the pressure from his hot hands making my vocal cords feel like they’re about to snap. All I see in his eyes is dark, revolting pleasure.
My vision lends way to darkness that dances in on my peripheral as he mutters, “You cunts are all alike, too much mouth and not enough pleasure.”
The sting of my lungs burning as I catch a glimpse of shadows surrounding me. Unsure if my vision is deceiving me due to the lack of air or if by grace some dark angel has heard my silent cries, I begin to claw at the hands around my throat.
The skin beneath my fingers peels away with my feral movements, and I feel my nails breaking slowly before I’m tossed to the floor like a forgotten doll.
Ragged breaths fill my lungs with knives as I swiftly inhale, unable to regulate the timing of each gasp of air.
My vision dots with black spots and swirling shadows, the lack of air causing my eyes to play tricks on me.
Confusion clouds my mind as I see my attacker forced against the wall nearest the entrance.
The light of the lantern flickers as the beacon sways in the free hand of an inky clothed man while the other hand grips along my abuser’s neck, the leather squeaking as he tightens his gloved hand.
Rage and terror fill his eyes. Where they once lingered on me with such intensity, they now stare towards my dark savior.
Whimpers, like a beaten dog, come from the predator’s mouth as I watch a dark form squeeze the assailant's throat harder. The man who would assault me goes prone as the room cools to a noticeable degree just as the shadowed apparition brings the lantern closer to his prey’s face.
“Rion, just the man I’ve been looking for.” He hisses this out as he cracks his own neck. A chill skitters up my spine as recognition dawns on me. The Devourer.
“I do believe I told you that Ms. Viren here would be in my possession while I await orders of her execution, and you know how much I love to ensure the right form of punishment is delivered.”
Execution? Maybe my illusion magic hadn’t been revealed, but that wouldn’t make sense because the look The Devourer gave me definitely wasn’t dreamt. He saw my magic, and yet I’m in a dungeon and not in a carriage on my way to the king’s menagerie. What does this Devourer want with me then?
Lord Velroy’s eyes bulge. In my bewilderment, I look back and forth between the men and slowly put more distance between myself and them, unwilling to capture the attention of the shadowed figure before me.
“Well?” The tone is nonchalant, as if he expects an answer from the man against the wall despite his current predicament.
Rion, my assaulter, makes a gagging sound in what I assume to be him trying to speak.
With a deft jerk of The Devourer’s head, he releases his hand from the man’s neck.
Rion simply stands there, hunkered over as he sucks in a clearly painful breath. He slowly lifts his body upward and cruelly looks at me. “Strange you would allow this bitch more compassion than she deserves. She’s obviously more useful to me than to you.”
He’s disgusting, and unfortunately, I’ve heard this sentiment before from men who are in positions of power.
Rion spits on the floor, before continuing, “It’s a shame she’ll go to the veil without being properly punished by a man with endowments such as mine.”
The Devourer’s gloved hand snatches Rion’s chin so quickly, he doesn’t have a chance to move away. The skin underneath the punishing grip turns an angry red while the rest of his face pales.
A coursing current and buzz fills my body as I begin to tremble, the response surely to be mistaken for fear.
And though it could be partially the reason, fury seizes my body as it’s easy to see what living in this man’s home could mean for women, and specifically anyone on the brunt end of his rage.
“Leave us.” The order comes out clipped and The Devourer doesn’t break eye contact with the man.
“I tire of your beguiling expression, Lord Rion Velroy. Not even a mother could love that ashen mask you call a face.”
With a huff, the man shoves off the wall and makes his exit, leaving me alone with the thing I quite possibly hate as much as the king, The Devourer himself.
My back against the wall, I sit there with shaky breaths. Exhausted. Physically and mentally, and I’d love nothing more than to sleep, even if it leads to nightmares.
The Devourer simply stares at me, his eyes a masked void of emotion. My gaze dips to the floor, breaking our connection.
“He finds you quite irksome.” The smokey voice echoes softly in the enclosed space.
I swallow thickly. It feels like I’ve swallowed gravel due to my parched throat.
The Devourer attempts to converse again, “I knew as soon as I saw you in that abandoned home, that you would bring trouble.. It’s interesting to see you suddenly subdued.”
A sigh falls from my lips and I bring my gaze up to his slowly.
“Alora Viren.” The last syllables roll over his tongue, drawn out, as if he’s testing them for venom.
He continues, in a language I’m not familiar with, “meyn laochra.”
My brain is addled with too many thoughts. I’m plagued by tiredness that is bone deep and worry for Caym—for Leeson.
I can’t help when the agitation bubbles up and I snap at him.
Grumbling, I ask, “What does that mean?”
If my eyes were daggered, he’d be pinned to the wall which he leans against.
“Try to get some rest. You won’t be disturbed again.” He’s still staring at me, assessing the damage and surely noticing the darkening bruises.
“The lantern is full of kerosene so it shouldn’t burn out tonight.” He moves the light closer to me until I can feel the slight warmth it gives off.
“There’s plenty of foul people in this world, but you won’t need to worry about me. At least not in the way you should worry about Lord Velroy.”
I can’t help but snicker at this, which grabs his attention and I’m once again being assessed.
“My curse may be the kiss of death but I’m too tired to deal with you right now.”
The kiss of death. Odd as I hadn’t ever heard it called that before and surely I must be delirious to only have caught interest in that part.
“That makes two of us,” I manage a whisper even though my vocal cords scream at me.
He simply nods and turns his back.
“There’s clean water and rags by the door. It’ll be locked and guarded by my men,” he says indifferently and gestures to a small round stool where the items are set.
My throat, raw and aching, screams at me for respite. I cautiously raise to my feet and hesitantly walk towards where he beckoned.
Before shutting the door, he turns to me. “Please for goddess sake just rest. You won’t leave here without me knowing, and you won’t be fortunate enough to be saved again.”
I simply stare at him as the door latches with a hard lock.