He twisted me to face him. The blade traced my cheek, opening a thin line. Blood mingled with the single tear I couldn’t stop. Balor leaned in, licking it away. I gagged as his grin widened, tearing his wound even more until blood oozed down his chin.
“Sweet,” he murmured. “Sweeter than I imagined. I wonder what the rest of you tastes like. Flesh boiled down—would you make a decent stew?”
He snipped a lock of my hair and shoved it into his pocket, chuckling.
“Or maybe I’ll just see what you’ve got in here.” His knife tip pressed against my abdomen, hard enough to sting. “I love the stringy bits.”
Go for the throat.The voice inside me snapped.Now.
I clenched my fist, gathering every scrap of strength, and drove it into his jugular. Balor gagged, stumbling back, clawing for air.
Grab the knife.
I lunged, but he was faster. His hand closed around my throat, squeezing until my vision blurred. The knife hilt dug against my ribs, his weight forcing it there. My lungs screamed. I kicked—he twisted, my strike landing on his thigh instead of his groin.
Time was running out.
So I prayed.
I prayed to any deity listening for help. I knew it was a stretch. While the gods enjoyed their reverence, they were not liable for our lives. Their primary purpose, just like every other god in the universe, was to maintain our world’s delicate balance.
However, at that moment, I felt like someone had answered.
A shiver ran up my arm, power surging through me. I raised my fist and elbowed his throat. This time, the impact was far more intense than the last. Balor stammered backward, releasing his grip on my neck and dropping the knife. He fell to his knees and wheezed.
Everything was hazy from the loss of oxygen to my brain. I pushed through the dizziness and quickly picked up the knife, wobbling as I found my footing.
When I raised my arm to strike, I memorized the look of fear on Balor’s face. It was more satisfying than it should have been. A part of me faltered, knowing that taking a life would follow me forever. But logically, I knew—it was me or him. I moved to plunge the knife into him, but a strong, assertive voice stopped me before I could.
“That’s enough,” the voice demanded.
I looked over and saw Rowan. He was standing with his arms crossed, observing us like bickering children. He was wearing his mask again and had an emotional wall erected around him.
I was speechless.
Rowan said he would protect me, and yet there he was, stopping me from finishing what Balor started. Had I been a fool for trusting the word of a Veiler? The answer, of course, was yes, but some part of me had been hopeful.
“I think you’ve made your point,” he said, looking at me. “Balor, I trust you’ve learned your lesson? Because the next time you attack this woman while under direct orders not to, it will cost you more than just your pride.”
Balor pushed off the Ground to stand, still clutching at his throat. My pride flickered at the sight of his pain. He deserved worse for his cruelty, but I could settle for matching purple bruises around our necks. The others would learn I wasn’t so easily taken down.
“Balor, return to camp.”
“Yes,sir,” Balor grumbled. He stole one last glance at me and curled his lip. I ignored his sneering and looked to Rowan, who was observing Balor sulk with every footstep back to camp.
Once Balor was out of earshot, Rowan faced me.
“Are you alright?” His voice held a slight tremor, which he quickly tried to mask by clearing his throat. But that didn’t erase the fact that I’d heard it.
“How much of that did you witness?” I squinted my eyes at him, fruitlessly attempting to gauge his expression in the darkness.
“Most of it,” he said flatly.
“And you stood by and just watched?! He could have killed me!” I shrieked into the night, not caring who heard.
“I know, but he didn’t.”
“You vile, lying, monstrous piece of filth!” I spat at his feet. “So much for not wanting to watch everyone die.”
