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.
