Velroy continues to grab at me, his sickening smooth hands palming my ass and squeezing brutally. I can’t tell if I’ve been screaming the whole time or if I’ve just started again as the rawness of my throat grows painful. The ringing in my ears pierces, reaching a shrill tone, leaving me incapacitated.
If only I wasn’t physically smaller than this prick, I could fight back more. Frustration and anger replace the fear and disgust coursing through me.
Velroy’s hand comes up to my face in an effort to grab my chin but not before I tuck my face downward, catching the meat of his hand in my open jaw. I bite down with such force I feel his blood spill into my mouth and down onto my chest, his skin tearing with the effort. It’s overwhelming, the inkiness of his blood. Somehow even it tastes vile. I gag on the coppery subsistence and can’t help but choke on the ichor. I begin spitting it out when his scream pierces the sky.
“You cunt! That’s my writing hand!”
“Good.” The words are raw, broken with my cracked voice. “Now you’ll have something to remember me by.” I smile wickedly as blood and spittle drip down my chin.
“Rion.” A flat, but loud voice has Velroy jolting. I take advantage and scoot farther from Lord Velroy, my dress dragging over the fallen leaves and soil as he cradles his wounded hand. That scent wafts over to me again and my hazy vision settles on a figure cloaked in ebony.
The brilliance of green that pops in the almost ethereal figure is the first thing I notice. Green that forms into eyes that are now staring intently into mine, unblinking.
Lord Velroy’s unapologetic voice pipes in, “Kassiel, I …”
The eyes break from mine, instantly cooling as they peer at Velroy. “You what, Rion? Can’t fucking keep it in your pants?”
I adjust my skirts over my legs, arms wrapping around my knees in an effort to conceal the truth of the moment.
The Devourer’s voice drips in disdain, “I’m not even surprised you’d resort to this. As if any woman would willingly bed you.”
Lord Velroy stands, kicking dirt at me in the process.What a child.
He looks at The Devourer and back to me before saying, “This bitch about took off my whole hand with that mouth of hers.”
The serpentine eyes of my enemy, or savior in this moment, narrow and harden.
“What is she doing out of the dungeon? The guards were under explicit orders.” A new voice, steeped with annoyance, threads into the clearing. My face drops when the second man appears from the treeline, the same skinny face that found perverted amusement in watching Caym thrash around. The Nightmare.
The silence grows pungent. Not even a squirrel or bird dares to make a sound.
“Well? Why is she out here?” The Devourer practically shakes as he yells at Lord Velroy.
“I don’t answer to you, Kassiel, anymore than you answer to me.” Velroy adjusts his shirt with his good hand and starts to dust himself off. A scoff comes from the direction of the new man.
“I presume you can get her back to that shit hole you call a cell?” Velroy’s condescension drips as he turns on his heel to leave, not sparing a second glance at me.
He doesn’t acknowledge the fact I’m bloodied and bruised with my dark locks forming a curtain over my face. I’m rubbish to him. He acts as if he were a child throwing a tantrum over a sweetened orange peel, only to discard the treat when they don’t get their way.
“Watch that bastard, Orlin. You know our duty here. She’s still the king’s prisoner.” The Devourer is looking at his companion, though The Nightmare only studies his own shirtsleeve.
“Heisrather reckless, isn’t he, Kassiel?” The Nightmare looks up from his sleeves, still ignoring me, but continues, “I’ll follow him back to town. Not for you, but because he made me get my new shirt dirty when you forced me to follow you out here.”
Where The Devourer’s eyes are green, this man’s are icy blue. They’re unfeeling and remind me of someone who’s passed through the veil, lifeless. He’s dressed similar to The Devourer who stands directly in front of me but other than hair color, they couldn’t be more different. The Nightmare might have a smaller frame and thinner face with porcelain skin, but his energy feels more intimidating. Like the wrongness of his nature leaches off with his energy and soul.
“Go get him Orlin, he can’t fuck up more of our plans or we’ll both be summoned.” The Devourer’s tone feels flat, almost chiding.
My mind feels like it’s in a mist, as though I can’t focus on what’s happened. The Devourer’s presence is somehow comforting, knowing that Velroy doesn’t like him and appears to be on better behavior when he’s around. On the other hand Of course, men like Velroy only prey on victims when there isn’t anyone to stand up to his cruelty.
“It would be an honor to go to our king, but you’re right about Rion. He can’t be trusted and I grow bored.” The Nightmare looks around the clearing while his sharp hooked nose scrunches. “Maybe I'll plague his mind to keep me occupied while you sort this shit out.” He’s quick to leave, trailing off after Lord Velroy.
I sit with the fact I was assaulted, and almost defiled. I take a moment to force myself to numb this hurt like I have all the others. To choke down the panic and dread and pretend I’m the strong warrior that’s a façade of the real me, the damaged me.
Leather and mint envelop me again and I realize The Devourer is mere inches from me, sitting on his heels with his knees bent in a squat. He’s staring at me too intensely. How odd that his smell would beckon me, calm me. I’m not sure how long he’s sat there or how long it’s been since Velroy left us.
“Thank you.” My neck throbs and there’s a faint twinge every few moments. My throat feels bruised and even more cracked. I’m unsure why I said it, maybe to break the silence or in an effort to push away the reality of what Velroy wanted to do to me.
“Are you hurt?”
