Aziel.
Aziel.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying over and over again that he would hear her calling for him, even if she could not voice it. Everand’s fingers were crushing her. She could feel the insides of her throat pressing together, bending in ways that were entirely unnatural.
And then, she smelled it…
A sickly odor of overripe fruit. Sweet and sticky, but souring. Her eyes flew open, lungs gasping for even the smallest fraction of air. Everand released his hold just enough for her to inhale, his hand still firm on her throat.
“You’re a god.” She rasped, vocal chords burning.
Everand’s mouth peeled back into the most harsh smile she’d ever seen. One that made her blood run cold. “Yes,” he whispered. “The most deceitful one of them all.”
She wished she would have fought harder. She wished she would have never given him an ounce of grace. But Nymiria’s biggest fault was trying to see the good in those who never deserved it—those that would, time and time again, do nothing but disappoint her. But perhaps it was not so disappointing, after all. She’d always known that the Alvaros family were utterly detestable creatures.
That was the last thought she had before the world went dark.
Present…
Nymiria winced at the blurry brightness that surrounded her. Sunlight was pouring in through a window that she did not recognize, her body sprawled across the floor of a room that she did not know.
“There you are.” Everand crooned, his face filling her vision. Nymiria’s first reaction was to reach out and grab him, to claw at his face and dig into his throat, but her body could not move. “Finally decided to join us again in the land of the living. Here, let me have a look at you.”
Nymiria used every ounce of strength in her body to turn her head when he reached for her face.
“Look at me,” Everand jerked her chin towards him, the grooves of his rings cutting into her hardened jaw. Nymiria breathed sharply through her nose, nothing but pure ire could be seen in her eyes. “Good girl. Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” The tone of his voice shifted to that of sickly satisfaction.
There was no use in struggling. He was stronger than her—far more experienced with his powers than she was. He could kill her with a single blink, if that was what he wished to do. “So,” she began. “You are the God of Deceit?”
Everand let out a hollow laugh, eyes menacing as he inched closer to her. “Obedientandsmart. Yes, petal. Was I convincing enough for you?” She made a face at the use of the wordpetal, her stomach turning sour as she watched him shift to his feet.
When his palms unfurled in front of him, a small sigil appeared in the intricate silver markings expanded and as he pushed his right palm forward, the sigil exploded. The world around them morphed and turned—the room that they were once in now becoming an opening in a forest, the canopy of trees opening to the image of a waterfall. It blurred and shifted again, the world spinning from location to location so quickly that Nymiria felt sick. Even Everand’s features changed. He was Trio, Thorn, Aziel, Raven…
She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut to alleviate the roiling in her gut. It was clear what he could do—what his power entailed. He could manipulate everything. Deceiveeveryone.
Nymiria remembered how precious he’d been as a young boy. He’d been so kind and caring—nothing like this monster that stood before her now. Perhaps she should have realized it, that her memories of him were fabricated, just as the majority of her childhood had been fabricated. All of the memories she had of him were too perfect, but there was something painful in the cracks of those moments in her mind, deep and dark valleys in between bright landmarks. The pain felt like a broken bone, like a tooth being pulled, or hair being ripped out. She shuddered, swallowing down the acid rising into her mouth. “What do you want, Everand?”
“What I told you I wanted, petal. I want you to be my wife.” He said it so simply, she wondered if he knew just how insane he sounded. Good gods, he was holding her hostage—this was hardly the way one proposed marriage. He came to her again, lowering himself to his knees in front of her. His hand came up to her hair, brushing stray strands of it away from her face. She was desperate to flinch away, her muscles straining with the urge, but she was too stiff. Too under his control. “Could you imagine what we could accomplish—the bloodline we could create if we joined forces? Two gods ruling an entire kingdom. You know, it happened once in Caddagh? Two gods married, created multiple races of children that went on to be the most revered leaders in the world.”
Nymiria’s eyes turned to slits. “Yes, I am aware. Obedient and smart, remember?”
The hand that’d been so gentle only moments before was squeezing her now, his palm flattened over her mouth, the pads of his fingers digging into her cheeks. “You’ve always had such afuckingmouth on you, you know that? When we were children, I found it rather endearing, but now… you are far too old to not have learned how to respect a man in charge.”
Without a second thought, Nymiria opened her mouth against his hand and angled her chin forward. She bit down against the fatty part of his palm, teeth puncturing the skin. She could have done it as a warning, made it a quick bite that would inspire him to pull his hand away from her, but she decided against it.
If he was going to do with her as she pleased, she was going to leave that room with something of her own. She clamped down as hard as she could, teeth sinking through layers of tissue and into the muscle. She didn’t stop, her top teeth meeting the bottom with a sickening pop, the sound of muscle disconnecting from bone. She ripped her teeth away, watching with a bloodied grin as he shouted and swore. He paced around in front of her, breathing heavily as he searched for fabric to wrap his hand with.
His blood dripped along the floor of the small room, his fist connecting with one of the walls before he ripped a strip of cloth off of his shirt and hurriedly wrapped the wound. “You little bitch—” He charged towards her, his invisible hold on her slipping because of his pain. He lunged for her face again, only to be met with the force of Nymiria’s foot. Everand fell back, dust and debris from the uncleaned floors billowing out from under him as he landed, his head cracking the wood. Nymiria moved against his weakening strength, pushing against it with a fraction of her own power as she struggled towards his nearly-unconscious body.
He still had a fairly decent hold on her, but she had just enough leverage for her to actually have to use her muscles. Strained and out of breath, Nymiria collapsed on top of him, straddling him. She gripped the front of his shirt and pulled herself down until their faces were merely inches apart. Her mouth, filled with unswallowed blood and pooling spit, peeled back into a twisted grin. The blood dripped through the cracks ofher teeth, spilling down her chin and streaming onto Everand’s pale cheeks.
She unclenched her jaw and, with her tongue, pushed the chunk of his hand out of the cavern until it plopped onto his lips.
Everand sputtered and growled, enough anger filling him with the strength to finally buck her off of him. Elbow and shoulder taking the brunt of the pain, Nymiria grunted, trying to right herself. He was already on his feet, his form shifting between fae and something darker. Something far more grotesque.
“I have searched for you, petal. I have sent my creatures to bring you home to me,” He snarled. “And this is how you repay me?” His skin continued to ripple—festering boils rising from his skin, popping, and peeling away at golden flesh to reveal leathery skin under the surface. The muscles in his face stretched and pulled, his teeth elongating and turning to tusks. The bones in his cheeks broke and rehealed into sharp, raised ridges. He changed and changed and changed until Nymiria knew exactly what he was—exactly what he meant. Everand was a god, the very god that Mimics praised, that they made offerings to. He was the God of Deception, the Victor of the Vicious, the Tyrant of Trickery. And if the Mimics were resurfacing in Yaar after all of those years being hidden from the world, Nymiria could only assume that he had something to do with it.
His power seized her body once again, squeezing her so harshly that the air wheezed from her lungs. She collapsed into a stiffened heap on the floor, her eyes wide as he stomped towards her. Broad, large, his hands big enough to wrap around her head and crush her skull.
