Out of nowhere, Kyzen steps in my line of sight, blocking her from me with his hands out, palms facing me.
“What do you need, brother?”
“Preheat the cooker. Take a shower. Make a cup of tea, rosemary bread, and medley soup.”
“That sounds delicious. Anything else?”
My back hits my door.
“Some space.”
I fall through my threshold, not bothering to catch myself.
The dark, disgusting whispers of the angry souls from Hellveilious, from the ones who scream before I destroyed them, from those I couldn’t save, those I…they all continue to blare in my mind as I crawl to the shower.
It isn’t until I hit the tile and turn the water to scolding hot that I can breathe.
Then scream.
Fuck.
I can never have her.
I can never fully allow this darkness—this death—to devour the only bright ending inside of me.
Thayla
6
Time stands still.
Well, actually, it speeds up to a level I can’t keep up with.
I watched, horrified, concerned, and feeling like I was being ripped open as Creed disappeared through his door.
Not a second later, Kyzen sprang into action.
He hasn’t spoken a word to me as I stand here frozen, staring down at the thin layer of blood on my palms.
Creed was covered in it in the strangest of places. From his knees down, his pants were drenched. Little droplets were falling from the bottom hem to the floor. His hands, his left arm, and part of his shirt as though someone wiped their face there to clean themselves off.
What in the realm did he do in the small amount of time he was gone?
Did someone hurt him?
“Kyzen,” I murmur as my chest grows tighter.
He continues to pull things out of the icebox. He’s already turned on the cooker, filled the kettle with water, and put it on the stove but didn’t cut it on. He placed a mug beside it and filled the infuser with fresh tea leaves.
Now he has a spread of vegetables laid out beside the cutting board, with a knife sitting on top of it. Flour is on the counter, with multiple other ingredients beside a bowl.
Whatis he doing?
“Kyzen,” I say firmer.
His head whips up, searching my eyes, then his gaze falls to my hands.
“Shit.” He rounds the counter and grips my wrist. “This isn’t your blood, right?”
