Anathema (The Eating Woods, #1)

by Keri Lake

The paper crumpled within my tight fist, as I allowed myself to imagine such a thing. I refused to be subjected to him. Or any man, for that matter.

Emotions I was forced to keep hidden for fear of looking possessed by evil, as girls were often perceived when they felt too much.

The men of our parish believed the birds to be an omen of death. They believed the same of me, too, so maybe I shared a kinship with the foreboding creatures.

“You’re peculiar, is all, Maevyth. And nothing invokes fear quite like the peculiar.”

“It’s true! Lilleven’s brother saw the whole thing. This girl is the anathema, a witch, and deserves banishment to The Eating Woods!”

She opened her eyes to reveal beautiful, pale gray irises, the color of morning skies in Wyntertide, the left marred with a streak of silver that reminded him of the moon he’d seen earlier. Deep, intelligent eyes that gave an air of youth and mischief, their cat-like shape seductively sleepy.

“What is this Corvugon you mentioned?” “They were messengers of the dead, believed to have been the beloved pets of the Death Goddess. Sizeable raptors with teeth and claws designed for tearing flesh. Centuries ago, they evoked as much fear as the dragon.” He considered for a moment that the egg tucked under the girl’s bed could’ve very well been the creature Dolion described. “These raptors … they would bear eggs like a bird, or a dragon?” “Yes. Large, black-scaled eggs, smelling of brimstone.”

His dark chuckle echoed around me, sending a wave of terror down my spine. “Yes. I suppose, to some, I am a monster. Let your sister be a lesson. Wild and unruly women have no place in this world. You’re meant to be tamed, or put down, if necessary.”

I might not have cared what lay in store for me with these men, at that point, because without my sister, nothing mattered to me. I hadn’t seen her die, though. And because of that, however small, there remained a sliver of hope. A reason. The will to fight.

“Can I at least ask your name? So that I’m not mentally calling you angry eyes?” A sound of disapproval followed. “Zevander.” “Zevander,” I echoed. “I’m Maevyth.” “I didn’t ask.”

Chin tipped up, Dolion stared back at him in challenge. “And I’m curious, as well. Have you ever hesitated to kill anything?” Zevander didn’t bother to answer that. His reputation spoke for itself.

“He has no idea the ancient power that resides in you. The mystical black flame that could wreak havoc on his kingdom, with no more than a wave of your hand.”

“Do not attempt to appeal to my good nature. We’ve established that I don’t have one.”

I glanced to his cheek above the mask, where the grain had dried against his skin. “Perhaps you might wipe my dinner off your face before making serious threats against me.” Teeth grinding, I forced myself not to spit at him right then.

“I find it interesting that any time a girl is unusual, or dare I say, unique, she’s deemed evil, or cursed.”

I wanted to reach into the void and pull my sister from whatever misery she suffered, to divide the burden so that she might have a moment to breathe. While we may not have been blood, I loved her as a second half of myself. A twin.

Leaving me as the one not knowing what to say, while I stood fumbling for thought. The pause stretched longer, stoking the awkward exchange between us. Say something. In the absolute absence of thought, I found myself staring at his broad shoulders, my mind wandering to what he must’ve looked like without his shirt. “You have a nice back.” The words tumbled haphazardly from my lips, and I slapped my hand to my mouth far too late to contain them.

“Your heart must be the smallest organ you possess.” “And your mouth must be the largest.” Oooh, what I wouldn’t have given to smack him across the face!

I glanced toward the outside of my cell. “What about Dolion?” “What about Dolion?” “I don’t care to change in front of him.” “Trust me, he has no interest in you. You have no cock.” “He’s …” Brow quirked, she tipped her head. “Into fucking men? Yes. Now, change. Quickly. Torryn has a bad temper.”

“Yes. The first time you use a glyph successfully, it remains permanently etched on your palm.” She held up her own palms to show seven symbols–four on her left and three on her right. “These are the powers I wield.”

“Yes. We are quite vicious to our younger selves, aren’t we?” Dolion’s question echoed my own guilt, and I stood pondering how many times I’d blamed myself for something I was too young to understand.

As I sang, I lowered my hand toward his face, hesitating a moment. I stroked a gentle finger across his shoulder, and he startled, but didn’t move. I kept on singing as I rested my hand against him, and I felt him shake with a sob. Tears formed in my eyes. My heart clenched and broke for this poor, helpless creature, who seemed to want nothing more than a gentle touch. I was no longer afraid. I was furious at whoever had hurt him.

Wearing a slight smile, she sauntered toward the window, and something about her dark figure set against the misty, aphotic view, and the candles flickering around her, as if the light longed to touch her, made his chest clench. She was beautiful. No, beautiful was too weak a word. She was intoxicating. Exquisitely divine.

I forced all thoughts of him and his bulge out of my head as best I could, as I stared down at the marble floor, desperate for something else to focus on. Do not think about him. “Think of a word,” he said, that deep voice bringing the image forth again. “Any word. And Rykaia will say it aloud.” A word. A word. What word? My head frantically scrambled for a word, as she took hold of my arm. The moment her lips curved to a smile, I knew she knew. “My, my, Maevyth. You are a naughty girl,” she said with an edge of amusement.

“How about you teach me to flip that staff the way you did earlier.” He arched a brow. “You wish to learn fighting techniques?” “Is this when you tell me girls shouldn’t possess such skills?” Leaning against the pole, he shrugged. “Not at all. I’m merely surprised you’re interested.”

“Is it me doing this, or you?” “I’m supplying the power, but it’s you who commands it.” Me commanding his power.

“What wicked spells you weave, little witch.”

Much as I fought to deny it, the man captivated me. That spellbinding, defiant nature of his roused a dark and lecherous craving that refused to be smothered.

I drew in a shaky breath and leaned forward, staring through one of the lancet windows. An enormous, feathered dragon, whose claws scraped against the stones of the castle wall, hopped his way over to the balcony. “Dear gods.” Awe livened Allura’s voice as she crept toward the window with slow and careful steps. “Is that … what I think it is?” I studied the silvery eyes that were all too familiar to me. “Raivox?” Scrambling for the balcony door, I fumbled with the lever for a moment, my hands shaking.

“Of course not.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I find that woman absolutely insufferable.” Given the fact that Rykaia couldn’t look at me as she said that, I didn’t believe her. In fact, I’d have bet she rather liked the woman. Quite a bit.

She laughed, too. Both of us broke into hysterical laughter, pointing at each other. “What did you do?” I asked, falling into another laughing spell. “I can’t … I’m laughing … too hard!” Her response had me gasping for breath between obnoxious bouts of laughter, and I fell back against the bed. Which made us laugh more. The two of us must’ve looked and sounded absolutely juvenile. But it felt good to laugh.

She finally stopped, and the elation on her face sobered to something serious. “I have slept for a very long time. But since you arrived, I don’t want to sleep. I want to jump and dance and breathe again.”

Rykaia craned her neck back, and the moment she seemed to notice him, she snorted another obnoxious laugh. “We’re doomed, Maevyth. The fun governor has arrived, and he is not happy.”

She was chaos wrapped in fine silk. The embodiment of trouble that’d nearly brought him to his fucking knees when he’d first laid eyes on her across the ballroom. So achingly beautiful, his chest hurt.

“The mortal is your problem. Not mine.” Damn the sharp stab in his chest as his cold words betrayed his heart. The urge to rip out his own tongue had his hands curled into tight fists at his side. “Oh, she is very much your problem.” Zevander ignored him and kept on toward Rykaia. “Fuck it all, you stubborn bastard. She’s your mate, Zevander!” Dolion’s words brought him to a grinding halt, and eyes narrowed, Zevander turned to face him. “What did you just say?” “I said she is your mate. I saw it in a vision. She wore your sigil, the mark of your scorpion. As did your son.”

“I’m sorry. I know you must think I’m … ridiculous for such a thing.” He pushed a wavy strand of hair behind my ear. “I think you’re the bravest mortal I’ve ever met. And perhaps the most fucking stubborn, as well.” His comment brought a tearful smile to my face. “Regardless, I’ll stay and help you find her.” The relief of his words left me weak in the knees, but through a mist of tears, I shook my head. “I can’t ask you to do that. Not when Rykaia needs you.” “Rykaia will always need me.” He rubbed his thumb across my cheek, capturing the fallen tear. “This is about you.”

“I dare you to look her in the eyes!” Unbidden voices bubbled from the darkest corner of my memories. “Look the lorn in the eye and every one you love will die!” The taunting rhymes from other children, and the scorn of their parents who quietly laughed along with them. Years of rejection and ostracism carved into my thoughts with sharp-edged tongues. Zevander looked at me as if I were something more than the disparaging word that’d been hammered into me since I was found by the edge of the woods: unwanted. Lorn. He looked at me as if I was worthy of being seen.

“I want you. I want you so desperately that I’d kill anything with a pulse just to have you for one night. This insatiable craving I feel …” A muscle in his jaw twitched with the tension in his words and he squeezed my hand. “I can’t fucking breathe. I ache for you, Maevyth. Believe me when I say this.”

Instead, he made a silent vow that he’d viciously strike down anything that touched her from that day forward. His mate. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Mates were for those who believed in fate, who gazed at the stars with a longing to capture them. He’d lived too long with the practicality of knowing the stars were too far out of reach, and yet, in his arms lay the brightest of them all. The girl with the moon in her eyes and fire in her soul.

“You are mine, moon witch. For all eternity and whatever lies beyond it. No soul has ever been more intricately woven into mine than yours.”