Page 21 of When Roses Burn

I couldn’t save Seth, but I would save this elf.

“How do these things work?” I demanded as frustration got the better of me.

I cried out when my impatience caused one of the thorns to bite a lot deeper until it scraped the bone. With it embedded in my palm, I could grip the vine tighter. I bit my lip against a cry as more of the thorns pierced my flesh, and I pulled.

When the elf gasped, my gaze shot up to his. “I’m sorry!” I blurted. “I can’t get it off!”

Confusion and then determination filled his eyes. “Keep trying.”

“But I’m hurting you.”

“I can take it if you can.”

“I can, and I’m going to get you free.”

With those words, I focused my attention on the vine as I tried again. My flesh shredded, and my blood spilled to mingle with his, but the vine showed no sign of loosening.

The magic used to create them was incredibly powerful, and I had the sickening sensation the vines were somehow feeding off our blood. The possibility made my stomach turn.

When the elf sucked in another breath and tensed beneath me, my eyes flew back up to him, but he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, his onyx gaze focused on the doorway.

My hands stilled, and the hair on my nape rose as a chill ran down my spine. I felt eyes boring into my back as I became certain someone was standing behind me, watching us. I hadn’t detected any footsteps and didn’t hear a single breath, but they were there.

No other casters should be in here with me… unless a day caster was also about to start their Needing. They would have started their journey when I did and would have arrived at approximately the same time. Plus, it was extremely rare for two casters to start their Needing at the same time.

Did my mother send someone back here to watch over me? Did she return?

If she were behind me, then I was in a lot of trouble. She might imprison me in these vines.

I froze as I tried to figure out what to do. Should I turn and confront whoever was there, pretend I didn’t know someone stood behind me, or launch an attack?

While I never had formal training to fight, I’d spent a fair amount of time in No Man’s Land, seen the cage matches, and trained myself while locked in my tower. I hadn’t sat in the tower and cried for a whole year; I did do some of that, but I’d mostly plotted ways to escape.

Part of that plan had been training myself. I’d exercised endlessly and used my pillows as targets to punch and kick. Determined to build my endurance, I’d run around my room so many times that I’d collapse from exhaustion. I’d done sit-ups, push-ups, and lifted everything I could to build my strength.

Even after my mother freed me, I trained whenever I could. It was usually in my room, where no one stood guard over me and everyone believed I was asleep.

I wasn’t a trained warrior, but I wasn’t useless either. And now, I was certain I was about to face my first test against an adversary as the elf remained focused on the doorway, and all my instincts screamed danger!

Gathering my courage, I bit back a shriek as I pulled my hands free of the vines. My flesh and blood made a strange sucking sound when the thorns pulled out of them.

Spinning, I turned to face whatever threat stood in the doorway. The blood dripping from my hands splattered the floor; their pitter-patter sounded like a hailstorm in the suddenly hushed room.

I prepared myself to attack whoever stood there, but my plan flew out the window when I saw what awaited me.

Ice pumped through my veins, my mouth went dry, and I almost swayed before catching myself. If I passed out, the man standing in the doorway would certainly kill me.

Is there a doorway? It was impossible to tell as the man’s body and shoulders had consumed it.

His orange eyes, the color of fire, were focused solely on me, and while I had no idea who he was, loathing radiated from them. I’d never seen eyes that color before and never could have imagined they existed.

I suspected all the eternals in this harem hated casters for keeping them here, but this was far more hatred than I’d encountered from the others when I looked in their cells. And where had he come from? I’d looked in all the cells, searched everywhere, and hadn’t seen him anywhere.

I would have remembered this man. It would be impossible to forget him.

He was at least six foot eight and thickly muscled. Two scars ran from the center of his forehead and diagonally across the top of his right eyebrow before ending at his temple.

It looked as if someone had sliced him open with two knives or two claws. Whoever inflicted them must have cut into his bone, as the scars hadn’t vanished, or perhaps the wound was newly healing and hadn’t had time to fade.