Page 133 of Elysian

Vaner battled with the horse’s reins, yanking and jerking to make it still. He tied it to the tree as it kept bucking. The whites of the horse’s eyes shone. Egan—no, Vaner managed to secure it. He turned to me with brisk strides.

“It will be the perfect distraction for the Hollows.”

“You are disgusting.” I eyed his impassive face. “How could you murder your son?”

“He is blessed to have served me. Besides, this is your fault.” He smoothed his hands over Egan’s chest. “I found him unconscious, weak and ready to host me.”

My hands went numb. I had rendered him unconscious so Cassiel and I could escape—so he could continue living. My mercy doomed him.

“I thought you needed Nocturn.” I could not feel my lips move as I asked the question.

“No, redblood, not to jump into kin. All I needed was Elixir and a son. Nocturn,” he murmured, “was to stop this incessant need to leave bodies when they grow too old.” He clicked his tongue. “If only Warlords were not immune to becoming hosts, I would have had no need for you.”

“What would you have done with Cassiel if you had managed to take me?”

“He would have lived within a beautiful coffin. I would have had immortality. And no need to escape a faltering, weak body.” He sneered.

He took my arm and lifted a thin blade, pressing the side under my chin to raise my head. I panted, dangling from his hold.

“Now tell me where the line appears.”

He slashed the edge down my arm. I flinched as blood dripped in a rivulet. The edges of my vision faded in and out, but the thin guiding line appeared in my periphery. The horse continued to scream as he wrenched me forth.

“Where is the line?”

He shook me, staring into my face. Egan was my first friend in the Kingdom. Whatever else was true about him, he had helped me many times. My focus fell to lips that had kissed mine. Egan was dead . . .

“Answer.”

“Fuck you,” I spat in his face, the vulgar words coming with ease.

His features contorted into rage, then his fist came flying at me. Again and again battering at my face until numbness spread under his assault. He spat to the side, shaking the blood from his hand.

I whimpered, lying on my side. Before my eyes, the gash he’d made on my arm had begun to close. The fact that I still lived said Cassiel continued to live. And every gash and hit I had would only go to weakening Cassiel.

I could not let something happen to me. If I could get him to the cavern, then maybe I could find a jagged stone.

It took three attempts to push the word out. “Okay.”

“Good.” He caught my arm and pulled me up. His grip was all that kept me balanced. “Where?” His impatience bled through his tone.

I pointed in its direction. We left behind the screaming horse. The familiar shriek of Hollows grew louder. Bushes swayed and trees rocked, then whatever was there was gone.

The horse’s screeches turned high-pitched. He had tied the horse to lure the Hollows.

My lip trembled. Vaner fished into his pocket and pulled free a piece of cloth. He pressed it to his face. He’d beaten me enough that my nose still bled. I wiped beneath it and flicked the blood onto the ground. I struggled to think through the pain in my head.

Fog coated the ground.

“Get me through the fog quickly,” Vaner ordered. He yanked me close, hot breath against my ear. “If you try anything, it will not go well for you.” My mind raced. He knew what the fog was and what it did to the mind.

The fog thickened, and I attempted to slow my stride into a limp. Vaner tensed his grip in warning.

Was Vaner attempting to collect more of that thick black liquid? More poison for Warlords?

I could no longer see before me; the line was faint through the fog. A bit further and it thinned. I dragged myself forward, intending to leave him behind. He barreled into me, bringing me to the ground. Leaves crunched under my cheek. A blow fell on my back. I cried out and writhed trying to escape, jolting with each hit.

All I could think of was Cassiel.