Astrid moved stiffly in Leer’s arms, pulling away from him. “Put me down,” she stammered.
“Astrid—”
Leer hunched forward and groaned in pain as Astrid’s well placed boot kick connected below his belt, debilitating him. His hands sprang open and she tumbled from his grasp, onto the snow.
After a moment of recovery, he straightened up and saw how she put distance between them. He kept his eyes on her, his fingers flexing at his sides as he observed her paleness, not missing the rose-hued flush of her cheeks from the crisp air around them.
Clear. His mind rapidly cleared after releasing her. His mouth opened gently, realizing the internal difference the absence of her touch made.
The beast was right, he realized with sickening guilt. Her touch…‘Tis a poison to my mind.
Leer refocused when he saw Astrid’s silent decision in her body language. “Don’t,” he pleaded, taking a step closer as she froze. “Don’t run.”
“Don’t come any closer to me,” Astrid warned shakily, taking more small steps in the opposite direction.
“Astrid, please,” Leer insisted, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t be afraid.”
He took a soft step toward her. She stiffened in response as she stepped away; it was obvious she tried to suppress a shudder.
“For the love of Hiline,” Leer grumbled. He sighed, dropping his head in defeat and shuddered, rolling his left shoulder against the new thickness in his back. He could still feel the Grimbarror’s cold, rock hard claw digging into his flesh. He took a tentative half step toward Astrid. “I need you to trust me. Do you?” he asked, searching her eyes.
Astrid shook her head with a shiver. “You’re a blasted fool if you think I’ll—”
Leer rolled his eyes. “Stop being stubborn, Astrid.” He took another step forward, extending his hand to her. “Look deep within yourself and answer me—do you trust me?”
Astrid stood still enough for Leer to notice her softening expression as she considered his question.
“I don’t know,” he heard her breathe with a tremble.
As he exhaled, warm, misty puffs of air appeared in front of his face. He took another step closer, his hand still outstretched as a sad smile curved his mouth. “At least you’re honest.”
She hesitantly stepped toward him. He met her more than halfway, understanding her lingering reservation.
“Speak to me,” Leer begged, hating the silence. “Are you alright?” Astrid’s lips moved in soundless motion in response. “Please,” Leer whispered; his chest constricted with revived panic. “Please, say something. You hit your head back there. Are you alright?”
“Shit,” Astrid breathed in shock, her eyes still wide as she looked at Leer with wonder.
Leer laughed with nervous release. “That’s a start.”
Astrid shook her head. “How…?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, Astrid.”
“You…You broke the earth…”
“Aye.”
“You…”
His eyes never left hers; he couldn’t help himself from drowning in their blue depths. An inner flush overcame every inch of him, his stomach churning with unusual hunger. Leer’s teeth dug into his lip and easily tore it, and he sucked the drips of sweet, metallic blood backward to his tongue.
“Don’t be afraid,” he pleaded. “Without your fear, I…it shan’t harm you.”
“What do you mean?” Astrid asked, her eyes narrowing.
Leer blinked a few times, silent as he put the pieces in place. “Just don’t, Astrid,” he pleaded. He clamped his teeth together against the darkness building in him, his thoughts becoming more sensual, as if on instinct. “The Grimbarror consumes it.”
…I consume it.
“You’re not making sense—”
“Listen to me,” Leer interrupted, stacking his voice above Astrid’s, his own fears mounting at terrifying speed as he looked north, “the Grimbarror has returned to the Fell to end the princess’ life.” He paused, looking back toward Astrid. “We need to go. Now.”
“But—”
“We haven’t the time for details.” His breath deepened as he tried to control himself. Steady and balanced. Dammit. Steady…Balanced. He looked ahead toward the Fell. “Let’s go.”
“Leer, wait!”
Leer froze; he dug the toe of his boot into the snow with a grimace and a sigh. Some time had passed since he and Astrid started back out into the wood toward the Fell, though he didn’t quite know how much. With his newfound power and speed, he was far more adept at the journey than before. The physical aches of his previous injuries disappeared, which, in turn, put distance between them.
The separation wasn’t entirely unintentional; it was all Leer could do to keep sane.
When Leer was a child, Finnigan had once tried to explain to him the reason behind Leer’s father’s drinking habits. Leer hadn’t understood it then, the concept of “uncontrollable urges” far too complex for him to absorb.
Yet now, as he trekked through the pure white powder at the base of the Fell, he understood what his uncle tried to say so many years ago.
He and his father suffered from unquenchable thirst, but while his father’s thirst was for mead, Leer’s was for blood.
It would never be the same. A simple touch or kiss, or even intimate possession of someone would never again be enough to quell the fire inside. He would always need more.
He would need blood.
“Leer,” he heard Astrid call out again behind him.
“What do you want?” Leer growled, stealthily looking back at her.
“I want to know what in the world has you so twisted against me?” she asked when she drew closer. He winced as she took hold of his arm and turned him toward her.
Leer sighed, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she huffed.
“Not trying to.”
“You haven’t spoken a word to me.”
“Sorry, but I didn’t feel the need for a chat.”
“Come off it, Leer,” she snapped. “You mean to say that there’s absolutely nothing you need to talk about?”
Leer kept examining the tree line above her hair. “Nothing that concerns you.”
She was aghast. “I don’t believe you. You’re—”
He waited—waited for her to continue to yell at him, or perhaps even slap him. He deserved it; he knew he did. He didn’t have a choice. He had to push her away. She couldn’t be near him like this anymore, since he didn’t know what he might do to her.
When she didn’t say anything, Leer’s eyes shifted from the forest down to Astrid, noticing the utter shock riddling her delicate face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Your face,” she whispered, her blue eyes scanning his left cheekbone intently, zeroed in on his forming burn scar.
His brow furrowed in offense. “What’s the matter with my face?”
“It’s…odd.”
“Try not to be so sensitive, Astrid. It’s rather confusing to know what you really mean when you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re an imbecile.”
He frowned. “Are you still wondering why I don’t wish to talk to you?”
Leer tightened his jaw as Astrid’s fingers grazed his skin, lingering over it. Her compassionate touch was more excruciating than the burn from the original fire.
“You’ve…You’ve an odd…growth on your skin, Leer,” Astrid whispered, rising on tiptoe to get a closer look. Leer swallowed back a groan as he felt her balmy breath spread over his neck and cheek. “It’s—”
She stopped short; he met her eyes upon her gasp.
“What?” Leer asked.
She fell silent.
“What is it, Astrid?” he repeated, this time a bit more frantic.
Her mouth opened, but words failed her.
“Dammit, Astrid—”
“It’s scales, Leer,” Astrid interr
upted, an audible quiver in her voice. She paused, drawing a deep breath. “Scales. Like…Like…”
Neither of them spoke; neither moved.
He dove into her eyes, sinking into the rich tidal waves of clean azure and swam through the waters without a care, without concern. Without fear.
“Like the beast,” Leer murmured. His heart stopped as he watched her brows knit together slowly, the confused realization evident through her widening eyes and paling skin.
“I was going to say like a skimmer or an olis,” she corrected.
“An olis.”
“It could be chapped skin, too.”
“Chapped skin,” he repeated with a scoff, shaking his head. “After all you’ve witnessed, after all you’ve seen, you’ll refuse to believe?”
“Leer, it’s…too fantastic. I mean, there could be a million reasons for what you’re experiencing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You think this is all because of chapped skin?”
She paused, and he watched her through her silence. His skin prickled with awareness as she withdrew her hand from his face. Leer snatched her wrist with a snarl, an odd satisfaction filling him as he absorbed her unspoken shock.
Stop. You can’t do this.
He loosened his grip, his head tilting down in shame. “I…I’m not…”
“Leer—” she breathed.
“I’m not safe,” Leer finished quickly, adjusting his fingers over her skin with a pained sigh. “I’m not safe, Astrid. Please. Please…leave.”
“Leer, you—”
“Leave,” he snarled, meeting her eyes. Against his better judgment, he drew her closer to him. His body ached as she pressed up against him and he squeezed her wrist in response. “Leave. Now.”
“I won’t,” Astrid whispered.
“Stop! Just…Just, stop that.”
“Stop what?”
With more force than he intended, Leer flung Astrid away from himself with a grunt, as she stumbled backwards for a few steps. Her dark hair swung around her face, framing her confused expression. Her unique woodsy scent wafted toward his keen nose. Leer rolled his eyes upward with a groan, kicking the snow in front of him and cursing.
“Leer—” Astrid began.
“No,” Leer said, halting her with a raised hand. He drew a deep breath, leaning his head back as he looked up at the darkening skies overhead. “No. Don’t…Don’t speak.”
He watched the thick clouds swarm above him, creeping away from his sight as he drowned himself in thought.
She won’t leave. I can’t just…leave her to die. She’s not safe. He shut his eyes. She’s not safe with me either. I might be what kills her.
“You—” Leer paused, his words halting as he sniffed the air.
Ash…Odd ash.
“Leer,” Astrid said firmly, as she took his hand. “You need to tell me everything you aren’t saying.”
Her grip was tighter than he gave her credit for. “All you need to know is that you’re not safe,” he replied.
“What I need to know is everything that you do.”
“Astrid—”
“No!” she insisted, yanking on his arm, forcing him to face her. Her violent maneuver caught him off-guard. He felt his mouth drop open, the lust mounting at incalculable speed within him. “Answer me,” she demanded, her nails digging into the flesh of his forearm.
His stomach tightened; his body stirred.
“I changed,” he whispered.
“Into what?” she breathed. She tightened her hand, and he suppressed a shudder. “Into what?” she repeated through his silence.
“You know,” he darkly countered.
She hesitated a beat. “I’m…not—”
“Don’t lie,” Leer growled. “You know.” He stepped closer, surprising himself with how he withstood the burn of their contact. “You know exactly what I am. So stop denying it and say it.”
“You haven’t become some terrible beast,” Astrid insisted. “Your mind…Your mind is so fixed on the idea, that it has you believing in the impossible.”
He watched her, transfixed. “You refuse to believe, even after all that’s taken place.” He closed the gap between them, his breath hitching as his hips roughly collided with hers.
She shook her head, a slight quiver to her bottom lip. “You haven’t changed, Leer. You’re still the good man you’ve always been.”
“You know better than that,” he growled, his nostrils flaring as he seized her neck. “You’re nothing but a filthy liar, like you’ve always been.”
And in that moment, he knew he was his father’s son.
Her throat was a twisted silver mug handle firm under his grasp. Her body, the cup holding the mead of her blood, was sinfully warm, alluring. Her delicious scent rose from it, dancing under his nose as he lifted her closer to his mouth.
I can’t. I can’t take a drink.
Just one…
Just one sip of her mouth.
The dark strands of her hair, silken and wild, teased his face as his fingers clamped down tighter around her larynx.
Just one—just one sip.
She moved against him, oxygen starved, her hips colliding against his stomach as he raised her higher in his hold.
He squeezed harder; he grit his teeth, saliva forming inside his cheeks.
Just one.
His eyes honed in on hers:
So blue and round. So pure.
His—so dark, so broken, now burning yellow gold around the rims of the irises.
One…One, sweet drink…
I’m my father’s son…
No!
…Just one sip…
…Just one…
“Please,” Astrid begged through a strained whisper. It tore the veil over his eyes.
He saw his hands eagerly taking her life away.
He felt his skin tingle from the thrill of the hunt.
He felt his fervor grow as she weakened.
He heard the calling of his soul, the longing for her death.
Leer’s fingers forcibly sprang open as he released Astrid, panting as he watched her limp body quiver on the snow at his feet. As she drew shallow, strained breaths, her hair splayed like a halo on the powder around her.
He shook, trembling with agonized terror. Clarity washed over him like a harsh wave of the Sea of Zita beating against a slick jetty, residual guilt clinging with pained realization:
He almost killed her.
Leer reluctantly turned his focus from Astrid’s coughing to the distant sight of the Fell. His thoughts flitted to the amulet. He was so close, so close to succeeding.
He was so close to heroism, yet so close to madness.
Movement in his peripheral vision shifted Leer’s attention back to Astrid. He watched as she tried to push herself up to her knees, shaking as she sucked in precious mouthfuls of air.
His mouth opened, his arms moving slightly toward her. He froze, his feet grounded from shock and fear.
You did this to her, Boxwell.
You.
He willed himself to speak, to beg her forgiveness.
He couldn’t.
Leave.
Leave before you do it again.
Leer watched Astrid rise to her feet, turning to him. His chest constricted when he saw the redness around her neck.
His fingers, etched in her skin. Her eyes, bloodshot and weeping. Her face, pale and marred.
He felt her silent fear of him growing larger with each moment. His guilt and self hatred rose beyond what he could bear.
He was his father’s son. But now, instead of hiding behind a basket to get away from the horror his father caused, he was the cause.
Leer swallowed back the bile that lurched up his throat, catching Astrid’s eyes as they locked on his. His breath hitched; he stepped away from her, his hands flattening by his sides.
“I…I…”
Words failed him.
But he knew action wouldn’t.
He sc
anned the entire length of her petite frame, memorizing each detail of her:
The subtle curves of her thighs, hips, waist and breasts; the frenzy of her dark, tangled hair; the alabaster skin of her cheekbones dusted with freckles; her curious, crystalline eyes; her dewy lips, parted in question.
He closed his eyes. It was better this way. Whatever he now was, he needed to take every precaution he could. He had enjoyed the process of killing her far too much to keep her close. He would abandon her, and the rest of humanity, for the entirety of his days. After all, he could never harm something he would never see again.
He drew a shaky breath through his nose as he unsheathed his sword, tossing it to the ground in front of her. He didn’t want to leave her unprotected.
He tried to ignore how sensual his first name sounded on her lips as she whispered it repeatedly. He saved her portrait and voice to his memory, both conjuring mental images that began the sickening stir within him once more.
And then, he ran.
-20—
Leer’s hands trembled at his sides when he arrived at his long sought destination—an imposing iron gate shrouded by thick vines of ivy, flanked by two vast stretches of stone walls on either side, each at least three men high.
Enter the gates, but do not fall.
He didn’t fear the aged blood staining the pores of the rocks, nor the erratic collection of broken bones that peeked out from the snow at his feet.
Rather, his terror came from the vivid imprint of his long fingers in her neck he saw in his mind’s eye.
Whatever was on the other side of the iron gate couldn’t be nearly as frightening as the unadulterated ecstasy he derived from throttling an innocent woman.
Leer sucked in a shaky breath, his sweaty right palm colliding with the ice-cold iron bar in front of him. He examined the detailed lock at eye level.
Child’s play now, I suppose.
The desolate, woodland world around him was still and calm, wildlife hidden away from sight. He knew he wasn’t alone, though. He could feel its presence, sense its pleasure at his arrival.
With a determined yank, he defeated the lock and forced open the gate. The gate creaked, aged metal groaning in protest from years of remaining idle. Leer ducked as snow and ice particles crashed from stretched ivy overhead, vines snapping as the entryway swung open on its hinges.
He brushed his tunic off, shaking his cap free of fractals as he stepped through with a cautious breath.
The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 19