Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
She blinks at the fire. “So you left to go walk with the dead? The ones who wander around searching for what they’ll never find? Or the peaceful ones?”
“The wanderers in the dark,” I respond. I never go to the brighter place where the peaceful ones are. They are not my kind.
“Why?” she asks. “Is it really because you can’t bear the sunlight?”
Ah, she has caught my lie. “No,” I whisper, “it is not because of the sun. It is because. . .” I break off as I stare at the flames. Honestly, it’s not even because I was worried about losing control around her. “I envy even the restless dead because they know a peace I never will. Eternity in this plane is the true hell because there is no escape. No rest. No death.”
“But isn’t that the same as what they’re experiencing?” she asks. “They can’t escape there, and you can’t escape here. Except you can, because you can visit their plane. And if you wanted, you could visit the part of that realm where the peaceful souls live. You have choices.”
I start to deny what she is saying. . . except. . . I cannot deny her logic. My frown deepens.
“Is the stew ready?”
She’s just exploded the self-pitying logic I’ve caged myself with for so many years and not lingered in her anger over the abandonment that almost resulted in her death.
I look upon her, shivering still, and a truth is cemented in my soul. I will protect this creature forever, and never, ever again will I abandon her.
I fumble in the pack for a bowl to pour the stew into, blinking with the strange new emotions flooding my system. I have never felt these things before. Warm in my chest for another being. My heart feels open and tender where there was only anger and sorrow for so long.
I’m careful as I pour her the largest portion, keeping back only a small bit for myself.
She frowns when I hand her the bowl. “I think you gave me the wrong one.”
I just shake my head and urge her to take the steaming bowl. “Be careful not to burn yourself. Let it cool.”
“Don’t you need more?”
I shake my head again. “I am used to not eating much.” It is the truth. Abaddon would leave for long stretches of time, only providing the barest of rations in the dungeon, and I am used to starvation. Sustenance is more important for her. She is the fragile one.
I am stubbornly difficult to kill. There is only one method we have ever found to kill our kind—hell-metal. We melted it all down except for the chains in the forge long ago. Something I have occasionally lamented but today am glad for.
A few minutes later, she begins sipping at the bowl, and I am happy to see color come back into the bit of cheeks I can see from the eye slits of her mask. Her mood, too, seems brighter after she eats.
“You should sleep while it is dark,” I say. “It will get colder, and it will be better to zip you up in more layers. I will attend to the fire while you rest.”
She frowns. “What about you? Don’t you need to sleep?”
I shake my head. “It is not necessary.”
She sputters, “So you’re just not going to sleep for a whole week?”
“I’ve gone much longer without sleep. I have promised not to abandon you again.”
“Well, yeah, but—” She frowns.
“I will not let the fire go out.”
She sighs and clutches at her thighs where her knife is and then nods. “Okay.”
“You should get into the tent. Into the warm bag.”
She looks uncertain, even though she repeats, “Okay.”
I nod. “Good. That is good.”
She sets down her empty bowl in the snow, then looks in my direction. “Goodnight, Death.” And then, to my great shock, she comes over and presses her warm lips to my forehead before disappearing inside the tent flap and zipping it shut behind her.
Chapter Fourteen
KSENIA
“Papa,” I say.
“Don’t you see, Ksyusha?” Papa grins at me, raising a glass. A fire crackles behind him, but still, I shiver, feeling as if something is wrong. I should warn him, but I can’t remember why.
“Papa,” I start again, but he cuts me off.
“It’s all about to be made right. Just like I always told you. It will all be ours again.”
But then, behind me, comes a low, blistering growl.
I swing around and yank out my knives. “Get behind me, Papa!” I scream as wolves come out of the forest and circle us.
One of them snaps at my father, who shouts and falls to his knees.
“No!” I scream and lunge at the wolf with my knife. But I’m too late. The wolf has my father by the throat. Blood! There’s so much blood.
“Papa!” I scream. “No, Papa!”