The Forsaken Hero

The camp was completely still. Whoever had been on watch must have dozed off. They were all wounded and exhausted from the battle.

My eyes darted around, searching the sleeping lumps and shadows. Had Rochelle decided she needed answers? Or was it Alex? I’d been relieved when he’d gone to sleep instead of bothering me, but maybe now that everyone else was out, he wanted to have his fun?

But what could I do if it was? I tugged on my ropes, and immediately regretted it. Maybe I was stiffer than I thought. The poison was still in my system, and my entire body was sore from the pounding shockwaves and auras. Those last few minutes, when I’d been stripped of my wards, had exposed me to more danger than throughout the entire battle. Even if I somehow got free, I would likely succumb to exposure and exhaustion before the sun rose.

The forest groaned, a distant branch cracking. The noise echoed through the night, a stark reminder of my inability to sense anything. My demonkin night vision was a paltry comfort.

One of the shapes stirred. Alex. My heart pressed into my throat as he pushed Marge gently off his arm and rose from his blankets. He yawned, cavalierly stretched, before his gaze eventually settled on me.

"Couldn’t sleep, eh?" he said, not exactly quiet, but not loud enough to rouse the others. He stepped over Marge and Jill, crouching down in front of me. The scratches on his chest had fully recovered, leaving little crusts of blood over fading scars. I bit my lip, looking away, but he caught my chin with the crook of his finger, raising my gaze to his.

"Your eyes are beautiful at night," he whispered. "Glowing like embers in the dark."

"Please, stop..." I whimpered, shivering violently.

His hand crawled across my face, cupping my cheek, and his lips pursed in a frown. "You’re freezing. Damn, I guess we should have figured that, given you don’t level up and stuff. It’s just been so long since I’ve had to consider that. Here, let me warm you up."

"Let go of me!" I jerked away from his hand, pushing my head back against the tree. It was all I could do to avoid his touch. "You...I don’t...please, I’m begging you..."

"I like hearing you beg. It’s cute. Reminds me of before."

Foreign power filled me, warm and cozy, like huddling in a blanket before the fire. I squirmed, hating how my body leaned into it.

Alex caressed my hair, smoothly running over my neck. He slid a finger under the chain of the soul binder, following it down until the ring rested in his palm. "You put this on willingly, huh? Let someone have that much power over you? And then it ends up in my hands. It must be fate, hmm?"

He chuckled softly at his own joke. He turned his palm, letting the ring fall back to my chest. His touch lingered, brushing over my collarbone and shoulder. A tiny, pathetic sob escaped me, but that was it. I couldn’t even cry out.

"My sweet slave," he whispered. His hand lingered at my throat, pressing just hard enough that I could feel my pulse. "Should we have some fun, maybe warm up a little? Just for a few hours, until the others wake up?"

I pressed into the tree, the rough bark scraping my scalp, trying to will myself to wake up. If this was a dream, then it was the worst kind of nightmare. It was so real, his hands so hot, my stomach twisting with revulsion and fear.

"You’re absolutely irresistible, bound and helpless like this," he continued, his hands beginning to wander. "I can’t believe I managed to sleep at all with you sitting right here. Oh, but don’t worry," he cooed, "I’ll be gentle. For your first time, at least. Once we get back to the throne, we can explore some--"

There was a rush of wind, Alex reeled back, and his hand loosened its grip. A yawning emptiness replaced Alex’s warmth inside my chest. Hot liquid splashed across my face, startling my voice out of my throat. My scream was shrill in the night.

"Gah!" Alex screamed, staggering back and falling to his knees. He clutched at his hand, blood pulsing through his fingers. But...that didn’t make sense. He was still holding my neck.

A shadow loomed out of the night. A cowl was thrown back, and I stared up, still sobbing, at a pair of violet eyes. The next moment, those eyes were level with me, and the grip on my neck vanished. The rope that bound my wrists went slack, and my arms dropped limply to my sides, burning as blood flowed through stale veins.

"Xiviyah, are you hurt? Did he touch you?" Luke’s voice was soft and urgent. Strong hands took my shoulder, and the other my cheek. Strong and calloused. Warm in a way Alex could never be.

I sobbed. It was the only thing I knew how to do. His arms surrounded me, brushing away my tears, holding me close. I breathed in Luke’s scent with greedy breaths, clinging to him as I never had before. He pressed my head to his chest. He wasn’t wearing armor so that I could feel the pulse of his heart through the fabric of his robe.

"It’s alright," he murmured, his hand stroking through my hair. "You’re safe, now."

Alex’s screams multiplied as the other members of his party awoke, scrambling to figure out what was going on. I barely noticed, unable to feel anything more than the urge to weep. I didn’t care that Luke couldn’t be here, impossible for him to be holding me. Maybe I hadn’t ever woken up, and this entire thing had been a dream. That was okay. Just so long as I didn’t have to go back before he arrived. I could still feel Alex’s hand at my throat, his breath on my skin.

But it wasn’t a dream. Luke let go of me, letting winter reclaim its hold. I fumbled for him, my fingers stiff and unwieldy.

"P-Please..." I sobbed as his robe pulled from my grip. "Don’t leave me..."

"Wait for me," he whispered, standing slowly. The shadows coalesced, forming his sword.

Alex’s hand had been severed at the wrist. He writhed on the ground, screaming in pain, as Marge desperately tried to soothe him enough so that she could grab his arm and heal him. Jill fumbled for her bow, nocking an arrow, but Luke reacted before she released it. His sword blurred, launching a narc of shadow. It severed her bow, bisected the arrow, and caught her in the chest. Her armor proved no resistance, and with a silent, bloodless scream, she collapsed to the ground. The arc continued past her, cleaving through the forest until it vanished into the night.

"Damn it!" Kirla cried, throwing herself at Luke. Luke’s sword was still out of position, and she grinned triumphantly as her blade flashed with fire, a seventh-level technique aimed right at his chest.

Luke’s hand rose, twisting with shadows. Kirla drove the point of her sword directly at his palm, but a half-inch away, it suddenly froze. The point ground against air as Kirla threw everything she had into it, but it wouldn’t budge.

With chilling deliberacy, Luke walked past her. Shadowy tendrils rose from the ground, lashing around her like ropes. They tore her back, separated her from her sword, and dragged her to her knees. The ends sank into her flesh, and she began to writhe, screaming in agony as her skin took on a grayish hue.

"Firestorm!" called Rochelle’s shrill voice.

Seven magic circles materialized over the camp, bathing the air in a ferocious orange glow. My lungs burned, and my horns and tail twitched as all the moisture was baked from the air. I started to cough, my organs squeezed by the pressure.

Luke glanced back at me, his brow tightened, and then he vanished. A small shockwave struck me as he reappeared behind the mage, his sword driven through her chest. Rochelle froze, sputtering blood as her spell died. The feedback slammed into her, and her eyes rolled up. She was dead before she hit the ground. Luke kicked her off of his sword and turned toward Alex and Marge.

"Wait, please!" Marge cried, stumbling to her feet, raising her arms in an effort to placate the approaching Apostle. "This is all a misunderstanding! We weren’t going to do anything to--"

"Move."

She paled at that single word, spoken with perfect indifference. It sent down my spine, as well. There was no anger. No rage. Nothing I knew to expect from Luke. I didn’t know how I should feel about that, but it made me afraid anyway.

"I, um, you can’t hurt him," Marge whimpered, her ears lying flat. "He’s my master. I....I need him. Please!"