Page 216 of Anathema

He buried his face in Maevyth’s hair, but the delicious scent he craved was no longer there. Only the cold stench of rot and disease burned in his nose. A searing heat blasted across his chest in a flare of black fire. Adrenaline shot through his veins, as he scrambled to hold onto her, while the flame devoured her limp body. “No! No, no, no!” In seconds, she disintegrated in his arms, until all that remained was a small red bloodstone with silver markings caught in his palm.

“No! Maevyth, please. No!” he roared, the molten fury slinking through his blood like lava.

“Zevander?”

At the sound of her voice, he looked around for her.

“Can you hear me? Come back to me.”

“Where are you? Tell me where you are!”

“Open your eyes, Zevander. Open them!”

His eyes were open, though. They’d been open the whole time.

“Look at me,” she whispered. “Please.”

The violence in him calmed, and the beast tearing through his chest finally stilled. He exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Maevyth stared down at him, their palms pressed against one another.

Her eyes, a glowing silver.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

MAEVYTH

Ibreathed a tearful chuckle, staring down at the beautiful eclipse of Zevander’s eyes. “Hi.”

I hadn’t imagined that merely pressing my palms to his would’ve incited the flame, but I could feel it drawing into me, that delicious heat warming my bones as I commanded it.

His body had stopped convulsing, and while his pupils remained dilated, the sliver of gold and orange had begun to widen, replacing the eerie blackness from before.

Confusion slid over his bewildered expression, and he jolted upright, turning away from me as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The muscles in his back twitched, and he bent forward, cupping his head in his hands.

“Zevander?” I asked with caution, not entirely certain if he was lucid.

“What did I do?” He ran his hands back and forth over his skull, mussing his hair.

Frowning at his back, I shook my head. “What do you mean? You did nothing.”

“Your eyes … they’re more silver than before.”

Touching a finger to my cheek, I glanced around the room for a mirror, but there was nothing to see my reflection. “I’m not sure why.” Elowen had said that only death could break the spell. Perhaps her death? Eyes clamped, I shook my head, banishing the creeping visuals of her exploding to dust at my hand. Not now.

“I hurt you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“You never touched me, Zevander. Not once.” The way his body trembled, his muscles tense and distressed, I wanted to touch him. Comfort him. I reached out to him, but paused. Unwilling to chance his rejection right then, I pushed to my hands and knees instead. “I’m going to get you some water.”

He neither moved, nor acknowledged me, as I slid off the bed and made my way to the other room. Rifling through cupboards, I found a cup, a clean rag, and from the counter I took the pitcher of water that Elowen had filled earlier. I carried the supplies back to the room to find he hadn’t moved at all, still cradling his head in his hands. After setting everything down on the table beside his weapons, I poured the sulfur-smelling contents of the pitcher into the cup.

“You must be horribly dehydrated.” Holding it out to him, I watched his chest expand and contract with deep breaths, as if he were trying to calm himself. I desperately wanted to ask him what had him so rattled, but I decided to wait until he’d had a chance to catch his breath.

He reached for the cup and sniffed it, crinkling his nose. Well water. Nothing like the crisp, clean water I’d had in Aethyria. He tipped it back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll take the liquor, instead.”

With a nod, I padded out of the room and returned with the bottle of liquor Elowen had given him the night before.

Hand trembling, he poured it into the cup and swallowed it all in one gulp.

The wash basin still sat at the bedside, and I dipped the cloth into the water, squeezing off the excess. “May I?” I asked, holding it up to him.