Page 62 of Vanquished Gods

Someone had trapped me in here. The air reeked of wood, damp soil, and moldering rocks. Flecks of dirt fell on my face.

Buried.

Something was deeply wrong with my body.

I couldn’t stay in here, buried alive.

WasI even alive?

I slammed my palms against the wood, desperation seeping into my every movement. I had no idea who to call for. Who was I?

The sharp sound of my nails scraping against wood rang in my ears, frantic, hollow.

Then—a noise from above. Metal hitting wood.

Someone was coming for me, but I couldn’t wait. I slammed on the mahogany with my fists furiously, desperately, until I finally splintered the wood.

Cold air and dirt washed over me, and I sat up in the soil, the world above suddenly blinding in its brightness. Silver light poured over me—too bright, too sharp. My vision swam as my eyes struggled to adjust, and when they finally did, they landed on him.

A man, his beautiful features sculpted by shadows and moonlight. He was reaching for me. His eyes—golden, piercing—locked onto mine as he pulled me up.

Instinctively, I know he was one who had done this to me. The one who made me into something else.

Hatred surged through me, hotter than blood, fiercer than anything I’d ever felt. I jerked my hand away from his grasp, fury searing under my skin. My tongue flicked out, brushing over the sharp points of my teeth. Without thinking, I lunged. I sank my teeth into his neck, tasting cold blood, the same as what now pulsed through my veins.

“Elowen.” Gently, he pulled me off him, his fingers tangled in my hair.

Blood streaked down his throat.

What was I?

He cupped my face in his hands, drawing my gaze to his, his eyes searching mine. “Elowen, you’re safe. You’re with me. Sion.”

The names came back to me, and I tasted the blood in my mouth.

“What did you do to me?” I whispered.

Pure panic splintered through my thoughts. What was happening to me?

Sion’s arms closed around me, pulling me to him, and for just a moment, I felt comfort against the hard steel of his chest. Familiarity, too.

“You’re back in Gwethel.” His low voice deepened the empty ache inside me. “You were shot with an arrow. We saved Maelor, but you were shot with an arrow…I had no choice.”

Those last memories flooded back to me, those last frantic moments in the dark, a bolt of pain ripping through my neck.

I leaned away from him and touched my throat. “An arrow.”

“I didn’t have time to get you to Lydia. I had no choice. I gave you my blood, just as you were dying. It was so close, Elowen. Too close.”

The words hit me like a blade carving into my chest.

I sucked in a deep breath, the air feeling sharp and foreign in my throat, as if I wasn’t meant to breathe anymore.

“I’m a vampire,” I whispered, my voice brittle.

“You’re alive again.”

My gaze found his once more, and memories surged again—too fast, overwhelming.