Текст книги "Eyes of devious burgundy"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

11

“Who are you?” Izgath demanded, eyes dropping away from my face. Stunned, I remained rooted in my place, and only when he cleared his throat did I realize that my breasts were fully exposed to him. I clutched the tunic to my chest protectively, sinking deeper into the water to hide my body.

“Where is Vagach?” he pressed, his expression hardening as his lips curved into a frown.

“Who is Vagach?” I squeaked out, trying to feign ignorance.

“A male Demon who wandered this way not too long ago in search of a chance to bathe,” he stated, the flatness in his tone causing my heart to skip a beat. One hand tightened over the frond, pressing it down as his other hand drifted to his side, likely going for the knife strapped there. “If you don’t tell me what you did with him right now, I’ll have no choice but to drag you out of the water and before my Százados.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I protested, taking a half-step backward. The other side of the riverbank wasn’t far, but the waist-deep water would certainly hinder any rapid movement.

“Don’t lie to me,” Izgath threatened, inching forward. I glanced at his position, then risked a flick of my eyes to the side, toward the nearest break in the reeds. Without hesitating, I lunged, keeping one hand on my shirt and the other grasping for the greenery.

Water splashed behind me, and adrenaline spiked in my veins. Yanking myself through the water, I made it past the first bush and desperately shoved my feet against the sandy underbed. Izgath and I tore through the rushing water, but my legs were heavier than gold and panic overtook me as the splashes behind me grew more violent.

With a mighty shove, I leaped forward, grasping for the next set of reeds in an attempt to pull myself along again. Just as my hand closed around it, another closed around my ankle. My grip broke instantly as Izgath dragged me backward, and I barely managed to draw a breath before I slipped underwater.

In an instant, I was above it again with a large hand wrapped around my upper arm. Izgath spun me to face him, dripping and red-faced. “You shouldn’t have run. That only makes you look guilty.” The water only hit him mid thigh, and I struggled in his grip as we trudged back to the opposite side.

“Let me go!” I protested again, trying to yank my arm from his grip.

Izgath stopped mid-river and spun me to face him, so that my shoulders were crushed between his large hands. He cocked his head to the side, studying me, and somehow my fear slipped away as if it were a droplet in the water. Desire rose in its place as I was captivated by garnet.

“I could have been nice and gentle, sweetheart, but you had to run,” he purred.

In a flash of clarity, I realized he was using his Incubus magic on me. Gritting my teeth, I bucked, kicking my feet out and finding purchase on his thighs while my back arched away from him. The move surprised him, and his grip loosened along with a curse.

I wasted no time kicking my legs, propelling myself downstream and away from Izgath. I left the shirt behind, too focused on escape to care that I’d be stark naked when I managed it. Checking over my shoulder, I tried to gauge the distance between us.

But Izgath was nowhere to be found.

A heartbeat later, I was yanked from the flow and into the dripping arms of Izgath. A scream tore from my throat, and I thrashed again, trying to free myself. With one foot braced on the riverbank and one in the water, he maneuvered me onto land before depositing me roughly on the grass.

“Keep screaming and the Százados will be here sooner,” he purred, and desire rose through me again.

I glanced around, trying to find another means of escape, but Izgath’s sodden boot pressed into my hand, applying just enough force to keep me still without breaking it.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is Vagach?” Izgath towered over me, blocking my view of anything but him. His eyes perused my form, sending a shiver of want straight to my core. I whimpered as he applied more pressure to my hand but kept my lips pressed firmly together.

“Fine, I’ll let the Százados force it out of you,” he hissed, reaching down to grab me. “Then he’ll probably let the whole camp fuck you. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen a female.”

Izgath’s threat shocked life back into me. “Izgath, no, wait!”

He froze, hand hovering over my neck. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m Vagach,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes as the truth slipped out.

This is it, this is my end.

Teeth clenching, he hissed, “Explain.”

Sucking in a steadying breath, I said, “My magic allows me to wear anyone’s form. So I am Vagach.”

“And how long have you been Vagach?” Izgath asked, fingers flexing almost imperceptibly.

Fuck, he wouldn’t let me twist my words around the truth.

“A few weeks,” I answered, heart rate ratcheting up to where I thought I might pass out.

“Were you Vagach on the day we arrived in Stryi?” he pressed.

I wanted to scream as he prevented yet another escape through words. More weight pressed into my hand, and I stifled a yelp. I didn’t want to bring Jaku running when I was naked and helpless. Something stretched between Izgath and me, even before he caught me in the river, and if I could exploit whatever that was, maybe he’d keep my secret.

“No,” I gritted out.

Think, Assyria, think! You know how to survive this.

“That’s what I thought,” Izgath scoffed, looking down his nose with a mix of disgust and suspicion. “There was something off about you this entire time. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but it all makes sense now.”

Despite Izgath’s current hostility, he had a kindness that was unshakable even after battling for his life on the front. His sibling died in the plague too, and even though he hadn’t explicitly voiced his pain, it ran as deep as my own loss. Perhaps I could pull on those strings and convince him to spare me.

“Please, Izgath, don’t let them torture me,” I begged, tears spilling over and racing to the soft earth. My chest heaved, and Izgath’s eyes flicked to my breasts before dragging back to my face. “I’m not ready to join my sister in a different world. I never got to live in this one.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Your sister?”

“She died in the plague too,” I murmured, a wave of grief rising and adding to the tears already leaking from me. “I lost my whole family.”

A hint of tension bled from his frame, and his open hand curled into a fist before returning to his side. He straightened, then leaned weight off his foot. I didn’t dare move with this tenuous peace stretched between us.

“But not Vagach?” he clarified.

I shook my head, refusing to shiver under the intensity of his gaze and the breeze that dusted through the trees. “He–he abused me. Beat me. Forced himself on me.” I squeezed my eyes shut and attempted to force the memories far, far away. “He wanted me pregnant and was angry I’d been unable to bear him a child.” A flash of his glassy, lifeless eyes reflecting a ruby pool filling my mind. If I was revealing this much, I might as well continue, especially as my words seemed to be shifting Izgath’s anger into something that looked a lot like sympathy. “I snuck out of our home to see what was happening in Stryi. But he returned home before I did, and he was waiting for me when I returned. I–I killed him when he attacked me.” I left Olrus out of the story, wanting to protect the old Demon.

“In self defense,” Izgath said, his tone flat.

I stared straight into his garnet eyes so he could see the seriousness of my words. “In self defense,” I repeated.

“That is the only way you’ll survive being burned alive for killing the only remaining member of a noble house,” Izgath warned, like I didn’t already know what the punishment for such a crime was. But with my burgundy eyes, they might make an exception—though that alternative, at least to me, was worse than death.

I merely nodded.

Sighing, he extended his hands in an offering to help me up. I grasped them and allowed him to pull me to my feet, resisting the urge to cover myself. “So you’re not going to tell anyone?”

“No. But I want your name, your real name, in exchange,” Izgath said, his voice soft and silky. I wondered for a moment if he was using his magic on me again to get me to comply, but I didn’t feel a rising desire in a situation that did not warrant it.

I looked up at him through wet lashes and whispered, “Assyria.”

“Assyria,” he repeated, and the way my name rolled off his tongue sent goosebumps skittering across my skin. I hoped he couldn’t see my body’s response in the dim light. “Well, Assyria, let’s get you clothed and back to a male before anyone else comes looking and decides not to be as kind as I am.”

“Thank you,” I choked out, wrapping my arms around myself this time, as if I could protect myself against the possibility that Izgath could be lying.

In a move that should not have been as alluring as it was, Izgath yanked his tunic over his head and handed it to me. “Wear this until we return to your bag.”

It was drier than I expected it to be as I pulled it overhead, with only a line around the waist damp from our encounter in the river. Izgath’s eyes flashed with something that looked a lot like desire when the hem settled over my mid-thigh. My nipples poked through the thin fabric, but I was warmer than I had been lying on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he commanded, sweeping his hand out to indicate I should walk ahead of him. I couldn’t blame him. I did try to run mere minutes before. So I strolled forward, conscious of the way the fabric brushed against my body with every step and of the heat that traced my backside as if he could still see the curves that hid underneath. I swayed my hips more than necessary as I approached part of the riverbank that I thought might allow for a quick jump across to my previous spot. When I bent forward to pull the reeds apart, a choked sound escaped Izgath.

A part of me that I never knew existed preened under his attention, and as I was already feeling reckless, I made sure to slide his tunic from my body with the slowness of a stretching cat and toss it with a glance over my shoulder.

“What are you–” he started, but then I slipped back into the water, wading across and brushing the dirt from my body at the same time. A splash sounded behind me a moment later, Izgath joining me in crossing.

Dripping, I pushed through the tall greenery on the opposite bank and found my drying clothes and bag right where I had left them. The fires burned brighter in the distance now that the sun had all but disappeared from the sky. Izgath’s form was nothing more than a break in the shadows when he emerged.

The way his abs dipped into his pants still caught my eye.

The way his eyes roamed over my naked body did not go unnoticed either.

Whether it was his Incubus magic, the lack of female companionship, or that Izgath was truly attracted to me, I stupidly welcomed it.

I’d never been with anyone besides Vagach, and the thought of sharing my body with another both excited and terrified me. Priestess Anara had warned us many times about Incubi, but I was becoming a new, different person, and the Weaver had put me on this path for a reason. Perhaps Izgath was part of that.

“We should get going,” Izgath said, his voice strained and hoarse. He tore his gaze to my face, and then his brows dipped. “You have burgundy eyes.”

I quirked a brow. “Too distracted by the rest of me?”

A slow grin spread across his lips. “You have very nice features, Assyria. Including your eyes.”

Water dripped from the tips of my hair and landed on my lower back as I stepped forward. “Are you going to tell anyone about these nice features?” I offered him my most saccharine smile.

“I told you already I wouldn’t,” he swore.

Closing the remaining distance between us, I flattened my hand on his bare chest. Heat bloomed where our skin touched. “Good.” I gave him a light shove and spun on my heel. In three strides I was pulling on the only clean and dry clothes I had left in my bag. Without turning around, I pulled on the smoky strands of my magic and became Vagach again, though this time, my hair was shorter and the stubble I’d tried to mix into my appearance that morning was gone.

“Ready?” I asked, voice deeper once again. Fates, how much I missed the sound of my own voice. Soon, I’d be able to slip away and wouldn’t have to pretend to be my abusive dead husband anymore.

But would that even be possible now that Izgath knew the truth?

“I’ll follow you,” Izgath replied, smoothing a hand over his hair.

I slipped on my boots and scooped up my drying clothing. Then, without another word, I made my way back to the camp, Izgath walking in silence alongside me. I trusted what he said about not revealing my identity, but my breath remained lodged in my chest until I’d dumped my belongings into my tent and grabbed a plate of roasted meat and boiled potatoes for dinner. Izgath disappeared into his tent, only a dozen or so paces from mine, as soon as we returned. Satisfied that he would not reemerge, I ate alone, shoveling as much food into me as I could before retiring for the night.

As I drifted off to a fitful sleep, my mind tumbled over all the ways Izgath’s knowledge could affect my future, and what the Fates truly had in store for me.

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12

The following day, our exercise routine morphed into something more. Instead of the usual endless push ups and running, we also had to learn to strike each other. While the previous day Dromak and Uzadaan had shown the basic fighting maneuvers to the group, I had not received the instruction. I was no stranger to a punch being thrown in my direction; the act of doing it, however, was foreign. The other Vezető had taken it upon themselves to teach me away from the rest of the group, much like they had when we first began the exercise regimen.

“Turn your hip over when you throw,” Izgath instructed again. He demonstrated the right handed punch with an exaggerated twist of his hip and foot, then returned into his resting position. I mimicked him, or so I thought. He shook his head and stepped closer, resting his hands on either side of my hips.

“You’re still throwing from your shoulder. Throw from your hip,” he said. “Raise your arm straight out in front of you and I’ll show you.”

I did as instructed, and then he swiftly twisted my hips, throwing my fist forward and nearly into Uzadaan’s face. The ruby-eyed male’s lip twitched up at the corner.

“Do you feel the difference?” Izgath asked, stepping back.

“I think so,” I said. “Let me try on my own.”

Izgath stood diagonal to us, assessing me in a different way than normal. Inhaling, I raised my fists to either side of my face, just below eye level, shoulders hunching up. On my exhale, I threw my right hand forward, ball of foot digging into the earth as I twisted it and my hip. Uzadaan’s head slipped ever so slightly to the side, and my punch brushed the tip of his ear before I retracted it and settled into my stance.

“That was it,” he commented with a grin.

“But I didn’t even hit you,” I replied, dropping my hands.

He stepped out of reach, lips stretching over his sharpened teeth. “And you never will.”

Dromak approached, rotating out with Uzadaan. The two of them, along with Jaku, were coaching the other recruits through a series of slow, controlled strike patterns, ensuring that all were using the proper form and no one was hitting too hard. As Jaku had said, injuries would slow us down, and getting the technique right first was more important than throwing swiftly or with enough power to maim an opponent.

Hence why Izgath and the others had taken such an interest in how I was throwing these punches. If only I were in my body, this would all be so much easier. The additional height, reach, and weight threw me off enough already, though I’d become more accustomed to it after nearly three straight weeks of wearing it.

Dromak stepped in front of me, sporting his usual crooked grin. “Alright, hit me, Vagach. Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see if your haircut helps you move better.”

After my encounter with Izgath the previous night, I’d done as he suggested the entire time and changed the form to be slightly slimmer and with a haircut close to Dromak’s, rather than bother with something complicated like Izgath’s. Shaking my head, I raised my fists. “After all the shit Izgath gave me about it, it had better.”

Dromak snorted, then swung for me without warning. My dodge was wider than necessary, but I at least remembered to duck and roll to the correct side. Popping back up, I threw the right-handed punch. Like Uzadaan, Dromak slipped it easily, with hardly any motion at all. On my retreat, his fist flew straight toward the left side of my face, so unexpected I didn’t move out of the way in time.

“Ow, fuck.” I rubbed my cheek. “I thought we weren’t supposed to make contact!”

“We’ve got to toughen you up, Kormánzó. You’re too soft compared to these other males,” Dromak teased. “Gotta know what it’s like to take a punch.”

If only he knew.

Rage burned inside me as memories of Vagach’s abuse surfaced, and it took all my willpower to remain silent and not unleash the fury in Dromak’s direction. These ignorant males had no idea what it was like to be a female in the Demon Realm, told to stay quiet and spread our legs.

My nails dug into my palms so hard I thought I might draw blood. The urge to spit words at him was becoming too great, so rather than succumbing to my desire, I spun on my heel and stomped away, letting the strike of my feet against the ground ease the growing tension in my body.

“Wait, Vagach, I was only joking!” Dromak called out, but I ignored him.

Izgath chastised Dromak, but I paid no attention to the words that passed between them. My gaze was fixed on the line of wagons in the distance and the lines of tents beyond them. Eyes followed me from the pairs of males facing off and practicing the sequence the Vezető had given them, but I didn’t care who witnessed my retreat.

Blowing my identity to anyone else was a death sentence, and right then, I was so close to losing it that it was better I walk away and cool off, no matter what that might make others think of me. Passing the horses, loosely tethered so they could graze freely, I turned between two wagons, hoping that the position would hide me from view. I quickened my pace and entered the lines of tents. Mine was toward the front, as always, and thankfully, other than the seasoned recruits on cooking duty, no one was around.

I ducked inside and dropped my magic, immediately swimming in my clothing. A full body tremble had me sinking to the ground. I braced my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands and heaved down breaths to stave off the memories.

It was no use.

They flooded my mind unencumbered, making it hard to think, hard to see anything surrounding me. Every muscle in my body grew taught as the large wooden poles became the legs of the table in our kitchen where I scrambled for purchase to put distance between Vagach and me. The canvas wrapping over them were the sheets I tried to bury myself in to forget each day’s events. Flash after flash of traumatic moments flooded my veins with adrenaline, yet I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape that phantom pain.

My heart thundered against my ribs; I was trapped again with no way out. Digging my fingers into my thighs, I forced myself to feel the here and now, to bring myself back before anyone discovered me losing my shit. The only option was to put it down, down, down in a box so thick and so deep that it alone could contain the rage.

How I hated that I had to wear my abuser’s form every day. Had to pretend to be someone so cruel every day, though I couldn’t say I was doing a fine job at displaying his true personality. Our journey to Uzhhorod couldn’t end fast enough, simply so I could be me again. At least Jaku and I agreed on that, though for entirely different reasons.

“Assyria.” Izgath’s low voice filtered through the tent and my thoughts.

I froze, my breath catching somewhere between inhale and exhale.

“It’s me. I’m alone. I wouldn’t risk anyone else finding out.” He spoke again, his voice a little more forceful this time.

Slowly, I lifted my head from my hands, finding his shadow dancing around the tied slit in the front of the tent.

Then, a sigh fluttered the fabric. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. You left pretty quickly back there.”

I crept forward, silently closing the distance between us.

Izgath cleared his throat, and I watched his shadow shift from foot to foot. “Listen, Dromak is an ass. He shouldn’t have hit you when you weren’t prepared for it. The other recruits–”

He silenced himself as I unfastened the ties and lifted the flap in silent permission to enter. Head swiveling from side to side, he ducked into the tent, finding me drowning in a despair he didn’t understand.

I scooted back and wrapped my arms around my legs, using the loose sleeves of the tunic to dry my eyes. Izgath crouched, then settled cross-legged on the ground, his head cocked slightly to the side as he studied me. “Something is wrong.”

I snorted and bunched up the fabric around my wrists to wipe my nose. “Clearly.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, but then something like understanding flashed across his eyes. “This is because Dromak said you needed to know what it was like to take a punch.”

Weakly, I nodded, closing my eyes and tipping my head back as I fought against another wave of brutal memory. Canvas creaked, drawing my eyes open and head forward again. Izgath had shifted closer to me and was reaching out a tentative hand. My attention landed heavily on his outstretched arm, bare, tanned, and marked with tiny scars. Demons healed quickly and therefore didn’t easily scar, unless the blades were infused with silver. The number of slices on that singular limb told me he’d been in more fights than I’d ever want to count. And lived to tell the tales of them all.

Our gazes collided as a mutual understanding stretched between us.

Me, the helpless female whose husband abused her. Izgath, the fearless warrior who looked at me with so much concern it made my chest ache. No one had shown me that sympathy in Stryi. Even my parents hadn’t offered me this level of support. This one look from Izgath held everything I’d wanted to see reflected back at me for the years Vagach had abused me.

Like he was approaching a flighty deer, Izgath closed the distance between us and flattened his palm on my shoulder. My skin burned beneath the tunic where he touched me, but I did not flinch. “You didn’t deserve that, Assyria. Nor did you deserve Dromak’s teasing tonight. I’ll speak with him and tell him to take it easy on you when it comes to fighting.”

It was my turn to study him. A few strands of my hair had come loose from their plaits, and they caressed my cheek as I tilted my head to the side. My attention swept up his scarred arm, across his broad chest, and finally up to his face and over the messy knot of hair piled on his head, revealing the smooth sides. Izgath was a true warrior, with the body to prove it. The way he moved was graceful, sensual, lethal and he feared no one.

Maybe what I needed was to embrace what he, Dromak, and Uzadaan were offering me rather than flee it. I’d already chastised myself endlessly for failing to learn my power before it was absolutely necessary. And now, they were offering me an opportunity to learn to fight so that I’d be prepared for the battle ahead. Whether or not I ever saw an Angel in combat, those skills would be useful in a world where females were second to males and expected to be subservient in every way.

Receiving blows had not prepared me in the slightest for how to defend against them. Learning how to fight would ensure that no male would ever lay a hand on me in violence again—at least not without a swift, decisive action in return.

“No,” I said simply. “Teach me. Don’t hold back. He never did. I want to be prepared for next time.”

Izgath’s lips pressed into a thin line, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “He’s not around anymore, though.”

I merely shrugged. “He doesn’t have to be the one to do it. It is simply a fact of my existence as a female.”

Color drained from Izgath’s face, and his brows pinch as he adjusted his position. “Is that truly how you feel?”

A scoff slipped out unbidden. “Of course you don’t see it as a male. You’ve had an entirely different life experience from me. You were likely educated differently from me as well. At least in Stryi, male and female schooling was separate. I hardly saw my childhood counterparts outside of our brief interactions with other farm children during the harvest season. And here you are, a Vezető in the Demon Army, constantly surrounded by males. Tell me, Izgath, when was the last time you spoke to a female besides me?”

Silence stretched between us while he considered his answer. His hand remained on my arm, though it twitched slightly before he answered. “Outside of,” he cleared his throat, “a few intimate encounters I’ve had since I joined the army, very few. None of a deep or serious nature such as this outside of my mother.”

Jerking his hand off me, I scooted back. “And do you see me as beneath you because I have breasts and a womb?”

Izgath retreated, sitting back and draping his arms over his knees. “I don’t.” He paused as if he were rolling his next words around, considering if he wanted to release them. “I see a fearless female, who is risking everything. I see a female for whom the Weaver threaded a shitty path, trying to find her way along it in hopes of a different life. If anything, I am impressed by your tenacity. Sure, if you had approached us in this form, we would have rejected you for the reasons we were taught in school. But you have proven day in and day out just how deserving of it you are, that you are more than willing to keep up with every male here, despite not being one yourself, truly. Your magic is powerful, Assyria, and you have wielded it with intelligence. For the most part.” His lips twitched up into a wry grin.

I could only blink at him, stunned to silence. His soliloquy was unexpected. A male regarding me as an equal or as deserving of more was a foreign concept. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

“If you want to learn to fight, I will teach you. After Dromak and Uzadaan are finished with you in the evenings, I’ll show you the real ways to take down a male. Fighting on the battlefield is different from fighting in self-defense. That way you won’t end up pretending to be someone else the next time you kill a male for touching you the wrong way.” The grin Izgath sported was nothing short of mischievous as he turned to his hands and knees and crawled toward the front of the tent.

Words still escaped me as he pushed through the flaps. Glancing around, he pulled it back slightly so I could see the sincerity etched into his face. “If you wish to remain here tonight, I will bring you dinner. I will take care of you, Assyria. You deserve it.”

And with that profession, he disappeared, leaving my head swimming with the sudden turn of events. I’d thought it was only a matter of time before Izgath revealed the truth to Jaku or the others. But his words, his actions spoke an entirely different story. Whether he could be trusted had yet to be seen. This entire conversation could have been a trap to get me to lower my guard before he delivered the killing blow. Perhaps he planned on betraying me in the end.

So why couldn’t I convince myself to believe that?

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