Page 37 of Invoking Ruin

The dread coming off them is almost like a dark, suffocating cloud, filling and then stalling my lungs. He’s going to kill her. Rip her apart right in front of my eyes.

A buzzling, crackling energy zips it way down my arms, curling in my fingers, and I don’t even think before pointing them at the earth.

“Let her go.”

Vines shoot up from bare earth, circling and winding themselves around Deimos’ legs. He curses and drops Vita. She staggers away, gasping and coughing, as the vines wrap around Deimos’ chest and throat, squeezing him.

Did I really just do that? I squeeze my fingers and feel the rough, woody grape vines curling around them in answer.

My brain short circuits. No, this can’t be possible.

The vines keep squeezing this Deimos figure, as though they have a mind of their own. I don’t know how to make them stop. What if I can’t make them stop?

“V–Vita,” I gasp out.

“I’m right here.” And she is, cupping my face in her hands, dragging my gaze away from Deimos and the vines rapidly covering every inch of him.

“It’s all right. Just let it go,” she says, her voice low, calm, as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary about making vines choke the life out of another person.

Not a person. A god.

I’ll never get used to that part.

“I can’t. It’s—”

“You can. I promise you can. They’re part of you.” She says it like she knows everything about me. Like none of this is a surprise to her.

I am a god. That’s not the comfort she thinks it is. The vines, sensing my distress, twist tighter and tighter around Deimos. They’re going to tear him to pieces if this continues.

“Sandro, baby. Look at me,” she commands, and I do. Her expression is smooth, as though none of this bothers her. Slowly, her hands leave my face, sliding down to clasp mine.

“I know you want to protect me,” she says, bringing my hands to her lips. Her words scratch like claws at the edges of my mind.

They sound perfectly reasonable. I do want to protect her. More than she knows.

She’s mine. Not that other god’s. I’ll rip him apart.

Her mouth turns downward, as though she can see those jealous, angry thoughts in me, and they bother her. The feeling of scratchiness eases, until my thoughts feel like my own again. Is that part of her power? Is that what it feels like be influenced by her?

But she didn’t tell me to do anything.

I tip my head down, our foreheads touching.

“What’s happening?” I ask, keeping my voice to a whisper.

I’ve never felt more lost, and she’s the only light in the dark.

Even if I’m not sure where the light is leading me.

Her hands slide over my chest. “It’s alright. See? It’s already over? The vines are getting looser.”

As though to testify to the truth of her words, Deimos laughs. He sounds disbelieving and still slightly strangled, intruding on the nice quiet place I found with Vita.

“Oh, this is better than I imagined,” Deimos manages with another wheeze. The vines are still tight around his throat, his arms tangled up in their hard, wooden strength, but he’s unconcerned. His eyes gleam with malice as he gazes between us.

I should feel guilty, but I find that emotion very far away when I reach for it.

He’s not the kind to inspire remorse.

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