Page 38 of Down from the Tower

“From what Arthur said, it reverses time. Heal the wounds and get him up so we can be done with this.”

I stare at Modred. I don’t know why he isn’t trying to harm me but he sure is anxious to be away from us. So long as he doesn’t give me that possessed look again I think I can tolerate him. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

He blows out a breath. “I tried to go somewhere else. Talking to Arthur is useless like this, and your father is just as dim. I’m drawn to that man,” his ghostly eyes flicked to Zarev, “and I’m pretty sure whatever he told you is true.”

My brows knit together. I really want to dig into what Arthur told Modred about me, but right now I’m too paranoid to focus. We should be running away from the wall after breaking free of Tressa, not sitting a couple hundred feet from the perimeter with a man collapsed and embedded in gold.

Lifting my chin, I try not to let Modred see how unnerved I am. “What do you think he told me?”

Modred looks unamused, shaking his head at me. “He’s Death, isn’t he? He’s the only one aside from you that can see me like this, and he carries that curved blade. Even wears the dark clothes and he was invisible until those shadows disappeared in the dining hall. The cloak, the blade, the hiding in plain sight? Don’t you know anything about the legends, girl? He’s Death, and I hope he kills you to avenge me.”

I just glare at him. As much as Zarev might be annoyed with the situation we’re in, I seriously doubt the man would kill me. He had plenty of options to do that before now, and he wouldn’t waste the effort to bring me outside of Tressa if he just planned on ending me.

Moaning, Modred drifts off and mutters to himself. His ghostly form fades in and out in the trees around us, making my skin tingle again. Refusing to acknowledge him, I study Zarev before tugging at my hair, wondering if Modred’s shifty little mind is right. Maybe I could heal just like I de-age. I never tried that before, and neither Dorah nor Midas asked me to. I don’t know if they never speculated my magic could reach that far, or if they didn’t want to know.

Shaking Zarev again, he finally groans. That’s good, as it’s the only sign of life I’ve seen since he passed out. I continue to shake him, hoping I can maybe annoy him awake, and it finally works.

When his eyes pop open, it's that unnatural red-orange that greets me. I’ve gotten familiar with the color, and it’s a relief to see his eyes open again after he’s been asleep for however long. My nerves settle for a moment, before those keen, dangerous eyes narrow and he shoves me hard in the chest, shadows spilling from his fingertips.

I gasp when they wrap around me, the strength of his power grabbing onto each of my limbs and throwing me backwards into the first. I cry out on impact, the pain shooting up my spine and reigniting over the sores in my arms.

My eyes widen, realizing how dim I’ve been. I’m trusting this man of shadows and death, in a land I know nothing about.

Zarev is quick, and I hear him shift around before he’s kneeling over me. His eyes are more orange than red this time, a contrast to his dark clothes and the black blood dampening his shirt. He snarls down at me, almost invisible in the dark until he flashes his teeth.

They catch the moonlight, long and white in the night. They look pointed, and I pant as two rows of wolf-sharp teeth stare down at me, a growl crawling up his throat as he glares down at me.

The shadows twist around my arms, one moving to my throat and I gasp at the pressure over my jugular, making my eyes bulge. He snarls down at me, leaning in, and when his tongue drags over my pulse I feel more than simply fear shoot through me.

And it’s confusing as hell.

“Z-Zarev,” I gasp, one of his real hands grabbing my dress. I feel him grasping the neckline, and it would take him one sharp tug to break the skin tight binding. I’m less worried about what he might do to my body and more concerned about what those teeth might do to my skin.

This is a side I didn’t know existed. He’s the shadow man to me, made of darkness and death. Not this monster who wields the dark and snarls down at me like a half-crazed wolf.

His eyes look possessed, and I don’t know what else to do like this. When he leans close again I snap my head forward, some of my hair whipping with the motion, and it sounds like a whip snapping in the night.

It strikes him in a moment where I can’t see, and he grunts. I’m lost beneath the veil of hair, certain that my true death waits on the other side.

I foolishly trusted the monster masquerading as a man, and he’s going to kill me for it.

Zarev grunts, then his hands shove at my hair and I scream. He clamps a hand over my mouth, my eyes welling with tears when I manage to see him again.

The bloodlust from a moment ago is gone, his face impassive. His eyes are less orange again, more orange-red, and when he lets out a breath I can see that his teeth have returned to normal.

It doesn’t stop my limbs from shaking. I thought he was Death, which is extraordinary enough, but there’s more to him. There’s a monster hiding beneath the cloak, one that might be more terrifying than the scythe-wielding Reaper.

“O-oh, you’re awake,” I say, feigning a smile. I’m not sure how much he can see in the dark, but between the moonlight and his sharp eyes he can see enough. He slowly lets go of me, my heart pounding as his shadows loosen, then slowly slip off of me. The hand gripping the front of my dress lingers the longest, and for a moment I think he’s going to really snap and tear it open.

Instead, he blows out a harsh breath and throws himself backward into the dirt again. He groans, and I lose sight of him as I stare up at the stars.

This is the man I decided to run away from home with. Someone who can snap at any given moment and tear me to pieces.

I know I’m a glutton for punishment, because the idea doesn’t scare me as much as it needs to. The idea of trekking back to Tressa to be locked up in the tower again is more frightening than admitting that Zarev is dangerous.

At least out here, in lands entirely unknown, I can breathe real air and feel dirt and grass and leaves.

Sitting up with a wince, feeling how sore I am from being thrown into the hard ground. I didn’t consider it a moment ago, but my shoulder blades ache, and the impression of his shadowy hands on my skin lingers almost as much as his touch against my chest. I brush back my hair, eyeing him across from me.

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