Page 135 of Anathema

“I wanted to kill her. That is my nature. I wanted to watch life fade from her eyes while I strangled her. I wanted to feel her pain seeping into my skin, tickling me with delicious delight.” A realization dawned on Zevander right then. “You’re a painkeeper.”

His magic was extracting pain from his victims. While some struggled with the power, others found it thrilling. A means of sexual gratification.

The visual he’d planted in Zevander’s head stirred the flames inside of him. A thick, black smoke curled up from his flesh and took the form of a scorpion in his palm. Zevander knelt, allowing the scorpion to enter the man’s cell, and once past the threshold, it grew larger, until it was about the size of a cat, prowling inside the small space.

While the man kept his eyes on the scorpion, the smile on his face still failed to disappear, even in the presence of a threat.

“Who supplied the flammapul?” Torryn asked in his usual gruff voice.

The man chuckled, his eyes shifting between the scorpion and Zevander. “You think your scorpion will frighten me into telling you all I know?”

The scorpion’s size expanded to that of a dog.

“There’s enough venom in that stinger to paralyze you while his pincers rip your flesh to small pieces. You see, I want to kill you, too. It would bring me tremendous joy to hear your suffering.”

This prisoner twitched and scratched at his arm. “Is it so inconceivable that I might’ve made the flammapul myself?”

With a flick of his hand, Zevander’s scorpion lifted its tail, primed to strike at the first command.

“I have a secret,” the man whispered, and the disturbing giggle that followed echoed through the dungeon. “I fucked your sister with the hilt of my blade while she was under. Did she tell you that? She wanted to scream, but couldn’t.” He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “I smell her here. Perhaps when I’m finished with you, I’ll find her for one more fuck before I leave.”

Snarling, Zevander ordered the scorpion to strike with a clench of his fist, and the moment the stinger swung down, it dissipated into black smoke.

The man let out a boisterous laugh that had Zevander grinding his jaw. “Someone smarter than you put an enchantment on me. I can’t be killed by any Letalisz. Regardless of power.”

“Who?” Zevander asked, teeth clenched.

A grin stretched the stranger’s lips, and he rolled his head against the wall. “Are you so mad as to think I would tell you such a secret?”

“I think you fear whoever it is.”

The flammelian’s eyes held a glint of derangement. “Where is your sister, Letalisz? I want to tear into that pretty little flower of hers.”

Torryn lurched on a growl and Zevander gripped his arm to stop him from carrying what he, himself, longed to do right then: flay that smug grin right off his face.

“Do you like riddles?” When Zevander didn’t answer, the flammelian kept on, “What is something that all men yearn for in life but doesn’t begin until the last dying breath?”

“Afterlife,” Ravezio answered beside Zevander.

“I confess.” He scratched at his arm again, and Zevander noticed a marking there. A black snake from what he could make out. “Even if you answer correctly, it’s merely a sense of direction. You won’t glean the answer. But sadly, you are wrong.”

Zevander let out a dark chuckle as he stared back at his prey. When he opened the cell door, the man’s eyes widened, but still, he maintained his smugness, which only goaded Zevander’s rage. The Letalisz lifted him by the collar of his tunic and dragged him out of the cell, then down the corridor between where sconces flickered around the stony alcove.

“Should you attempt to torture me, it’ll only prove fruitless for you. For all of your Letalisz.”

“Do not fear. I am not going to torture you.” Zevander gestured toward Ravezio to grab the key from the wall and unlock the cellar door.

“I cannot be starved, either, for the enchantment grants me a bounty if you should try.”

Still holding the man by his shirt, Zevander bent just enough to throw the door open. “I will not starve you, nor torture you, nor attempt to kill you by my own hands.”

“Then, perhaps it’s best to let me go. Your sister would love a visit, I suspect.”

“Perhaps.” Had he not been granted protection, Zevander would’ve carved out the bastard’s tongue for speaking of Rykaia again. “But whoever enchanted you failed to consider one thing.” He pushed the man down into the hole, where he fell to the ground on a hard thunk. “I have an older brother.”

The stranger groaned and coughed, as the air must’ve exited his lungs on impact. He turned onto his side and gasped, scrambling backward as he undoubtedly caught sight of Branimir and his pets.

Zevander watched the man lurch for the ladder and climb a half dozen rungs, before he slammed the door over top of him and linked the chain back into place.

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