Page 45 of Anathema

It ran its claws over the pooled drops then brought them to its beak, but at a growling noise that I took as disappointment, it turned away from the blood.

Realization swept over me. “You’re hungry.”

Good grief, I hadn’t a clue what it ate. Birds ate bread and berries. I knew that much, having fed them on occasion, and though it clearly wasn’t like any bird I’d ever encountered, it did have bird features. With a glance toward Aleysia, who remained snoring away, I let out a huff. “I’m going to fetch you some food, okay? Stay here. Do not move.”

It tipped its head as if trying to understand me.

I tapped a gentle finger against the floor. “Stay.”

It mimicked the movement with its claws on a quiet tap, the sight of which made me chuckle. Smart little creature.

I hustled across the room, down the staircase, and out of the door, peering down the corridor for any sign of movement. At that hour, I suspected everyone would be asleep. Tiptoeing down the second flight of stairs, I examined the cut on my hand, noting it had completely sealed shut already, the skin left without so much as a scratch. The sight of it had me skidding to a halt, frowning.

How? I’d thought for certain I’d have to wrap it again.

How were these small cuts healing so quickly? It made no sense.

A cold tingle palmed the back of my neck, and I shook it off, not wanting to think too much on it because dwelling would’ve surely stirred my anxiety, and I didn’t have the headspace to deal with that right then. Instead, I kept on toward the kitchen.

From the pantry, I grabbed a slice of bread from the bread box, and few of the berries from a basket beside it, popping a couple into my mouth. A rustling crinkle from behind jarred my muscles, and I turned to find a rat nibbling on a bag of seeds sat on the floor. I slapped a hand over my mouth, shielding the scream that begged to escape. A wild tremble moved through my bones, and I quietly scooted toward the door.

The rat paused its chewing and stared up at me, as if it just then noticed me, except the shells and crumbs lying about told me it’d been there a while.

A flash of black streaked across the floor.

The rat squealed, and I watched in horror as the creature from my bedroom wrangled it beneath its body and raked its sharp, front claws over the rat’s fur, peeling away the animal’s skin.

Mouth hanging open in shock, I stared at the glistening skinless rodent that, still alive, continued to twitch and snap its teeth. The creature pecked its beady eyes out next, tipping its head back to swallow them. Weakly, the rodent kicked at its captor, still fighting for its slowly fading life. It wasn’t until the black, scaled beast began ripping bits of flesh away, that the animal finally stilled, its skin lying in a small heap beside them.

I glanced down at the berries and bread in my hands, acknowledging what a sorry substitute they would’ve made, and placed them back in their respective containers. Within seconds, the creature had cleaned every bit of flesh from the bones, which it discarded beside the rat’s fur. Blood glistened over its mandibles as it teetered to the side, clearly flesh drunk, its belly rounded and full of rat meat. It stumbled toward me, and as it neared, with some hesitation, I knelt down to let it climb into my palm as before, where it curled into a ball.

Inhaling deep breaths to calm my racing heart, I forced myself not to look at the rat remains, and instead focused on the tiny little beast captured in my hand, who lay nuzzling my fingers.

“You may have repulsive eating habits, but I’ll admit, you’re terrifyingly cute,” I spoke on the cusp of a whisper. “Adorrifying. And chaotic. I think I’ll name you Raivox.”

Raivox had been a fierce Vonkovyan, who’d plundered and raided in the age of old. History books had always described him as a contradiction of charmingly violent. It seemed fitting for the little monster.

Eyes on the discarded remnants of rat that I’d have to clean before anyone else happened upon it, I carried Raivox out of the pantry and back up to my room. Gathering the quilt from my mattress, I made a meager little nest under my bed, and placed the already-sleeping creature within. Once again, I hustled down the staircase, to the pantry where the fur and bones still lay in a heap. With a rag I swiped from the shelf beside me, I gathered the bits of rodent and tossed it into the trash, then wiped up the drops of blood. I shoved the rag deep into the trash so as not to draw attention, and washed my hands with far more soap than I’d ever used in my life. It was as I headed back up the stairs that I heard a voice from the vent crying out for help.

Not again.

Slapping my palms to my ears, I hustled up the staircase.

After a quick check of Raivox, sound asleep beneath my bed, I wrapped myself in the blankets, covering my ears so as not to hear the voice again.

My thoughts wound to earlier, when I’d woken to the man in the mask holding the knife to my throat. I suspected, by the way he’d vanished so quickly, that it was nothing more than an illusion, much like The Banished Man I’d seen before him, and Danyra, the Lyverian girl. And if that was the case, it could’ve only meant that I’d begun to lose my senses.

A gnawing thought chewed at my head as I lay there, willing myself to sleep–that perhaps something evil had infected me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ZEVANDER

Growling, Zevander neared the archway, his body wound tight with rage and an infuriating need to fuck something. Once beyond the barrier, he paced.

He had to go back. He had to finish the job.

You already tried, idiot. You failed!

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