Page 33 of Agor the Merciless
“Let’s go,” he said.
Chapter Eighteen
Agor crashed through ferns and stepped on fallen branches, not caring about the ruckus he caused in the silent night. His raider moved ahead, studying disturbed leaves and bent grass that marked where Zoe had passed. His body stayed low as he worked, using skills developed through decades of hunting.
Branches caught on Agor’s arms as he pushed forward too quickly. He breathed faster from the pace and the climb. Every broken twig reminded him of his mistakes, and he blamed himself more with each step. He should have listened to his mage when she first came to him and noticed the changes in his mate. Now Zoe wandered with poison in her blood, put there by his own hands.
“Faster.” Agor waved toward the path ahead.
Durnak looked back, then knelt to examine a footprint in the soft earth. His fingers traced the edge before pointing to the next mark along the trail.
Agor wanted to run ahead and call for Zoe, but experience stopped him. Without Durnak’s tracking skills, he would lose direction while Zoe moved deeper into danger. He opened his fists, trying to relax, and slowed his breathing as they continued.
The sound of rushing water came loud and clear from downhill. Durnak raised his arm to stop their progress and turned toward the noise.
“Through those trees.” He pointed to a gap in the forest.
They changed course toward the sound. Pine trees thinned as they approached a rocky stream cutting across their path. Water rushed over stones from the mountains above.
Zoe stood in the stream with water at her waist soaking her clothes. She scrubbed her skin over and over. She plunged her head into the water and came back up gasping, her hair stuck toher face. Water ran down her arms as she rubbed them until they turned red.
She went under again. After breaking the surface, she gulped air and continued to scrub her neck and shoulders. The way she moved, chaotically and feverishly, betrayed that she was trying to remove something that was just under her skin.
***
The cold stream numbed Zoe’s legs and fingers but did nothing for the burning in her chest and throat. Each time she dunked her head in the rushing water, the cold shocked her system and cleared her mind for seconds at a time. This brief clarity pushed away the need for the ointment that grew stronger by the minute. But it wasn’t enough. She felt like nothing would ever be enough, and in that case, maybe it wasn’t wrong to wish for death, instead.
Her muscles twitched, and her skin burned despite the low temperature. She dug her nails into her forearms. The water gave her moments of clear thought. Lyra’s words now made sense – the jar held only poison, not pleasure. The curse created control, not connection. Even now, she felt drawn back toward the cave, toward the clay jar hidden somewhere in the workshop.
She thrust herself into the stream again. If she stayed in the freezing water long enough, perhaps the magic would leave her body, or the cold would stop the curse before it destroyed her completely.
***
From the bank, Agor watched Zoe struggle. He signaled to Durnak without looking back. The raider retreated into the trees until shadows covered him. Agor remained at the stream’s edge while Zoe fought her invisible battle. She dipped below thesurface, rose for air, then rubbed her arms as if trying to remove her skin.
The captain stood frozen, unable to look away from the woman he had damaged with his pride. No one should have to fight their own body.
His boots sank into mud as he finally gathered his courage and stepped toward her. He spoke just loud enough for her to hear.
“Zoe.”
Her hands stopped moving. Water dripped from her clothes as she stood motionless with her back to him. Her body trembled despite the obvious effort to stay still, and he realized she was sobbing.
Chapter Nineteen
Zoe listened to the orc captain’s wet footsteps as he approached her. When he was close enough to place a hand on her shoulder, she could smell him and feel the warmth coming from his massive body. His touch held no anger or demand, just support as she stood in the rushing current, living her own hell.
“Come,” he said. “This will not help.”
She nodded. Her teeth chattered as Agor guided her across the slippery stones. At the bank, he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders to block the wind that cut through her wet clothes.
Durnak the Morose waited at the tree line. He watched them pass without speaking, then turned and disappeared among the pines, heading back to camp on his own path.
Agor kept his arm around her waist as they walked. He didn’t rush her or speak. He simply helped when she stumbled on roots or stones. The woman who leaned against Agor’s side was not the same one who had pushed him earlier. Her strength had faded, leaving behind a shell that shivered with each step. His anger had disappeared, and guilt filled him instead. He’d done this to her. He’d ignored the signs of addiction because they pleased him. Now his mate fought for her life because of his madness.
They walked in silence while their breath made clouds in the cold air. The path to the cave seemed too long and too winding. Zoe’s feet dragged with each step. The cloak trapped some heat, but the wet clothes underneath kept her cold. Her mind moved between clarity and confusion as the need for the ointment rose and fell. She tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and let the orc captain lead her.
The camp lay quiet in the night. Only two guards stood by the entrance, their eyes following as Agor guided her through. The rest of the horde had retired to their sleeping areas. Agor led herinto the tunnel that connected to their private gallery. Candles burned in holders along the wall. The bed of furs waited across the room.
