Page 3 of The Gods Veiling
“I love you.”
My breakfast threatens to come up when he turns me to my mom. Red rims her beautiful eyes and her bottom lip trembles, but unlike me, she holds her tears at bay. Her arms are the warmest, safest place I’ve ever been. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“There isn’t a force in this realm that could keep us from you forever, Thayla. No creators or creations, no boundaries or barriers, and especially no gods. Our love for you transcends any power. We’re always with you and will always see you. Do you understand, my girl?”
“I understand, Mom.”
“Promise me some things.”
“Anything.”
“Stay away from the gods. Don’t go to them or Godsden searching for us. Never enter yourself in the Veiling.”
My body shivers at just the mention.
“I’ll never go to the gods, Godsden, or enter the Veiling. I promise.”
Thayla
1
20 years later
How much trouble with the Valories and the gods could I get in for murdering all nineteen of these men in this arena?
Do I even care?
Not really.
Under the stars in the early morning when this torture begins until the sun breaks and sets me free, those are the thoughts that consume all my other ones.
The multitude of ways I’d take their lives is the only distraction that gets me through this ruthless routine I suffer every day.
My eyes sting from the sweat clinging to my lashes and there’s sand rubbing in all the wrong places. The new bruises decorating my body cause my muscles to twitch in agony.
I don’t dare remove my glare off the man preparing to attack me, though.
I’ve known this fool almost my entire life.
He can’t hide his telling sign from me.
He really needs to work on that.
I drop low, ducking out of the way of his incoming sword before it slices me across my chest.
The move isinstinctual.
A swivel and a swipe of my leg have him hitting the ground faster than he can process his next attack. A feral smile plays on my lips as I jump up and plunge my sword into his chiseled stomach.
Unfortunately for my murderous thoughts, the weapons we wield are only wooden. No blood pours from his gut. Instead, an outraged grunt falls from his chest as he slaps my sword off him.
I drop my grin as his gaze turns vicious. As much as I’d love to rub it in his ugly—gorgeous—face that I beat him, I decide to offer him my hand to help him up.
Best to take the wins I get and not gloat about them.
He smacks my hand away with a charged grunt, and I crumble in a heap when his foot collides with my ankle.
My body begs me to stay down, and I swallow a scream that yearns to rip from my throat. My mind, though, tells me to bash his beautiful face in until my arm falls off.
