Page 8 of Marked By the Dark Lord
“Oh my god, Lily, you’re alive!” I exclaimed, a strange wave of relief coming over me. That thing had left her alive.
Except she had to watch and listen to her father get turned into some sort of human pastry puff.
I took a step toward the scared little waif, for once feeling like the protector, but Lily shied back, her eyes wide with fear.
She was scared of me.
Of course she is. I was just talking to the thing that murdered her father. It said that I wanted this. She blames me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, guilt descending on me like a guillotine. “Lily, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this. I didn’t mean for any of it.”
She pushed herself farther back between the ovens as if I would come for her, too. That bone-deep fear in the eyes of the only person who’d ever been kind to me broke something inside me.
I turned and fled out the back door, clutching the book tight while running across the slick pavement, past my hovel with all my meager belongings, and into the darkness of the night.
I had to get away. Somehow.
Chapter Four
Korr’ok
My boots clomped as I descended the concrete steps to the exterior basement door. A low jangle emerged from under my heavy cloak, muffled somewhat by the rain, which made the thick material slick and glistening in the muted light of the old bulb illuminating the entrance.
I didn’t bother to approach in stealth. I wanted them to know I was coming, that death had reached their door. Pausing on the small landing, I rolled my neck as battle lust started to come over me. Tendons creaked and popped, my hood slipping back as two wickedly sharp horns emerged from the thick mane of black hair covering my head.
Lifting my fist, I banged it against the door in a slow, thunderous rhythm.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
“Open up,” I growled loud enough that I knew the occupants could hear me.
I doubted they would answer, but if they were willing to oblige and make my life easier, who would I be to argue?
There was no response. I hammered on the solid wood again, the same three knocks. Each time I slammed my gloved hand against the door, it jumped in its frame. There was no way those inside could miss it.
There was still no answer.
“Fine,” I said to nobody in particular, shrugging my shoulders to loosen them.
Then I punched the door with movements so swift most would only see a blur, precisely locating each blow near the hinges and lock. Splinters and chunks of wood flew around. The door stood still. Then I reached out and tapped my index finger on it.
With a slowcreeakk, the door toppled inward.
“Hello,” I said with a broad smile as I stepped onto the door and entered the dive bar. A wet mist followed me inside, courtesy of the fog billowing off nearby Niagara Falls during the rainstorm. It was inescapable in the town, a part of life, and I embraced it, feeling it wrap me in a second layer.
“Who the fuck are you?”
There were four of them seated around a table built specifically for poker. They appeared normal, like regular humans. But they weren’t.
Even if I hadn’t known that ahead of time, the fact that they didn’t cower before me was evidence enough. I was near seven feet tall, with skin blacker than the darkest night, and had horns poking up through my hair. Oh, and my eyes always glowed with a red hue.
“I’m bored,” I rumbled. “Let us just cut the bullshit, shall we? I would love to be done with this. So, hand over the girl.”
“What girl?” it was the same speaker both times. He was thick, but of the type of thick with a layer of fat covering some serious muscle. His plaid button-up stretched tight around his biceps, revealing thick, hairy forearms. A long beard and unruly mop of dark brown hair gave him the air of a lumberjack, which I was sure was what he was going for.
