by Amity Green
“How’s she doing?” she asked.
“Sleeping like a rock,” Savannah answered, carefully prying the baby’s fingers off her pinky. She took her hair out of the clip since the clingy little hands were at a distance. Molly tucked the baby in close, not appearing clumsy or naïve at all.
“She ate like a beast.” Molly smiled. “See? I told you we could do it by ourselves,” she said, and turned toward the nursery.
“I’m so proud of you.” Savannah let the words out, fighting tears.
“Thanks.” Molly smiled over a shoulder. “You okay?”
Savannah nodded. “I’m going to make a run to town and take care of a couple things. I’ll be home before dark, though.”
Molly nodded. “Okay.”
“You sure?”
Molly turned around, shaking her head. “We’ll be fine, Vannie.” She smiled.
Savannah headed downstairs to get ready to go meet Witcher, completely full of dread and apprehension.
* * *
About thirty feet past the gate Savannah pulled the Toyota to the side while Witcher got in, as if he was a real person hitching a ride. The temperature didn’t climb past thirty degrees, but the sun shone, casting frozen white rays across the snowy mountain and iced pines. She was bundled up in her winter coat and gloves, but he was wearing jeans and a sweater. If she’d given a crap, she would have asked him if he was freezing.
“I don’t know where I’m supposed to be going.” She put the truck in first and eased back out onto the snow packed road.
“Go toward the Cripple Creek,” he said, trying to find a way to situate his long legs and thick-soled boots.
“The Cripple Creek it is.”
“There is a path on the mountain ahead. When I tell you, we will turn and go that way. We will walk after that.”
Savannah didn’t respond, just concentrated on driving safely over the icy road despite the way her mind raced. She didn’t know why he didn’t simply try to drag her back down into the mining shaft. Maybe he’d learned and didn’t want to hurt her. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to complain. Driving and walking was a large improvement over being bounced off rocks and drug around by a wrist. They had to be almost there. She didn’t want to think of what she was about to do, so she counted trees and didn’t let her mind wander, snuffing the idea of running over the side of the road and down the mountain side. The only one who’d suffer or die was her.
Once they made it to the highway she was able to speed up, but just a little because the dark side of each switchback was a new sheet of ice, untouched by the warmth of the sun. About two miles later, Witcher put up a hand, signaling her to slow down. She took a right onto a dirt road that barely showed through the snow. A few minutes later he pointed out his window.
“There,” he said, and gestured to a flat spot off the side of the road. Trees and boulders banked the turn-out, sporadic clusters of naked aspens giving way to the tall pine forest. Bolstered piles of mine tailing jutted up from the mountain. Not so much as a deer trail was cut through. He’d instructed her to take him to the back side of one of the district’s largest abandoned mines.
“If I leave the truck here on the side of the road, the sheriff’s department might get concerned,” she warned. Hiking into the frozen mountainside would be a bitch, to boot. She looked behind them to see if any other driver would notice them pulling off. “Can we get far enough so no one will see where we park?”
“No. This is where to stop. If we see other humans, you will tell them you are not in need of any help.”
She slammed the truck into first and killed the engine, determined to get it over with. He reached for his door and looked over at her, shadow catching him at an odd angle, darkening his eyes to black. For a moment, she saw his mouth full of fangs. She slammed her eyes shut.
I can’t let this monster loose ….
Opening one eye a little, she was ready to dive from the truck and run. The demon was gone from his face, but she was rattled and panicked, remembering the potential of what she was about to set free on the world.
Witcher regarded her as if he read her mind. “Let’s go, Savannah,” he said.
Savannah shook her head. “I can’t do this.” She looked away, wishing he’d always appear as a monster rather than the mortal, emotional man he’d become. It certainly helped her hold resolve. “I just remembered you with the face of a monster and there’s no way—”
“You would betray your promise?”
“Yes.”
“We had an agreement.” His anger was barely held back. “Even before I saved Molly. It was my Father’s will and I went against it for you.”
“There’s a reason you were punished like this. If you’re freed, will you be this guy?” She gestured to him. “Or will you be that creature down there, who apparently did something very, very wrong to be strung up that way?”
“The choice will be of my own will but I assure you, I am good.”
“I understand you want me to trust you but you already screwed up, big time. I can’t do something to allow that to happen again.” She locked her eyes on his. “I don’t believe you can be the good … person it’ll take to stop menacing people.”
He watched her, a bit stunned. “I will get what I want. The right way, or my way. It’s your choice.”
“I’ll take my chances. I won’t be the reason you get to torture people.”
His eyes turned to black, shining like a lake on a moonless night. He smiled with a mouth full of fangs, just like her conscious showed moments before. He’d made up his mind.
Witcher screamed with the ferocity of a cornered mountain lion. Savannah braced herself, throwing her arms over her head when he lunged onto her. A heavy thump sounded when her head struck the door glass. Her skull felt like it split from the impact, the pain fading slightly when his fangs sunk deep into the flesh above her collarbone. She swung at him and tried to fight back, but his jaw clamped down hard, the pressure sending her to a fetal position. She screamed until she was out of air. Her hand was smashed and pinned the wrong way, her knuckles brushing the top of her forearm. The last sensation she knew was soft fur and the crush of all his weight pushing her outside the open truck door.
* * *
Pain flared in Savannah’s arm. She tried to pull her wrist back from the hands that gripped it too hard. She opened her eyes, blinking her surroundings into focus, again laying on her side on cold rocks. Witcher had her hand, inspecting the lumpy, bruised flesh.
“Let go!” she yelled, jerking her arm away.
“I will heal you,” he said. “I am so sorry to hurt you, but you make me do it.”
“Screw you,” she grated.
Witcher jerked her to her feet. “I have no more patience,” he growled.
“I don’t care.”
“Your biggest mistake.” He yanked her up by the top of her jacket, spinning her to face the winged skeleton.
Savannah did her damnedest to get away from him, staring in terror at the huge, blackened, empty eye sockets in the skull’s face.
“You are a betrayer, Savannah. You deserve this pain and more. You’re not good. You go against His will. You killed your good father and do not respect mine. You should consider yourself fortunate to have my attentions. Now pay your debt. Restore a modicum of the faith I once had in you.”
“I can’t! It’s not right.” She pulled at his grip on her coat with her good hand, but he held her off balance.
“Of course it’s right. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I won’t kill you and haunt your sweet sister into an early grave if you deny me again. I’ve given you all my faith. I’ve vowed to stop my former ways for you. It is you now, Savannah. You must do the right thing and fulfill your promise.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Please. I think you broke my wrist.”
He lowered her to a foothold and released her so she could stand. She held still, watching him and cradling her wrist. He continued softly.
<
br /> “You know I am good. You love me. You told me so.” He reached out to pull a strand of hair away from her tear-stained cheek.
She looked away, ashamed of her lie.
“It is unnecessary for me to hurt you. If you’d kept your promise, I wouldn’t have done it.”
Savannah didn’t answer, doing her best not to shake from pain-induced adrenaline.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
“No. Please, I can’t handle any more.”
“I will make it go away.” She didn’t move so he grabbed her arm and wrapped her wrist in his hands. She cried, feeling like she might pass out from the pain. Within a few long seconds, the throbbing subsided.
He released her. “Better?”
She nodded, holding back nausea that threatened to empty her stomach. She breathed deeply, thankful he gave her a few moments of peace to calm down. She straightened her coat and attempted to gather herself, wiping away tears.
“Are you okay?” he asked, softly.
Savannah nodded. “Sort of.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said with a smile. In an instant he grabbed her arm. Gripping it in both hands, he easily snapped her wrist again. He released her and she fell to the ground shrieking. The pain was unbearable, far worse than the first time. Muscle spasmed through her shoulder and into her back. Bile crept into her mouth and she rolled onto her side as a geyser of vomit spewed through her mouth and nose. She curled up, coughing.
Darkness threatened to take over. With her broken arm tucked against her chest, she tightened into a ball, certain she’d finally been pushed past the point of no return.
Witcher took a knee beside her. He reached to clear hair from her face and she jerked away from his touch.
“Stay away from me,” she screamed.
“Look at me,” he said, pulling her up to sitting. Heavy sobs shook her, but she did her best to do exactly as he said to keep from giving him another reason to hurt her more. Tears ran freely down his face and he appeared to be grief stricken.
“I hated to do that to you,” he said, bringing her into his arms. He pulled her to standing, holding tight and stroking her hair while she cried into his shoulder. With a gentle touch, he pulled the pain away. Bone knit inside her skin, the grating sensation making her knees give. Witcher held her next to him, making sure her feet were secured beneath her again.
Savannah couldn’t care less if she was standing or lying flat on her back. Her heart pounded so fast she didn’t know why she wasn’t dead from a heart attack. Puke streaked her face and his shirt.
Witcher cupped her cheek and turned her face up to his. Unshed tears stacked up in his eyes and his nose was red. His chin trembled.
“But if you don’t free me, I will break that wrist again, and then the other one.” He kissed her forehead. “And then a finger or two, and maybe one of your legs.”
Savannah backed away, fighting shock.
“If you still won’t, perhaps I’ll crush your jaw or pelvis.” He ran his fingers over his eyes to clear away tears. “This is your choice. I will see my will is done if I have to pummel your bones into powder as your sister watches.” He smiled through tears, nodding.
A huge sob wracked her body. She covered her face with her hands, imagining him hurting her that way, reaching for more parts of her body to maim and fracture while Molly screamed and begged him to stop.
“I will see that you are forced to uphold your promise and take back your lies. Justice will be mine.” He ripped her hand away from her face. “Agreed?”
She nodded quickly.
Witcher stepped back, watching her closely while his emotions went stoic. “State that you wish to free me now. This is your chance to repent, to make right of your wrongs, the murder, your lies. Save yourself from punishment.”
He turned toward his hanging, macabre corpse, looking at the withered skeleton and wasted body. “This can go on no longer, lest I be lost, truly forever gone to my Father. Do the right thing, Savannah, please. Only your sincere wish for my freedom can break down the chains.”
She held her breath, looking from Witcher in human form to Val-Kryel, hanging in torture. She had done horrible things, just like he had. Killing her father was a good example. She owed him for Molly’s life. There was no choice. She hoped for good to prevail rather than giving him reason to revisit horror. There was no backing away from what she’d done when her back was against the wall.
“I wish to free you, Val-Kryel, on the condition that you provide peace for my family, both now and for all the future years to come.”
Witcher took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Close enough.” Once the words left his mouth he simply faded out.
Minutes ticked by with no sound and no sign of him. Savannah considered that she’d possibly done something wrong and it hadn’t worked.
A low groan came from the angel. It gasped breath into invisible lungs. The head fell forward and lolled to the side.
Dear God, what have I done?
Metal fell loose from rock overhead, mammoth chains released from above. Savannah ducked back, looking beneath a ledge in the rock wall for a good place to gain cover. Links stretched tight, screaming loose from bolts. Gravel and ice sprayed, a few stray rocks striking her knees and shins. Savannah skittered back until jagged rock smashed against her back. Another barrage of granite broke loose. She clutched her knees to the icy dampness of her torn up coat. The space around her was dim with only light coming in from above, shining white on the giant skull of the winged skeleton as it fought to free itself from bonds.
The rock-framed skylight fractured and fell, letting more sun burst down on the skeleton. It stilled and chaos subsided, the face tilted, taking in the golden light. The thing’s right arm was loose but unmoving, resting against the ribcage. One enormous chain streamed from the cuffed wrist to the floor. Savannah squinted, shielding her eyes from the bright rays. Bone glistened with fluid, like a raincloud had unleashed overhead.
“Witcher?” she called. The fear of being alone and vulnerable in the quaking mountain was worse than being with him. She’d learned to keep the bastard in her line of sight. He didn’t answer and wasn’t within view. She searched the hanging giant for any trace of him.
The finger bones twitched, glossy and dripping, curling into a fist below the loosened cuff. The head rolled then picked up, the neck vertebrae popping together like cogs. Bone thickened and sacs of organs inflated in cavities, the sounds reminding her of tossing slop out to the hens, the various clumps of spoiled food slapping to the dirt. Muscle formed, sinewy at first but as more of the fluid ran down into joints, cartilage and bulk popped into place. The loose arm contracted, jerking the freed chain into motion, swinging the length in long, swooping arcs until it came up off the rock floor, the massive face turned toward the sun. With a groan, it flung the chain hard, the links flying upward and bashing against the ceiling and walls. Boulders and sand screamed free and more of the sky poured in, sunlight filling each part of the carved out room with golden rays. The huge wings beat slowly, wind huffing Savannah’s hair away from her shoulders. She continued to protect her head with her arms, peeking through a gap while at the same time pushing back with her feet, scooting into the tunnel she’d used before for shelter from flying rock and swinging chains.
By the second, more and more bulk formed into a winged giant. Tawny skin knitted across the broad expanse of chest, one massive arm still swinging the chain, breaking the mountain apart. Each time the arm contracted, the wings beat hard and the chains that still bound remaining limbs groaned against the bolts holding them in place. As the body gained strength, links broke or bolts were ripped free. One bare foot planted on the rock level. He crouched with one knee bent, touching the floor then twisted hard, yanking the last chain loose to free his left arm with a shower of rocks. Cuffs and limp chains hung from each ankle and wrist, and a massive gilt collar remained around his neck, gleaming platinum in the sun. His head fell forward, chin to c
hest, long falls of light and dark brown hair flowing over both shoulders.
The chaos fell away, the last of the rocks settling against the ground. He grasped the chain that was attached to his collar and yanked it free, rolling his face to the sun. He inhaled, nostrils flaring and chest inflating with life.
Val-Kryel leveled his face in her direction. Familiar eyes opened, the same color as Witcher’s weaved in a pool of twisting silver and bronze, so full of life that they spoke his recognition of her.
Savannah let her hands drop, watching him. He was perfect, if she ignored the wings. Each sculpted muscle flowed beneath flawless, bronze skin. She imagined his face was a lot like what Jesus had looked like, although she clearly saw the familiarity of the one she knew as Witcher in his features. There was no hair anywhere on his body except for his scalp. The perfection was as intimidating as his size. It was hard imagining such a being carrying out cruelty.
She clamored to her feet, steadying by hanging onto protruding rocks on the wall. Val-Kryel stepped forward, watching her closely. When he was close, he went to a knee to make them closer to the same height. His wings folded together curling in at his knees, becoming compact and out of the way of his arms. He lowered his head, staring into her eyes.
“Thank you,” he said. The tone of his voice was deep and smooth. “I will be better this time. I promise you kindness.”
She hung onto the wall with every cell in her body, afraid to speak.
He watched her just a moment longer, then reached for her arm.
“Wait! What are you doing?”
“Step forth, Savannah.”
When she came into the clear, he locked a hand around one of her forearms.
“Hey! No!” She yanked away.
“You’re frightened.” He stood up so his sternum was just above her head.
So many things came to mind, all of the ways she was horrified by the sheer size of him. The wings, the unnatural depth and color of his eyes, and the damned perfection were too much to deal with. Involuntary motions pulled her arms around herself as she wished she could stop staring at him. She concentrated on keeping her gaze above his collarbone, and there was undeniable evidence on his face, showing worry and disappointment that she was scared to death of him.
