Page 51 of Warrior of the Wild
I hurl the rock with as much strength as I have at Peruxolo. I watch as it sails through the air, hitting its mark with an audiblecrunch. Peruxolo raises a hand up to his cheek. When he lowers it, the sun glints off of red.
I made himbleed.
He stares dumbstruck at his hand for a few seconds, as though he’d forgotten what it was to bleed.
But then his eyes find me.
I realize now that the reason he lowered his hood is because he never intended to let me leave here alive. Why should he care if I see his face?
His hand darts inside his cloak, to his side. When it resurfaces, a long blade comes with it, the sun shimmering off a bright metal.
A silver dagger.
I barely process this as my gaze is still focused on the droplet of blood sliding down the god’s cheek. By the time I realize his dagger somersaults through the air toward me, it is too late.
Then I’m staring at the hilt protruding from my gut.
Wretched agony shoots through me.
Torn flesh. A pulsing, sharp, burning pain spreads from the wound. Blood darkens my shirt.
I lower a hand, my fingers trembling over the handle of the silver blade. It split right through my armor. Left side of my abdomen. Below the heart, but I know there are other important organs within the human body. Irrenia would know what to do if she were here. I don’t know if I should pull it out or—
I fall to my knees, my limbs suddenly going weak. Only then do I remember the god is still about ten feet in front of me.
“You have two choices,” Peruxolo says as my eyes meet his. “You can pull out that dagger and bleed to death. Or you can wait for the ziken to smell the wound and come to devour you. Either way, you will die a painful death, and the world won’t be disgraced by your presence any longer.”
He gives me a disgusted scowl before making the walk back to his domain.
I fall onto my back, my breathing ragged. I don’t think he punctured a lung. It’s just that every time I breathe, the dagger is jostled, and it sends a fiercer wave of pain through me.
I’d rather die from blood loss than see the ziken have at me. But just placing a finger against the dagger’s handle is—
A sharp intake of breath.
I can’t do this.
The rocks below me dig into my skin, and my back rests uncomfortably on my pack.
My pack.
Irrenia’s salve.
The muscles in my abdomen scream as I move my arms. I grunt, lower my arms back to the ground. Try again. This time ascream of pain rips from my throat as I try to unhook a strap from one of my shoulders.
My vision grows spotty. I might pass out if I try again.
And then I might never wake up.
Tears leak from the sides of my eyes.
This. All of this. Because I was deluded enough to think Torrin cared for me. Because my mother saw an opportunity to be rid of me forever.
I. Don’t. Deserve. This.
My soul has worth, and I won’t let it depart this world just yet.
Quick as I can manage, I shrug a shoulder out of one of the straps.
