Page 40 of Wolf of Ashes
“Take off your blindfold and open your eyes,” he says.
My heart is pounding because his voice is layered with tones that speak to anticipation, the same kind he exhibited when he asked me what I am.
My hands drop away from the back of my head and with them comes the blindfold, gripped between my fingers.
Slowly, I open my eyes.
The breath stops in my lungs. I try to breathe, but I can’t.
Hell, breath isn’t important right now.
In front of me, a dark sea churns, its waves rushing forward and drawing back, the fierce water becoming nothing more than a gentle flow at the edge of the beach I’m standing on. Sparkling sand stretches out far into the distance on either side of us, gently glimmering in the darkness all the way to a peak at each end of the beach. In the far distance, the waves crash against rocky outcrops.
Trees sway and bend in the force of the wind that the keeper has somehow stilled where we stand.Palm trees. I think that’s what they’re called.
But above us…Oh, above us…
The night sky glistens with a thousand stars, a deep dark that is more magnificent than I ever imagined.
“Beautiful darkness,” I whisper.
The panthers have gathered around me, each one looking upward, their purrs like a melody in the salty air.
The keeper has stepped away from me and, when I drag my gaze from the night sky for the briefest glance at him, I find that his countenance has changed once again.
His hair is now as inky black as the panther’s fur. His eyes are the darkest blue like the sea that churns in front of me. His body is leaner, but no less muscled. Less like a bear and more like the sleek and deadly panthers.
His voice is as low as the hum of beating wings as he looks right back at me. “Yes, you are a beautiful darkness,” he says, his gaze devouring me, his lips curving upward. “And I can’t wait for you to unleash your rage on the world.”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Istay like that for a long time, taking in the beauty of the night sky. Allowing my mind to be consumed by the darkness above me, mesmerized by the way the light of the stars breaks through the ink so that the two exist harmoniously: light and dark. Somehow strengthening each other.
The gods make mysterious moves, my mother said. I can’t imagine what deadly threats lie within the beautiful landscape above me.
At least I’m aware of the ones that walk this Earth.
Eventually, the keeper takes himself quietly off to the nearest palm trees, an arched cluster of them dense enough to provide a cave-like shelter, leaving me standing with the panthers.
He spreads out the blanket he took from the truck and sits on it, contemplating the ocean from that position.
Even though I don’t want to tear my eyes away from the night sky, I have no doubt that once the sun rises, my senses will be overloaded. I’m forced to acknowledge that I need to sleep and here is as good a place as any to get some rest.
“Come on,” I say quietly to the panthers, inclining my head at the secluded trees.
They follow me to the space where the branches overshadow the sky and then they lay themselves down on one side of the blanket, where they can nestle together.
They haven’t stopped purring, although it’s a much softer sound now, blending with the gentle breeze. As I sit next to the keeper on the blanket, I notice a faint, emerald glow across the tree branches, which indicates that his magic is continuing to keep the wind at bay.
In the far distance, lightning cracks across the horizon. A storm that sizzles through the sky and lights up the crashing waves. Part of me wishes I was out there in it. My first real storm.
“Thank you for showing me this,” I say.
The keeper has remained in his black-haired, blue-eyed form, and somehow, he seems most peaceful in it. Which is a strange thing since I also sense that the face he currently wears may be his darkest façade. Darker even than the devil’s form he took on at the Cathedral to scare the shit out of the angels.
“There’s a world beyond vengeance,” he says as he continues to contemplate the horizon.
He spoke so softly that I’m uncertain if his comment was directed at me or if he’s trying to convince himself of it. My forehead creases as I contemplate the possibility that he, too, may carry grievances that require vengeance.
