Free Celtic Shores by Delaney Rhodes Page B

replaced with rage and an unholy anger took its place.
    “Why are ye here?” she shouted into the blackness. “What do ye want?”
    “Ye know what I want. Ye’ve yet to give it to me. Must I do everything?” he echoed back.
    The Visitor blew out a short breath, and the room filled with light as two candle stands in the far corners of the cavernous room lit of their own accord. Odetta stood panic-stricken in the middle of the small chamber, face to face with her evil Lord.
    The top of her head barely reached his chest. His long stone-like arms hung nearly to the ground and he waived his razor-sharp, black fingernails in front of her face; before scratching a line down the cavern wall…creating some sort of visual depiction of an ancient battle or ceremonial rite …she wasn’t sure.
    “Me Lord,” she ventured hesitantly.
    “Silence,” returned the Visitor. “I am here to collect what is mine. Have you located the nexus?” he asked, spewing rancid steam from his nostrils.
    “Not yet, but I am close,” she replied.
    “Have ye at least acquired or traversed the territory which surrounds the ruins?” he shouted angrily.
    “Eaton. Me Lord,” she replied.
    With one flick of his giant wrist, the Visitor slashed a line from Odetta’s right shoulder, across her chest, down over her ribcage and rested his razor-sharp nails in her left side—fully impaling his hand within her flesh. Her eyes met his and locked on in defiance. Blood trickled from her wounded side and pooled about her ankles. She grew faint and steadied herself so as not to pass out.
    “Ye grow pale, me puppet,” he bellowed. “It’s a good thing I’ve made ye immortal. Otherwise all this time I’ve wasted on ye would be in vain.” Slowly and painfully, he removed his claws from her body, one at a time.
    When the last of his razor-sharp nails were removed, Odetta doubled over in agony and fell to her knees. “Me Lord, tell me what ye desire of me—I am yer most willing servant,” she begged through clenched teeth.
    “Ye know I need the nexus. Ye’ve had years to locate the nexus among the ruins. I am growing impatient with ye. Perhaps it is time I take a new tribute,” he said, as he drew circular shapes down the length of her arm with one of his nails, drawing blood all along the way.
    “No!” she screamed. “Please, I can do this, just give me more time. Please don’t take anyone. I am so very close to having access to the ruins; I’m sure I can find yer nexus.”
    “Ye’ve had plenty of time, witch,” said the Visitor. “Why can ye not simply go to the ruins now and return with the nexus?” he asked, as he grabbed her around the neck and lifted her off the floor in front of him; leaving her legs dangling just feet from the stony ground.
    Cold, gray, evil eyes burned behind copper-colored lids. He muttered something under his breath; something otherworldly, something so sinister she didn’t need to understand the words to catch his meaning.
    “I will have the nexus, and I will leave this place!” he roared, as the stones shook and the earth quaked at the force of his command. He dropped her to the ground, leaving her a quivering mess of blood and pure exhaustion.
    “Ye need more blood,” he said matter-of-factly. “Tend to yerself, and find my nexus. I will be back.”
    A shearing pain gripped her heart and electric-like currents surged through her body. She began to vomit, and a seizure overtook her to the point she was forced to lay flat out on the cold, stone floor writhing in agony. She felt her flesh heating up like it was on fire, and the droplets of blood on her skin began to boil. Her flesh seared back together where it was torn, leaving tattoo-like scars in its wake.
    A reminder of his power over me, she thought to herself. But -not for long.

CHAPTEN TEN
     
    O’Malley Territory — Sick-House
    “ Please Vynae, I need to keep this just between us for now,” Kyra said to the healer. “I need time to prepare