Prisoner of the Elements: Book 1 of the War of the Elements Series by Zian Schafer

Author:Zian Schafer [Schafer, Zian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-04T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“To perceive is to suffer.”

― Aristotle

As if with a sixth sense, the brown-eyed sentinel that threatened to ravage me comes as soon as the King leaves.

Please no. Please not now.

There’s a look of hungry satisfaction in his eyes as he devours every inch of me before grabbing me by the hair and dragging me through the corridors.

It’s as if my mind has gone cold, and my natural flight-or-fight instincts have been stolen by the King. I’ve become a doe in the forest, waiting for the hunter to make his kill. I’m powerless and drained, too shaken to pull out of his firm grip.

“I liked you better when you resisted,” the sentinel says as he yanks open the door to my prison and my body scrapes against the wall, burning my skin.

The scent of pine penetrates my nose, and I have to blink again when my mind fools me into thinking it’s the King. The small voice in my head screams at me to move or push back, but I can’t. I’m just so tired.

“You’re not so feisty now are you, mortal?”

His fingers tighten around my throat. I want to kill him. I want to make him suffer. I want the darkness to do its worst on him. But I can’t. I’m helplessly paralyzed in my spot. Somewhere in my mind, I can hear the voice yelling at me that I’m not helpless because I can fight back. But I’m not sure how much I have left in me.

“Get off me. Please,” I choke out as my resolve starts to settle in. If he kills me, then he kills me.

“I think it’s finally time that I test you,” he purrs, and like a switch, the chill in my mind melts and the beast in my core roars.

No. I can’t let him win. I have to keep fighting. I can’t let a Cintis think that this mortal body is his own personal toy.

As he starts to drag me to the bed, five years of training in the forest or bedroom with Evander comes out. Howls of pain fill the air as my knee buries itself deep into his groin. His howls of pain. He folds in on himself, and I can’t stop my hands from sinking my fist into the space just below his ribs, watching as his form drops to the floor.

“You bitch!” he whimpers, covering his groin with his hands like a makeshift shield, “I’m going to make sure you can’t walk because of this.” At least that’s what I think he says. He’s too winded to talk properly.

The darkness flutters, matching my own triumph—a feeling more intoxicating than the adrenaline coursing through my ears. But the beast begs me to do more. It's begging me to kill him. My power surges through me, wanting to heal him from his pain, but I force it back down.

Let him suffer.

A false wave of confidence rushes through me and I drop to the ground with him, digging my knee into his chest to keep him still.

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