Book 14: Ghosts from the Past

Maeve

Hazy morning sunlight bleeds through dark storm clouds, sending ribbons of light through the fog gathering at my ankles. We’ve been walking for two miles, at least, in what direction… I don’t know, and I honestly don’t care. Soren is several yards ahead of me and hasn’t so much as looked in my direction as he leads me down a narrow, paved road in the middle of Goddess-damned nowhere. There’re no trees here. Just rolling, grassy hills and a single, lonely, fog-soaked road.

Rain begins to patter against the top of my head. It’s gentle, thank goodness, but enough to make me pull the hood of my cloak over my hair.

I keep thinking about what happened in the hotel only two or so hours ago. I rub my neck, still feeling the pressure of his teeth there, and then relive his moment of shock.

Now, I’m watching him favor his arm, the one where he used to wear the silver band. It’s bothering him–itching, I believe. He won’t leave it alone.

“Sor