Chapter 58 Deadly creatures
Evan’s breath caught in her throat, sharp and painful. She tried to exhale, to force some semblance of calm into her racing heart, but it seemed impossible. The air itself felt thick and heavy, resistant.
“Who are they?” she asked, her voice a tight whisper as she pressed herself behind Ezekiel’s broad back, seeking shelter she wasn't sure he would willingly provide.
He didn’t turn, his posture rigid. “I don’t know. Aren’t you the smart one, Ella? Why ask a hopeless duke?”
“Are you serious right now?” she hissed, frustration momentarily overriding her fear. “You’re the vampire. Why are you asking me? I really don’t know,” she confessed, the admission feeling like a defeat.
“What, are you serious?” he shot back, a sharp edge to his voice. “Are you implying vampires are just walking libraries of information on every spiritual creature?” The sarcasm was a familiar shield, but she could hear the underlying tension.
“Yes, yes! I’m a human, so I mostly deal with the physical things, like witches. Not the… not the dead.” Her last words dropped to a low, apprehensive murmur, as if speaking too loudly might summon more of them.
“I see,” Ezekiel agreed, the simple words feeling far too heavy for the moment. Evan remained hidden, her small frame shielded by his. Her mind, however, was spiraling, leaping to the most vulnerable.
“What about the maids?” she panicked, her thoughts a frantic jumble. “How will they survive? Oh, no…”
“What are you talking about now?” Ezekiel’s question was laced with impatience. “They aren’t here for the maids. They’re here for you.” He felt her flinch at his words, a subtle recoil that betrayed her bravado. A low, mocking chuckle escaped him. “So you still get scared? I thought you were the all-powerful Evan.”
“At this critical moment of life, you’re seriously mocking me? Why?” The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. “I really don’t want to die until I have a child first!” It was a bizarre, deeply personal thing to blurt out, and it had the unintended effect of making the duke let out a short, genuine laugh.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, a trace of something almost like fondness in his tone. “And yet, you spoke outside as if you truly fear nothing.”
But that was the heart of it, wasn't it? Evan had dealt with physical threats—she could parry a sword, outmaneuver a witch in combat, and stand her ground against any foe made of flesh and blood. But the dead? There was no way she could actually fight the dead. Their very existence defied the rules she understood. If she had known that day, during her proud declarations, that the looming threat was spectral, she would have run for her dear life without a second thought.
“Please, I’m a human, not a spirit hunter. I’m just human,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “You’re a vampire, a pureblooded one at that. You’re more powerful. I’ve only ever fought with white witches' combat. That’s my only pow—”
Evan didn’t get to finish her words. With a splintering crash, the door was kicked open. A figure shrouded in a black cloak floated into the room, its feet not touching the floorboards. It moved with an unnatural, silent grace that was more terrifying than any loud charge.
“Please, please,” Evan whispered, her body trembling violently as she clutched the back of Ezekiel’s coat.
Ezekiel stared the creature down, his crimson eyes narrowed. He watched as it slowly raised a skeletal hand to its hood, pulling the black cloth back to reveal a grinning skull, empty eye sockets fixed upon them. The sight was enough to freeze the blood of any mortal. But Ezekiel was reminded of the words his late father had drilled into him: “Fear nothing, Ezekiel. No matter what it is—living or dead—fear nothing.” Those words, repeated for a lifetime, had forged a core of steel within him. He held his calm, a predator assessing another, even as a bigger, more sinister being arrived.
Summoning a last shred of courage, Evan leaped out from behind him, aiming her icy weapons. She flung shards of razor-sharp ice with practiced precision, but before they could strike the creature, they simply melted into harmless water, sizzling into steam against the unnatural cold that emanated from it. Evan blinked in disbelief, her last defense utterly useless, and scrambled back to the safety of Ezekiel’s back.
The creature seemed to grow agitated. It let out a silent, gaping scream, and a tendril of black smoke shot through the air. It bypassed Ezekiel completely, coiling around Evan’s neck like a vice. It was cold, a deep, soul-numbing cold that strangled not just her airway, but her very spirit. She clawed at her throat, but there was nothing physical to grasp. She couldn’t breathe, her vision beginning to spot with dancing black dots.
“Evan! Evan, are you okay?” Ezekiel asked, his voice tight. But Evan couldn’t even speak, her struggles growing weaker as she fought for a breath that wouldn't come.
Annoyance flared into pure, unadulterated rage within Ezekiel. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he let loose a fire that felt hotter than volcanic lava. Balls of incandescent flame erupted in his palms, and he poured the inferno onto the creature. The fire took hold, not with a normal roar, but with a chilling, silent hunger. The creature thrashed, its skeletal form screaming into the air a sound that was less noise and more a direct assault on the mind—a chilling, psychic shatter of agony. But Ezekiel’s eyes were marked with no mercy. He was a pillar of wrath, making sure to burn the creature, to sear its very essence from this plane, ensuring it burst into nothing but harmless aches. After reducing it thoroughly, the creature crumbled, leaving nothing on the floor but a small, smoldering pile of ashes.
The oppressive weight in the room instantly lifted. The black smoke around Evan’s neck dissipated.
“Evan, Evan, are you okay?” He was at her side in an instant, his hands on her shoulders, checking her over with a urgency that surprised them both. Seeing the color return to her face and her lungs draw in a ragged, grateful breath, he finally let out a slow sigh of relief.
Evan’s eyes, wide with shock and residual fear, drifted from his face to the small pile of ashes on the floor. She blinked, struggling to process what had just happened.
“Huh?” she managed, her voice hoarse. “You can burn the dead?”