Sin of the Saint

CHAPTER FOUR: A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

Numbness bled throughout her extremities, and a sour taste rushed into her mouth from her stomach that lurched at his words...his choice of words. "What...did you just say?" she whispered, her eyes widening.

He raised a sharp eyebrow at her and grinned, "Ah...so, you must know what happened to her, then. You two might have been close. Now, then...who could you be? A friend? A relative?"

Though her shock left her in a state of speechlessness, Liv wanted to scream at him—punch him, at the very least—but she swallowed all emotion she had. This guy...he was dangerous and obviously knew about what happened to Charity—and it seemed, by what he'd said...that he had something to do with it as well.

He found out who Charity really was—and she died because of it?

She couldn't let him find out who she was too.

She narrowed her eyes at him as he neared her. He stopped spinning his staff and held out a hand to her. "Best keep your lips sealed, Caritas. I like a fair fight."

Liv looked at his hand and contemplated taking it. He called her Caritas...the Charitable Saint—the same title that Charity said she'd passed on to her. So, if in this form, that's who she was...then just who was he? Didn't Charity say there was a destined opponent she lost to? But what did she lose? Was he her opponent?

Though there was something very obviously sinister about him, he did act amiable, with his hand stretched out to help. But his mentioning of Charity's death truly rattled her and forced her to hold him at a mental distance.

She took a chance and grabbed his hand to let him help her to her feet. He stabilized her with one hand on her shoulder. She assumed by his serpent-like look that his hand would feel cold against her bare shoulder, but his surprising warmth proved her wrong. She looked at his narrow, angular face now that it was near and she could make out more of his features. His sharp eyes, the impossible color of amethyst, met hers, thick eyelashes blinking slowly over them. Dangerous as he seemed, she couldn't look away from him—especially since his sharp features proved to be dangerously and ironically soft.

"Are you going to stare at me all day, Caritas, or are you going to grab your weapon?" he asked quietly, almost a whisper.

Weapon? What weapon?

She looked to her left and found a golden rod, similar in shape to his, peeking over her shoulder. She grabbed it with her right hand and brought it out in front of her, its length about four feet long. But unlike his, hers had no kind of dangerous weapon on either side.

She looked at it quizzically—what was she supposed to do with it? How was this a weapon? It didn't even look dangerous.

Liv heard the stranger sigh, "It's clear you aren't ready to fight me, so I'll simplify things a little bit."

She looked up at his face, momentarily disarmed by his charm as their eyes met. "Fight you—?"

All her air rushed out of her lungs as pain and pressure struck her in the abdomen. A warm, wet sensation met her legs, and she looked down, almost unable to breathe.

He'd lodged one end of his weaponized staff into her stomach, and her own blood flowed from the wound, bleeding down over her thighs and onto the misty ground.

No way...Her face flushed as she felt her blood drain, unbearable heat rushed to her head, and then plunged into a cold, damp sweat, "No...no...what...?"

How could she have trusted him for even a moment?

...and now she was going to die! In a place she didn't even know! Nobody back home would even know what happened to her!