“I don’t think so,” one of the men said as he twisted Snoe’s already injured hands. “Let’s take care of this.”
A loud pop echoed in the forest, before the pain registered in Snoe’s brain. He screamed and continued to do so as the shifter broke every finger. Snoe screamed so loud and so long his throat felt raw. Every groan was like rubbing lemon juice in a cut. It burned like hell. Snoe was dropped to the ground, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He gasped for breath that didn’t feel like enough. Dark spots danced around his vision, and he prayed that he would black out.
“The request was to kill him,” someone said.
Snoe tried to see who, but it was too hard. The world felt as if it was spinning out of control.
“And we will, but no damn witch is going to tell me how to do my job,” someone growled out.
There was a loud sigh. “All right, Calvin, I know your hatred for witches runs deep, and the lady didn’t specify how we did it. So, let’s have some fun, boys,” a man said.
Snoe shuddered at his fate. The fist that connected with his cheek wasn’t unexpected, but the pain still radiated throughout his face. Blood filled his mouth, and he was sure he’d either lost a tooth or a few were now loose. Snoe didn’t have the chance to try and run. He caught sight of a foot before he was kicked in the chin, making him bite his tongue, filling his mouth with more blood. The dark spots now consumed most of his vision as Snoe flew back and crashed against a tree. Snow fell from the treetop and on top of him. It was a brief moment of coolness that Snoe wished he could have stayed under.
Snoe was yanked up and tossed back against the unforgiving ground. His consciousness wavered back and forth as the man continued to beat Snoe within an inch of his life. He was pretty sure more joined in, but his vision was shitty. Blood covered his eyes. And probably all over. Breathing was getting harder and harder. Moving any part of his body was too difficult, and Snoe was at the point he was ready to beg for death.
Another kick to his already aching ribs. Snoe tried to take in a wheezing breath, the ice-cold air not helping. Every inch from his head to his toes radiated with pain. His vision blurred even as one figure came into view. Blood coated the inside of his mouth, and his breathing sounded too wet for comfort.
Was this it? The end of his life?
“I’m freezing my balls off. Hurry the fuck up,” one of the guys shouted.
“Shift back, idiot,” someone said.
A blurry face came into view. Snoe blinked slowly, each time forcing his eyes to open. His lids felt heavy, and he was more than ready to cave to the call of death.
“We have to make sure he’s dead,” someone said.
Please do. Snoe wanted it to be over. Snoe felt damn near close, barely holding on to life.
“Yeah, well, he isn’t getting up no time soon,” one guy said.
Snoe no longer had a voice to scream no matter how much he felt the need to.
“She said place this on his body,” one of them said.
“Why the hell did you grab that thing?”
“She left it there,” another said.
“Like fuck if I’m touching their magic shit,” another growled.
Snoe wished they’d just hurry the fuck up. He was in too much pain. If he had the strength to end it himself, he would. They argued amongst themselves, and Snoe nearly tuned them out, waiting on the pearly gates or the fire of hell to greet him.
“Hilde G. Newton-Blake isn’t to be messed with. I don’t give a damn about your anger, Calvin.”
“Wait, that old thing was Alister Blake’s wife? Why didn’t we kill her?” someone asked.
“Because we didn’t know who she was at the time. I had to pull a lot of fucking strings to find out who we met with. She will come after us, and it won’t be pretty.”
Hilde, what the hell. Snoe wasn’t even in her way, and she still sent people after him. What had been the point in running?
“Fine.”
They slapped a piece of paper onto Snoe’s forehead, and searing pain like none he’d ever felt took over him. His head felt as if it was going to explode. Snoe’s mouth opened, and gurgling noises came from him, but never a scream. As pure torture riddled his body, turning his world upside down, he arched off the ground as he writhed in agony. There were muffled words, and Snoe tried to pay attention to push past the pain, but there was no escape. And as footsteps retreated, Snoe wanted nothing more than to beg for them to come back and finish him off. To rip out his throat or his heart, anything to be free of the torture.
Just when Snoe thought he was alone and would be left to suffer, the charm was yanked away from him. The effects lingered for a bit, but slowly the pain receded to only the aches of his body. Snoe forced one of his eyes open and stared at one of the shifters. He looked at Snoe with pity.
Kill me, put me out of my fucking misery…
“I don’t know what you did to her, but this isn’t okay,” a man’s voice said.
He walked away before Snoe could mouth the words kill me. Snoe lay there on the ground, his blood melting the snow. His consciousness wavered a few times as he lay on the hard, cold ground, hoping each time he lost consciousness it would be the last time he woke up.
Snow fell down from the sky. A beautiful sight. Maybe it would be the last thing he saw? It wouldn’t be the worst thing. The snow reminded him of the beautiful white roses he cared for. Snoe took in a shuddering breath. He could feel his life teetering on the edge as everything was grey. He was in so much pain it hurt even to breathe, yet he continued. He lay there in the cooling sticky fluid of his own blood. Not a person in sight, no one to cry over him. He was alone; he’d die in the middle of a forest as white flurries fell on him. He bet the snow surrounding him was a crimson red, no longer delicate and untainted. He should just die, accept that this was his fate. To die alone.
No. Why should he have to suffer? He’d done everything asked of him, stayed out of the way, and yet Hilde saw it as her personal goal to hunt him down. It wasn’t fair. Snoe’s left hand burned, and he remembered the marking he had there, one that had been on him since he was a child.
Memories tried their best to flood his brain, but he couldn’t keep hold of them. Snoe forced his hands to move, most of his fingers broken. He attempted to draw a small summoning circle. He was sure it was far from perfect, and the chance of it firing back on him or not working didn’t keep him from trying. Snoe dug deep inside of himself and pushed every ounce of magic he had into the circle. This was all he had—it was all or nothing. The demon would eat him, or he would make a contract. Either way, Snoe was giving it his all.
His magic left at a dizzying pace, and it had Snoe feeling hollow and barely clinging to consciousness. The falling snow disappeared along with the sky, and the surrounding forest disappeared. It hadn’t worked. It was too late. Snoe wanted to laugh at himself; he’d chosen to fight at the end when his life was teetering on the edge of death.
“Why are you laughing?” a deep, smooth voice asked.
A small flicker of a flame provided little to no light.
So, hell it is.
“Are you going to tell me why a witch on death’s door has summoned me?”
The words finally penetrated the fog in Snoe’s head. He had succeeded. He opened his mouth to respond, but a garbled-up wet cough was all he could muster.