Dark Empathy by Archibald Bradford (inspiring books for teens TXT) 📕

Miranda Holt, special operator first class. I don’t know her personally, but she has a solid reputation.”

The angry Trog grit her teeth slightly, clearly wishing her grip was on the throat of her real enemy, but finally she relented and got off of him, one hand pressing to her bloody side as she rose.

Behind her, the worm turned over, its segmented jaws opening as a nude pink girl emerged to take in the sight of the new visitors.

She smiled brightly despite the shadows under her eyes and the tense atmosphere around her.

“Hello, I’m Jubby! What-”

“Bask, you’re bleeding again.” The lanky man with the broken glasses fretted, interrupting the enormous Sandworm.

But the Trog shrugged off her bond-mates concern as she stumbled away from Adrian’s prone form to lean against Jubby’s side.

“I will live, Martin.”

“You will not.” Alcaia pointed out; “That wound is deep, and needs proper tending. Minotaur milk is wondrous indeed, but it has its limits.”

More than a few of the Minotaurs surrounding them pouted a bit at her words, but said nothing to interrupt the drama playing out before them.

“We take care of our own.” Bask’s voice was guarded at the Amazon’s words.

Alcaia crossed her arms over her breasts.

“As do we, but we have a common enemy that we would both see dead. You are needed for that and are therefore no use to me if you succumb to your injuries out of stubbornness and pride.”

“Let them help you.” Martin insisted quietly While Jubby’s tongue stretched out, vainly attempting to see the pair of them against her side.

Alcaia didn’t wait on consent from the intractable lizard, instead she nodded her chin towards Olena.

The Witch had been utterly calm throughout the whole encounter, practically oblivious really, as she plucked individual wildflowers from the deep grass around them.

“Spring’s first bloom.” She muttered as she considered them one at a time before discarding all but three; “Not overly potent, but with many uses.”

Alcaia sighed.

“Elda?” She hinted; “Could you properly dress the bloodletter’s wounds?”

The Witch looked to the lizard and tilted her head.

“She is in no immediate danger.”

“All the same Olena.” Adrian said cautiously as he rose to his feet and brushed off his pants, wincing slightly at the stinging pricks in his neck left by the angry lizard’s claws.

The Witch shrugged.

“Very well, but her blood is too full of hate right now to serve as a foci, I don’t suppose one of you boys would be willing to release yourself onto her injuries? Both at once would be best actually.”

Adrian’s jaw dropped at the absurd request while the bespectacled man blinked several times as he parsed her meaning.

“You want me to... what?”

“I could make up a poultice, and apply it with bandages like you want, but that would take time to heal.” She looked the lanky archeologist up and down; “You are perfect. You care deeply for her, yes? I would use an extraction of your love from your urine to bind her wounds with magic. It would last as long as you loved her or until the wound closed.”

“That’s... idiotic!” Bask hissed, blushing fiercely.

The Witch nodded.

“It is. As was tackling my friend Adrian to the ground like a temperamental child. It took some effort on my part to make him whole again and I am somewhat annoyed that you’ve damaged him again.”

Looks of confusion were shared by all as the Trog’s blush deepened from the rebuke.

“Wait, Olena, are you... fucking with us right now?” Adrian asked.

The Witch considered one of the flowers she had selected for a long moment.

“A distinct possibility.”

“You would make a fool of me?” Bask hissed, her warriors tensing around her.

Abruptly the world flipped on its head, the sky turned black with tendrils of green snaking across it like frozen lightening. A deep rushing sensation filled the chests and ears of all present while their bellies flopped as if they had been turned upside-down.

Dreaded anxiety and fear blossomed into their minds as they looked upon Olena’s form, her shawl flying in ethereal winds as her power filtered out of her.

She glared directly into the bloodletter’s eyes for the first time, while her own glowed with the same eldritch light that tore through the sky as her words echoed out from behind closed lips.

“You made a fool of yourself! As you are doing now by thinking your bluster will do anything more than draw my wrath down on you! I am Olena of the Seven Crooked Sticks and Three Lost Stones! My mother was Yolanda of Oaken Ashes, she who was one with the Many Covens, who together shattered the world whilst striving to save it from Man’s folly! I follow no coven, and no man, woman or beast has claim to my soul! Nothing governs my actions save my own will, I bow to the Aegis in this matter only for the good of all! Now cease your posturing, you simpering child! Lest my words alone cause your wound to fester and you to die with their uttered curse!”

All around her were pale faces: the Amazons had all bowed their heads, the Minotaurs were thoroughly cowed and the enormous Jubby had withdrawn most of her nude pink tongue back into herself as she cringed before the irritated Elder Witch.

Even Bask and her warriors were shrinking in on themselves with dear, an unfamiliar look on the Troglodytes’ faces.

As quickly as it came the sky righted itself and the world remembered the kiss of the sun against its brow. The green light faded from Olena’s eyes and the anxiety lifted from their shoulders as she delicately sniffed at her flowers before letting out a satisfied sigh.

Her mouth opening again and her lips moving to speak like a normal person.

“In other words, take off your shirt so we