Page 109 of Vasmora

Zevander strode toward me, fury blazing in his eyes. He cradled my face. “Are you hurt?” He stepped back, frantically scanning over me.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, knowing damned well I wasn’t.

A black wolf, twice the size of the others, darted into the cave, straight for the headless woman lying on the ground. He snapped his attention toward me, a maw full of sharp teeth promising pain.

I couldn’t blame him for his anger, but I didn’t avert my stare.

“It wasn’t … her, Fennyx.” The female that the mother wolf had called Verena limped toward him, her naked human body covered in a cloak she must’ve been offered by one of the men.

Zevander stepped toward the wolf, and I caught a glimpse of the scorpion skittering over his palm, as it seemed to do whenever he faced a threat.

The wolf’s eyes shifted to the man on the ground, and he lunged for his body, teeth tearing what was left of him into bloody bits of flesh.

While I felt a small bit of remorse for having killed him myself, I was glad my tormentor was dead.

“Are you all right?” Zevander’s question forced me to look away from the wolf and the torn organs scattered over the floor of the cave. He ran his hands over me, seeming to search for any sign of injury.

The chatter of voices withered beneath the steady pounding of blood in my ears. My breaths shallowed. Movements slowed, as if I was underwater.

“Maevyth,” Zevander’s firm voice broke through. “Are you all right?”

I lifted my gaze and nodded. “Yes. Just a little out of sorts, is all.”

“No injury?”

I shook my head and looked back to the wolf, who’d not bothered to eat what he’d ravaged. Once he seemed satisfied, he returned to what I was certain had been his mate. Laying by her side, he let out a howl that somehow carried a note of grief and pain. All five pups gathered around him, whining and howling, the sounds tugging at my heart.

The runt broke away from the others, and when he scampered toward me, I lifted him into my arms, letting him nuzzle against my neck. Sensing Zevander’s stare, I turned, offering what could’ve only been a blank expression, as I gently pet the top of the pup’s head.

A man with short, blond hair and umber skin lifted Drefan’s sword from the ground beside him, turning it over in his hand. The way he carried himself, shoulders poised, confident, chin inclined, had me wondering if he was a warrior. Possibly royalty.

“The sword … it turned the wolves,” I whispered to Zevander.

Brow furrowed, he looked back to where the blond examined it.

The blond raised the weapon into the air. “Tonight, we’ll honor Fennyx’s mate. And ask the gods to punish the soul of the man who took her from him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

KAZHIMYR

Kazhimyr ran his hand over the iron door that expanded and contracted beneath his palms, searching for a way to open it. Though, not to set the man inside free, of course.

On the other side, Dravien’s grunts and outcries told him, whatever the contraption was, it must’ve made for a painful experience. Kazhimyr would’ve left him to suffer had he not been so keen on slitting the traitor’s throat himself. His friends were likely dead because of him, which meant Kazhimyr could not allow the lying shitkisser to continue breathing–no matter how much pain he’d suffered.

“You there!”

At the voice calling out to him, Kazhimyr turned to see a short, stocky guard striding his way.

“Where’s your post, soldier?”

“Do you have the key to this cell?” Kazhimyr asked, ignoring the soldier’s question.

“Yeah, I have the key. I’m to take him up to the rotunda. They’re sending him in after Loyce.” The man swiped up a set of keys clipped to his waistband. “May as well send the one who killed one of ours.”

Kazhimyr glanced to the iron door and back. “He killed one of ours?”

Brows knitted, the man paused in fishing through the keys. “Where you been that you haven’t heard? Cut his throat with his own knife and tried to stop ‘em from tossing that mortal into the pit.” He shook his head. “Traitorous cunt.”