Page 119 of Vasmora
“You suspect something else?”
“I suspect the merciless bastards killed him.” I ground the words in my teeth, the pain of them burning across my tongue.
The cold sensation crawling over me, tingling across my arms and chest was likely shock. Or maybe I’d begun to lose my ability to feel anything else. I rubbed harder, the remnants of Drefan still clinging to my skin.
“Who did this?” Zevander kept his distance, those blazing eyes tracking my every move as he flicked his gaze to my arm and back.
“Captain Drefan and his men. He told me they shot him down.”
A visual flashed through my thoughts of the captain’s head exploding. Blood splashing across my skin. Touching me.
Get off of me. My skin had gone numb where I’d continued to rub it.
“And did they find him?”
I finally lowered my gaze and shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“This Drefan, what was he like?”
The question stirred a dark, venomous rage that hadn’t lessened with his death. “Cruel. Sadistic.”
“Would it make sense that he’d gloat about such a finding?”
Yes. It absolutely would’ve made sense. In fact, I was quite certain he’d have paraded around with souvenirs from the kill. Forced me to suffer through his bragging while tormenting me with the agonizing details of it. “Do you believe Raivox is still alive?”
“I believe, if Drefan had confirmed a kill, he’d have surely let you know.”
I stared down at my hands where the bits of Drefan’s blood and brain had gotten caught in the silver weaving of my glove. “I need to wash him off me. I can’t stand him on me,” I gritted out.
Zevander nodded. “We’ll find some water. Could be a river nearby.” He reached out a hand, beckoning me with a twitch of his fingers.
A beat of hesitation, and I placed my hand in his, the steady strength grounding me. Slowly, I reeled myself closer, slipping my hands around him, my face pressed to his chest, breathing in the calm, familiar scent of him. His scabbard brushed my knuckles, his weapons having been returned to him after the cave incident.
The moment his arms closed around me, a lump formed in my throat. His embrace, so overwhelmingly home to me, sent a wail of alarm through my head. Don’t trust it. Not real.
His muscles tensed around me, and he snapped his gaze to the right of us. In one swift arc, he drew the sword from his back, just as the man with blond hair materialized out of nowhere.
The stranger lifted his chin, Zevander’s blade hovering just below it, and raised his hands in surrender. “Easy.”
“Never sneak up on me again, if you’d like your throat to remain intact,” Zevander said, stuffing his sword back into the scabbard.
“I simply wanted to offer, there’s a hot spring up the path there, if you need to wash. The wolves will secure the perimeter.”
“As they secured the cave?” Zevander bit.
Lips pressed tight, the blond nodded. “The intruder managed to get past our defenses, yes. I suspect it was whatever substance was on that blade. Some sort of potent wolf venom. Didn’t spare the wolf guarding our northern perimeter. Or your bloodbinder, I’m afraid.”
I frowned at that. “He’s dead?”
“He turned. Not quite mancer, not quite razorwolf. A cross between. And exceptionally pissed right now.” The blond chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “We tried to stop it with a small slice of the blade. Seems it only half worked.”
“You can keep him. We’ll be leaving at first light.”
The blond gave a slow nod. “As a general rule, anyone who’s seen where I sleep does not walk away breathing.” He slid his gaze toward me. “But I cannot deny the one who killed the intruder.” Hand pressed to his chest, he bowed. “I’m Lothare. And you must be the mortal I’ve heard so much about.”
“Maevyth,” I offered.
“Maevyth. It would honor the wolves if you joined us this evening. We have food, water, fresh clothes.” At a snap of his fingers, one of his men materialized, carrying a stack of clothing. “Figured the alewife’s daughter is about your size. She offered.”
