Page 154 of Vasmora

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

Zevander convulsed behind her, his head limp, gaping chest cavity oozing blood.

“Sole mortiz facje salvirun.” Only death can save us. Loyce bit into his heart, and I let out a gut-wrenching scream, the shock of it blinding me to the thin tree roots curled around my ankles, crawling up the length of my legs to my thighs. My stomach.

I reached down to claw them away with my gloved hand, and the skinny tendrils circled my wrists, pinning my arms at my side. Shallow breaths panted out of me as the vining branches encircled my chest, my neck, squeezing.

“No!” A cold panic clutched my ribs, the vines wrapping around my mouth, the rough surface biting into the corners of my lips.

Tighter.

Tighter.

No, no, no!

I bucked awake with a sharp inhale and glanced around, where the others lay strewn about the campsite, their quiet snores carrying over the crackle of the bonfire. My pulse hammered in my throat, breaths shallow but slowing. The band across my stomach shifted. An arm. Scorpion tattoo on the back of the palm. I lifted my head to see Zevander staring down at me.

“Another nightmare?” he asked, his voice deep and soothing as I fought to climb out of my head.

Exhaling a long, trembling breath, I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut. “It was horrible.” I curled myself against his chest and winced at the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” His voice rumbled through me, and I wrapped my arms around him.

“No.” The mere suggestion had me digging my fingers into him. “I can’t seem to convince my head that she’s gone. I feel like I had fewer nightmares when I was her prisoner. The awful things I keep seeing.” I shook my head, eyes pinched so tight, a shock of pain struck my temples. “How did you do this? You lived for so long, with the horrors of what she did, knowing she was still alive and powerful.”

He sighed and adjusted his grip on me. “By yearning for the day when I could drive a sword through her. Vengeance makes a man ambitious.”

“And now she’s gone. Yet, I still fear closing my eyes. Or looking too deeply into the shadows.” I buried my face in his skin, breathing in his calming scent like a balm to my racing thoughts.

He stroked a hand down my hair and kissed the top of my head. “I’m not a wise man. I only know that fear is like a starving beast. If you give it teeth, it’ll consume you.”

I stared off at the wolves prowling along the perimeter of the camp, letting his words sink into my head. “And how do I avoid giving it teeth, as you say?”

He shrugged. “My nightmares stop the moment I reach for a blade. But you’re smarter and far more resourceful than I am. Exceptionally more beautiful, too.” His voice carried a faint amusement.

“What happens when you cut yourself?”

“I bleed profusely.”

I swatted his arm. “Aside from that.”

“The blade is laced with poison. As if death were in my veins. It’s a reminder that I’m stronger. That I don’t fear death.”

“Will there ever come a day when you don’t have to rely on poison?”

“I’ve not used it in quite some time. Pain, yes. But it seems you’ve become my poison, moon witch.” He pushed a stray hair from my face. “So lethally addictive, you could destroy me in one fatal dose.”

I snorted and held him tighter, the flickering memories of that nightmare still taunting me. “What power I must possess, to threaten the most feared assassin in Aethyria.”

“Indeed.” He hooked his finger beneath my chin and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Get some sleep. And should you see Loyce again in dreams, remember you wield a fucking bone whip.”

Despite the lingering distress still thrumming through my veins, I nodded. “I will.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

DOLION

Dolion wriggled against the tight threads holding him bound and let out a growl of frustration. Across the floor, the king lay with his back to the mage, unmoving. The many times Dolion had called out to him had been futile, as Sagaerin didn’t so much as acknowledge him. He swore he’d heard quiet mumblings and hissing, though.