Page 18 of Vasmora

Zevander peered upward, the edge of the chasm in sight.

A force tugged at his foot, and he twitched toward the web wound at his ankle. The hold cinched tight, and Zevander glanced down to see Cadavros dangling from it below them, scrambling upward.

Like before, he threw out his palm to summon the flame, but only that weak, violet flicker crawled over his hand before fading again. Teeth grinding, he flexed his fist and tried again, the magic tearing through his veins like a pitted scythe. His body felt so depleted and busted up, it was a wonder he could breathe. Against the searing pain screaming in his shoulder, ribs and muscles, he lifted his leg just enough to run the blade over the binding.

“By the fucking gods if this doesn’t cut loose, I’m going to–” His blade jerked and tumbled from his grasp, but merciful gods, it sliced through the strand.

Cadavros let out a roar, legs flailing around him as he plummeted away, into the blackness below.

Heaving breaths sawed through Zevander’s battered ribs, as he watched white strands reach out for the rock’s edge and the stubborn beast caught himself once more.

Cadavros scrambled upward again, the relentless bastard refusing to die. Determined to kill Zevander, it seemed.

Proof that their bond had been shattered.

Raivox soared upward, too fast for the mage to catch them. From their renewed height, Zevander could see the two shimmering walls at either side of him, divided by the gaping void that separated the mortal and immortal worlds. The hellbound chasm that’d nearly claimed his soul.

Raivox banked right, and heat poured over Zevander as silver flame tore across the wavering barrier, creating a silver mirror in which he caught a glimpse of himself dangling from the Corvugon’s talons. And fuck, the sight of him. It’d been over a century since he’d last looked so beaten and bruised.

They flew toward it, and cold tingled over Zevander’s skin, vibrating across his bones as they somehow passed through the Umbravale, the ward humming and flicking around him and numbing his wounds for a split second. On the other side, the sharp burn in his lungs softened as the crisp Aethyrian air welcomed him home.

Below his dangling boots stood the snowy stretch of Hagsmist forest, and Zevander craned his neck, forcing himself to search the ground for Maevyth and Kazhimyr.

She’s safe, he told himself. Kazhimyr was like a brother to him. He’d keep her safe.

Jolts of pain spiraled up his spine, and he hissed through his teeth as the Corvugon surged higher, well above the line of trees, until he could see Costelwick below. Land and mountains zipped past at a dizzying speed, a tide of nausea swelling in his gut when he ran his hand over sharp tines of bone that’d torn right through the skin of his forearm. Ignoring the pain, he watched the ground for Maevyth. Hoping that Raivox’s keen eyes were watching for her, too.

Seeing his mate safe and alive was the only thing that could possibly ease the excruciating pain of his injuries. Just a fleeting glimpse of her would’ve set him right.

Zevander forced himself to let no stretch of land go unsurveyed.

Until the agony of his wounds and sheer exhaustion dragged him into a quiet void.

CHAPTER FIVE

MAEVYTH

There were levels of heartbreak. Tiny fissures and gaping voids. And while the heart was designed to be resilient, to heal even the most traumatic wounds, the scars left behind were inevitable. Reminders of the unbearable grief trapped deep within its delicately sealed cracks for eternity.

Pain was all I had left of Zevander, and as much as I wanted to dig my fingers in and keep those deep gashes festering, to slip into endless dreams of him with the hope that I would never wake up, I’d made a promise to live.

And I would not break.

Cold concrete pressed into my cheek. The surrounding prison cell was so dark, I couldn’t tell if my eyes were opened or closed, at any given time.

A tomb.

Hot tears pooled in the corners of my eyes, as my body lay in a restless tremor. The near constant darkness had crawled into my head, carefully unspooling whatever calm I’d forced on myself. Silence had grown teeth, gnawing at me, while my mind had no variation of time nor space, nothing to grasp in the endless black void. I’d felt the skittering of things I couldn’t see and the sting of suppurating wounds. What felt like bones scattered over the floor was a reminder that death and decay were never far.

It must’ve been days ago that I’d last seen the light. Not so much as a drop reached inside the cell I’d estimated to be about five meters wide, just by crawling the length of it. The manacle strapped to my ankle allowed me to touch three of the four walls, though I didn’t bother to explore much, particularly the darker corners. The entrance to the cell remained out of reach.

In the vastness of thought, I’d suffered projections of the mind. Light that didn’t exist illuminating memories I wanted to forget.

Zevander’s face.

His hand reaching out for me and the devastation of those final words.

The look of despair in his eyes, too final to be real.