Page 216 of Vasmora

Zevander strode up, taking her hand in his, her skin hot to the touch. The glyph held elements of the one on his chest, but seemed to take on its own shape, too. “It seems you can summon the flame, as well.”

“I need to document this. This is incredible!” Dolion rushed toward his books, swiping them up into his arms. “Excuse me. I want to jot it down before I forget.” Books in hand, he hobbled out of the training room.

Zevander knelt down to study the black residue left behind by the ribbons. “You have absolutely no awareness of who your father might’ve been?”

She shook her head. “None.”

“I believe her father was my uncle, Cazreyal.” Adira stepped forward. “The strongest Lyverian warrior of our tribe.”

“Was?” Maevyth asked.

“He went missing years ago, according to my grandmother. Your mother was coupled to him, as I understand, very much in love. Our priestess determined she was with child not long after he disappeared. She swore it was his.”

“A warrior,” Maevyth said, a half-smile on her face.

A mortal. It didn’t make sense, given her command of the flame. Perhaps wielding it was an ability Morsana had acquired but he’d never known the flame to be associated with the other gods.

The vibration persisted inside of him, desire licking his blood. Desperate. Hungry. “Keep on with your training. The two of us will take a small break.” He strode up to Maevyth and pressed his lips to her ear. “Meet me in the bedroom. Now.”

* * *

Zevander paced in his chambers, his body so fucking wired and tense, he could hardly stand upright. Cock bulging in his trousers, he pressed the heel of his palm against it in a failed attempt to quell the ache. He needed release.

Whatever she’d done back in that training room had struck him like a bottle of potent Ambrozhyr, stirring a need that bordered on violence.

Hooking the hem of his tunic, he peeled away the garment, tossing it onto the bed, his blood running hot at the mere memory of watching her.

When the door’s iron latch clicked, something primal roared through his muscles. More so when she stepped inside, the innocence in her expression reminding him of a curious doe. An unwitting creature about to be devoured by a vicious beast.

Calm yourself.

Dappled light spilling through the curtains seemed to shift around her, as if drawn to her in ways he’d never seen it touch another woman, caressing the most striking angles of her face, her skin pale as a moonflower. Gods alive, the mere sight of her nearly broke him. His fingers tingled, his pounding heart feeding blood to his appetite as he stared at her from across the room, spellbound.

A temptation of the gods.

Seeing her wield his magic with such grace and precision had convinced him further their souls were entwined, stitched together with strong threads and the steady hands of fate.

His flame was a curse, but she made it a torment worth suffering.

He strode up to her, the pull on his muscles a reminder from his head to slow down. Gentle. His thumb traced her bottom lip, lust burning in his blood. The urge to savor every inch of her cast a chill across his skin.

How many times had he felt that she was a fleeting thing? An impossible star in his lightless world.

Her scent lured him closer, the mortal citrus mingling with her own personal brand of intoxicating sweetness. His amberwood soap she loved so much and a rich vanilla that watered his mouth. The aroma overwhelmed his senses, as he nestled his face in her neck and inhaled. Zevander yanked her closer, his tongue burning to taste her.

He crushed his lips to hers, his muscles sagging with relief as he drank her in with the frantic gulps of a dying beast. A dizzying thirst that had his body urging her back against the door, her hair tangled in his tight fist. His free hand roved her body with restless impatience, moving from her jaw to her hip, memorizing every curve and dip.

That exercise with the flame had rattled his senses, shaking something loose inside of him. Like a poison-tipped blade across his chest, it burned with delicious agony, rousing whatever beastly thing slumbered inside of him.

“Air,” she rasped, and the moment he broke away, she gasped and chuckled. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at her lips, licking his own, waiting to seize them again.

Her fingertips traced his chest like cold blades against fevered skin, and the longing to feel them sink into his flesh had him locking his teeth to keep from biting her. “You seem … excited.”

“There are stronger words I’d choose right now.”

Her lips stretched to a smile. “Then, I should seize the opportunity.”