Page 235 of Vasmora
The other two Corvugons bowed and lowered their heads.
Raivox kept his distance, licking a talon that must’ve gotten injured.
“You ungrateful bag of bones! I should turn you into dust for the worms!” She threw out her palm, and Zevander lurched forward, swiping up her arm.
“Perhaps I should accompany you back to bed,” he offered, mostly for Raivox’s sake. He released her, and she flashed him a coy smile as she dragged her hand across her dress where he must’ve gotten mutation blood on her.
“Perhaps you should. You could certainly use a bath. I could certainly wash you.” Her lip curled between her teeth, her gaze lowering to his groin. She stepped closer and gripped him there, and Zevander’s muscles turned rigid with the contact. “You must be tense from the fight. Perhaps you need something to calm you.”
He pushed away her hand and stepped back. A quick glance of the others showed them busy wiping away mutation debris.
Her jaw hardened in a way Zevander had never seen before. “Keep denying me, Scorpion. In the end, I’ll take what I want.”
Frowning, he stared back at her, teeth grinding. “Stay here,” he gritted and strode toward Rykaia, his head pounding, hands flexing with the urge to throttle his own damned mate.
“Where are you going?” she asked after him.
He didn’t answer, his mind spinning with thoughts. It troubled him to be so annoyed with her, but gods in flames, whoever she was, it wasn’t his moon witch, of that much he was certain.
“She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself,” she chided at his back.
Zevander shook his head and kept on until he knelt beside his sister. “What happened?”
“I’m fine. One of the little pricks shot thorns, and I took several in the thigh.”
Zevander peeled back the makeshift bandaging, noting there were no black veins. “You weren’t bitten?”
“No. Just those damned thorns. A warning would’ve been nice. I was halfway into a bottle of wine when those inconsiderate scags showed up.” Rykaia jerked her head, presumably toward Maevyth behind him. “Speaking of which, what’s wrong with her?”
“She’s not quite herself.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed under all that wonderful cuntiness.”
“Seems rest didn’t offer much change from earlier.” Zevander folded Rykaia’s wrapping back into place, covering up the wounds. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder to see Maevyth sauntering toward them.
“I’m terribly bored just idly standing here,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re not going to accompany me to bed, I’m going to look for some wine.” She spun around and stormed toward the castle.
Zevander groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“If she touches the vintage wine, I’m pulling every strand of hair out of her head,” Rykaia threatened, taking Torryn’s hand to pull herself to her feet.
Zevander rubbed the back of his aching neck. “She hasn’t been right since she woke up in the library.”
“It’s that damned book, I’m telling you. She was fine earlier.”
“You saw her earlier.”
“Yes.” Rykaia steadied herself and limped forward, wincing. “She asked me to help her solve one of the puzzles, but it was Primyrian, so I suggested she see you about it. She must’ve tried to figure it out herself. All I know is, I want my Maevyth back.”
Zevander watched Maevyth disappear inside the castle. “Yeah. Me, too.”
Time to see what that book was about.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
MAEVYTH
Ihesitated to follow after Lolla, knowing Uncle Felix might’ve been inside, but maybe I’d see Aleysia. It seemed events were moving backward in time, given the banishment had come after I’d buried the raven, but seeing her could be an indication that fate hadn’t changed. That unraveling events there wouldn’t alter my reality.
