Page 266 of Vasmora

“Mixed blood. Born from two turned wolves.”

I looked back to where he paused to sniff the ground before darting after us. “Are there pure bloods?”

“Yes, but they keep to themselves. They do not allow any mixed bloods to join their pack.”

“Just ahead,” Gavroche whispered, and I turned my attention back to the path where thick webs blocked the passage.

Of course, the god of pestilence had no intentions of allowing anyone to simply waltz through to his nest.

Zevander sent a burst of black flame over the webs, and while some burned away, the thicker strands held tight. Resilient even against the sablefyre.

Lothare whacked the wolfsbane coated blade across it, and the strands snapped away.

With a narrow entrance carved out, we stepped through the webs into an extension of the tunnel. Within, I swept my gaze over the ceiling, the webs so thick, it was difficult to determine the height of the passage, and through the arc of flickering torchlight, I watched for any sign of spiders. A cold, anxious prickle settled over my skin, the feeling of being watched raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

The torch sputtered, and Zevander sent another blast of flames over it, but the pitch had burned out.

“Fuck.” Zevander raised his hand, and a dull, violet flame burned in his palm, offering a small bit of light.

Shadows hovered on the fringes, whatever lurked within them casting a chill down my spine. Growls from behind brought us to a stop again, and I turned to where the four razorwolves in our group stood with their hackles raised, muzzles pointed toward the ceiling.

Zevander lifted his palm toward the barrier of webs overhead.

A spider the size of a horse loomed over us, eyes peering down as it ran its pedipalps over its fangs.

One of the wolves lunged, and in a strike so fast the movement barely registered, the spider snatched it up, fangs sinking into its flank. The wolf yelped, its legs dangling helplessly.

“Run!” Zevander shouted.

I swiped up Rho and spun around, chasing after him as he led the way through the maze of webs, he and Lothare burning and slashing through the stubborn strands.

A glance over my shoulder showed a massive, obscure form skittering over the webs toward us.

“Maevyth! Watch out!” Zevander called out.

I turned back toward the path ahead, and the ground dropped from beneath my feet. As I stumbled forward, Zevander’s hand swiped for my arm but was just out of reach, and a hard surface smashed into my shoulder. Rho tumbled out of my arms, while shocks of pain spiraled through my collarbone. With a wince, I shifted onto my back, where a blur of paws and a wet tongue smothered my face, as Rho frantically bounced around me.

Zevander knelt beside me, gently cradling my shoulders as he sat me up. “Are you alright?”

I rolled my shoulder and, noting only a small lingering ache, nodded. Catching a glimpse of a glittering, black stone wall beside me, about two meters in height, I trailed my gaze over what looked to be a trench that cut perpendicular through the tunnel. It extended in both directions beneath arched stone culverts at either side that allowed passage through the tunnel walls.

“A dead vein.” Zevander held his hand to its surface. “I can feel the sablefyre slumbering.”

At the edge above, Kazhimyr and the rest of our group stood, heads swiveling back toward where the spider had pursued us moments ago.

“I don’t know where he went, but I don’t want to stand around and find out.” Kazhimyr plopped to his bottom and jumped down into the trench.

The others followed.

A distant screech had me snapping my head toward the culvert’s dark shadows.

Rho barked and growled, and I dragged him backward, gathering him into my arms.

“Where to next?” Zevander asked Gavroche, keeping his eyes locked on that end of the trench as he pulled me to my feet.

“The other side of the vein. There’s a door a little way ahead.”

Zevander nodded and hoisted Gavroche onto the opposite edge of the trench, then lifted Rho and me next.