Page 274 of Vasmora

One of the humanoids charged at a warrior, who gripped her by the throat and tore her head from her body with nothing more than his hands, black blood spraying up into his face. Another humanoid came from behind, pouncing onto his back, teeth sinking into his shoulder. Its obsidian eyes widened, a hiss snaking through its teeth still locked on the warrior’s muscle. Black froth leaked from the corners of its mouth as it shuddered violently against him. Its skull collapsed, black fluids pushing out through the bone, sending up curls of white smoke. Skin peeled from flesh, falling to the ground in ribbons of wet slop, its meaty tissues dissolving into trickles of black ooze that pooled at the warrior’s boots.

The warriors were resistant to the infection.

Like me.

Zevander’s eyes met mine again, a look of awe sketched in his expression, before he pivoted around and slammed his sword into an approaching humanoid.

The sound of hissing filled the cavern, and I turned to see more of the creatures dissolving, their numbers dwindling against the warriors, who attacked relentlessly. In brutal chaos, the Hollowyns carved a path of ruin through the horde, tearing limbs from torsos, smashing bones and rending open chest cavities with such ruthless ease, I couldn’t dare to imagine their strength. A female warrior, with long braids of hair and carrying twin daggers, slashed throats with incomprehensible speed, her pale face coated in the black ooze of her kills.

Amid them, the four other men of our group resumed their fighting, and the number of humanoids finally began shrinking.

One of the wolves thrashed its oversized claw at a mutation’s face, carving four gashes deep enough that I could see its back teeth through its cheek.

I summoned my whip and slashed it across the web overhead, where a few dozen humanoids seemed hesitant to climb down. In one crack, the web snapped free, bodies spilling onto the melee.

My senses flared, and I spun around to see a mutation scrambling across the floor toward Rykaia. With viper speed, I snapped my whip forward, my aim true when it struck the creature’s flank. Ribs shattered on impact, blackened organs spilling onto the ground and rupturing into a pool of fluids.

Another barreled toward me from the opposite direction, and I sent my whip clapping against the humanoid’s chest, splitting its skin open to show ribs collapsing inward and splintering like dried, brittle branches. I drew back the whip and cracked it again, the end of it striking the humanoid’s neck with a sickening pop that sent its head flying over the crowd behind it. Reeling back my whip, I stood poised, awaiting further attack.

Verena hobbled up next to me, her jaw slackened as we watched what had seemed futile shift to victory.

The fighting slowed.

I searched the bodies for Zevander and found him twisting around, sword at the ready, piles of humanoids and black ashes scattered around him.

Sweeping my gaze over the room showed hundreds of warriors still standing, and interspersed between them stood Kazhimyr, Lothare, Fennyx, Torryn, and one razorwolf.

“You did this,” Verena said beside me. “You called on the bones of the ancients.” Her gaze burned in my periphery. “You’re a death goddess.”

The moment she spoke the words, a concussive thud vibrated through the cavern, the sound of hard leather striking stone, as the warriors dropped to one knee before me, their movement perfectly unified, as if belonging to a single mind.

My breath hitched, and my frozen limbs mustered only a half-step backward, as I stared out over a sea of bowed heads. An uneasiness hooked itself in my throat, their obeisance sending a rush of warmth to my cheeks. I locked eyes with Zevander, studied his reaction, desperate to know what thoughts ran through his mind right then. For a breathless moment, he stared at the warriors, his chest heaving after the violent battle.

Brows pulled tight, he turned back to me and slowly sank to one knee, his gaze never wavering from mine.

I shook my head. The sight of him kneeling felt wrong.

The other four men of our group also lowered to the floor before me, and Verena smiled at my side, bending the knee like the others.

The sight of assassins and warriors bowing in deference sent a chill up the back of my neck. “Please, I don’t …” My protest trailed off when Zevander pushed to his feet and strode toward me. I anchored my gaze on the gritty floor where black ooze pooled around my boots, not daring to look at him. “You are my equal,” I said, shaking my head. “I would never ask you to bow before me.”

He hooked a finger beneath my chin, drawing my eyes to his. “I didn’t bow as a subordinate, moon witch. I bowed in awe,” he said and pressed his lips to mine.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

ZEVANDER

Zevander glanced around at the hundreds of writhing cocoons throughout the room, some dangling from the ceiling, some scattered over the floor where they’d been hacked down during the battle with the humanoids. All of them filled with more of the infected. “I’ll burn them all.”

“No.” Hands braced on his hips, Lothare shook his head. “Not if there’s a chance that they might revert back. If we can trap Pestilios, the infection may die.”

Dolion had mentioned the possibility—the infected being of one mind.

Zevander didn’t give a damn about possibilities. “And if it doesn’t, we may die.” A glance back at Maevyth showed her gaze dropping from his, and she shook her head.

“There was a time I would’ve argued,” she said. “But I’ve since become selfish in protecting those I love.”

Hands balled to fists at his side, Lothare stepped closer. “We haven’t even fought the god, and you’re ready to waste your energy burning a bunch of cocoons?”