Page 80 of Vasmora

“You don’t owe me an apology.” He cupped her cheek then took a step back. From his back, the giant scorpion crawled out onto the stony floor, legs elongating, growing bigger. Bigger. Until it nearly took up the width of the space. “Stay here,” he said. “And should anything happen to me? Run.”

“No.” Cold hands gripped his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “I’m coming with you.”

The thought of her anywhere other than his side chewed at him, but he shook his head. “I don’t know what awaits me on the other side of this door, but I suspect it won’t be a clean fight. Having you there, in the room, would break my focus, and as much as I want you near, I can’t afford to be distracted.”

Brows pinched, she lowered her gaze, her grip of his arm loosening. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”

He rested his palm over her knuckles. “Promise me you will find a way to escape, no matter what happens.”

“I know exactly where to go,” she said, her voice hollow.

Zevander nodded, releasing her. “Good.” The longing to kiss her tugged at him, but he stepped in the direction of the doors.

Another grip of his arm brought him twisting back around.

“Wait,” she said, the expression on her face troubled. “If something should happen ...”

“I’ll return to you.”

“She can’t die, though.”

“There are worse sufferings than death.”

“Promise me,” the words rushed out of her, the grip of his arm tightening. “Promise me you’ll live, no matter what.”

Zevander gently brushed her cheek with his knuckles, and she stepped closer, hesitating a moment before she wrapped her arms around him. “This nightmare ends for both of us.”

The tremble in her body persisted, beating against his chest. How badly he wanted to stay that way, but he forced himself to unravel from her. It would be only a matter of time before someone would find the trail of dead bodies he’d already left and come looking for them.

“Hide yourself.”

Nodding, she headed toward the other end of the corridor, keeping to the shadows, the massive scorpion trailing after her, its form hidden just enough to take someone by surprise should they investigate.

Zevander tugged the mask from his satchel, placing it over his face then strode toward the door of the rotunda with the purpose of an unsheathed blade. Screams and laughter seeped through the cracks from the other side. He rolled his shoulders back, his magic writhing through him like venomous snakes.

Palms to the thick wooden panels, he pushed open the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY

ZEVANDER

Arush of adrenaline coursed through Zevander’s veins as he stood in the doorway and scanned his surroundings. Two guards had already moved from their position at the far end of the room toward him, separating to circle where a soldier held a rope fastened to a slave’s neck, her hands clasped tight around it, her body forced backward over the charnelyth pit. Beyond them, stood an Orgoth, his posture stiff, tracking Zevander’s steps.

Zevander ignored everything except for the blonde perched on her throne atop the dais, who stared back at him with the kind of interest that had his palms itching for bloodshed.

Loyce.

Wrath curled through Zevander in violent pulses, blade already sliding from its scabbard as he strode forward like a raging storm tearing across the room. He lifted the satchel over his head, tossing the constriction aside.

The Orgoth lurched, and she raised her hand, bringing the massive figure to a halt.

Not even the screams echoing through the rotunda, as the guard near the pit let go of the rope and sent the slave girl over the edge, could distract Zevander.

Never breaking his stride, he cast his palm toward the slave and caught her in levitation, then threw her to the other side of the pit, where she slid across the marble floor.

The guard charged forward, and as Zevander turned his attention back to Loyce, flames burst from his outstretched palm. Within seconds, the guard’s charred body crumpled into a red bloodstone that rolled across his path.

Long, furious strides carried Zevander closer to his quarry, and when two more guards barreled at him, swords drawn, he checked his pace only long enough to release two small scorpions that scampered toward the men. The clank of steel alerted their futile attempts to skewer the impossibly quick creatures. Their efforts might’ve been laughable, if not for his rage. One of the guards cried out as the scorpion managed to make its way beneath his armor.