Page 96 of Vasmora

Fucking hell, he was walking through a nightmare.

He exited the cell, making his way down the corridor.

Loud rhythmic thumping and grating, clunking and whooshing drew his attention toward an iron door that took up the height of the wall. Unless he was imagining it, the solid surface seemed to expand and contract, like a lung made of iron.

What in seven hells?

“Help me!” a frantic voice called out from the other side. “Please! Get me … out of here!” Though hoarse, there was no denying that accent.

Kazhimyr wanted to ignore him. Wanted to walk away.

He’d thought Dravien long dead, seeing as Loyce’d had no intentions of sparing him. What a treat that Kazhimyr had found him.

He would kill the traitor himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ZEVANDER

Aviolet flicker danced over Maevyth’s face as she lay sleeping near the bonfire. Elbow resting against his bent knee, where he sat on the ground with his back pressed to the cave wall, Zevander watched her.

Every breath that shuddered out of her.

Every twitch of her body.

The way her fingers curled into the fabric of his cloak and her eyes shifted behind her lids, he could see her dreaming was anything but peaceful. In fact, he could probably imagine what horrors plagued her, and it gnawed at him to know he couldn’t take that from her. He could kill Loyce over and over again in a violent fit of rage, but it would never erase the voice that lingered in the mind like rot.

He focused on the bruise at her cheek. The gash at her lips. Angry red blisters at her ankle where the shackles had bitten into her bones. Every mark on her body that shouldn’t have been there.

Those were the obvious wounds.

It was the unknowns that tormented his mind.

Had she been violated? Forced to entertain Loyce’s men?

The very thought had him gnashing his teeth, his hand balled to a tight fist.

He’d sensed small subtleties in her–a stiffness every time he touched her. Reservation in her behavior.

If the general had thought him dead, she would’ve spared no mercy to his mate, but the question that burned most of all: Why hadn’t Loyce killed her?

Maevyth’s hand tightened, her body tense and trembling. She let out a quiet moan that heightened to a gasp, and her eyes shot open.

Zevander’s muscles lurched, the urge to go to her clawing at his skin, but he didn’t. He eased back against the wall and waited. Clutching her right then might’ve sparked panic, and while the selfish part of him didn’t care, he forced himself still, for her sake.

Perhaps disoriented, she looked around, confusion spilling into her eyes, until they lifted toward Zevander, and he was relieved when the fear in them softened.

“You’re still here.” Her voice carried a faint trace of awe.

“I’m still here.”

She blew out a breath and pushed to a sitting position. “How long did I sleep?”

“Couple of hours.”

She glanced around her surroundings. “And we’re still in this cave.”

“For the moment.”