Page 220 of Vasmora

“As would I,” he said, stepping into the room and moving past the bed.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To bathe you.” He kissed her neck. “Feed you.” He kissed her jaw. “And let you rest.” He kissed her lips.

“You’re planning for more, aren’t you?”

“I will savor every drop of you as if it’s our last meeting for two thousand years.” Reluctant to let her go, he held her inside the bathing room for a moment. She shifted against him, the restless friction goading him to grip her tighter, to relish every glide of her swollen sex against his skin.

“All this because I summoned the flame?” she asked, as he gently placed her on her feet.

“No, A’miszhla. All this because you are so fucking irresistible, I can’t stay away from you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

MAEVYTH

The sound of Zevander’s pain sawed at my ribs like a rusted blade.

“No. No more! Please!”

A scream tore out of me.

I jolted awake, staring down at the puzzle book splayed open to the page where I’d left off. Ragged breaths slashed in and out of me in shaken bursts that failed to fill my lungs.

A hand gripping my forearm startled my muscles, and I turned to see Rykaia sitting beside me, tears spilling down her cheeks. The sight of her distracted me from the fear and rage still pulsing through me.

“I didn’t mean …” she whispered. “I was passing by the library …” She glanced toward the door and back. “And I heard you talking in your sleep. I tried to wake you, but …” Her lips pulled to a sad expression and another tear escaped. “Shook your arm, and that’s when I heard Zevander.” Lips tight, she squeezed her eyes shut, and my pulse ratcheted, knowing precisely what she’d heard. “I knew he suffered torment during his imprisonment, but I never knew she–” Hand covering her mouth, she captured a clipped sob in her palm. “The things she must’ve done for him to cry out that way. Oh, gods.”

Blood magic.

I’d forgotten she possessed the power to read grief and pull emotion. What terrible things she must’ve felt from me. The very thought made me wince, and I wrapped my arms around her, tears brimming in my own eyes. “I’m so sorry you heard that.”

“All these years, I’ve given him so much grief. Never knowing.”

Releasing her, I swiped up her hand and shook my head. “Don’t. What happened to him has no bearing on your relationship. She is the cause of his pain. Not you.”

“You saw him suffer?”

I hesitated to say, dreading the memory of it. And yet, I was desperate to banish those ugly visuals out of my head. They gnawed at me every day, without mercy, and the silence only made it more unbearable. “When I was imprisoned, Loyce tormented me with a mimicrow that had preserved the sounds of his torture.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wavering. Then, fast as a snake, her expression hardened, flickering with rage. “I hope that wretched cunt suffered.”

“Believe me, she did.” I exhaled and rubbed a hand across my brow. “And yet, she lingers in my thoughts. I don’t know if I’ll ever be rid of her.”

“I can take some of the pain. I’d be willing to do that for you, Maevyth.”

The small glimpse that she’d gotten was a mere fraction of the hours I’d been forced to listen to torment I couldn’t begin to imagine. Pain I could only comprehend through the intensity of his cries. How someone could withstand decades of it, without collapsing under the weight of what he’d suffered, was inconceivable. I would never allow his sister so much as a second more of it. I shook my head, offering her a solemn smile. “There will come a day when the nightmares end. I just have to learn how to navigate them.”

She nodded, stroking a hand down my hair, and jerked her head toward the splayed book. “You’re puzzling again,” she said, wiping away tears.

Sighing, I stared down at the riddle carved into the wooden page that I’d studied most of the day.

I am the pause of an exhale.

The long-kept secret.

The rot that devours the heart.