Page 263 of Vasmora

The split second before its teeth could sink into Zevander’s rib, it froze in place. Black fluid poured from its muzzle, and the crack of busted bone dragged Zevander’s attention to its maw caving inward.

A glance over his shoulder showed Maevyth standing behind him, her palm outstretched toward the beast, expression concentrated. She squeezed her hand to a tight fist, and at the crunch of bone and cartilage, he looked back to the wolf.

On the ground, its ribs collapsed inward, haunches pulled tight into its body.

Zevander sprang to his feet and strode for the sword still lodged in the other wolf, yanking it free. Another glance to Maevyth showed her stumbling backward, her face ghostly white, just as she’d appeared after draining the fyredrake.

Verena steadied her, taking Rho from her arms, and when Maevyth locked eyes with his, she nodded.

He nodded once and swung his attention back to the wolves.

The one bearing down on Lothare snapped its teeth toward his face. Torryn growled, arms trembling as he held the beast off Lothare. He unlocked his hands and dove to the side, in time for Zevander to plunge the blade into wolf’s spine. Snapped straight, it trembled before falling to the side, and Zevander yanked the blade out, poised to strike again if needed. Fur fell away from the wolf’s body, its bones cracking and splintering to form hands and feet. He frowned as the muzzle flattened to a shape that resembled a mancer skull.

Chest heaving, Lothare kicked himself back. “Seems … the wolfsbane … really is potent.”

Minutes later, three naked forms–more mancer than beast–lay bleeding out, as their bones snapped into place.

The one Dravien had killed grunted and swiped out a hand, its skin darkening to a mottled gray with thick black veins still pulsing with infection.

“We need to finish them,” Fennyx gritted out, still standing off to the side with Daelan’s arm draped around his neck. “In mancer form, they are vulnerable to blood magic.”

Zevander raised his palm and sent a surge of black flame toward one of them. Within seconds, the infected body dissolved into a black stone. He sent another burst toward the gray and russet wolves, and both collapsed into ashes, leaving black stones sitting atop. A pulse of urgency pulled at his muscles as he lowered his hand. “We have to keep going. I have to find my family.”

Lothare nodded and pushed to his feet. He collected the three stones, shoving them into his pocket.

Zevander jerked his head at Maevyth, who once more held the pup clutched to her chest, and led the group back toward the stone staircase that’d brought them to the lower level. Just before they reached it, growls erupted from the right.

Zevander turned back toward the tunnels, finding no source for the growls.

“Oh, no,” Maevyth whispered. “So many of them.”

Eyes trained on the tunnels, he watched for the slightest movement. It wasn’t until the wolves stepped into the light that he could see their eyes. The shine of black exoskeleton. The telling signs of infection.

“Fuck me,” Kazhimyr said beside him.

Zevander turned his head only slightly toward Maevyth, raising the wolfbane sword. “Up the stairs. Now.”

The moment she stepped toward it, one of the wolves charged forward, and Zevander intercepted its path with a fatal strike to its neck. He must’ve severed an artery, the way thick, black blood sprayed out of its wound.

Zevander yanked the sword free and pivoted to find the other wolves had charged. “Get to the stairs!” he shouted over the melee, and he barreled toward a wolf heading straight for Gavroche.

One fast slice severed its tail, and the beast let out a roar, snapping around with teeth bared. Zevander swung again, slicing through the lower half of its jaw like a scythe through the wheat, and the wolf fell to the ground.

Gavroche dashed after Maevyth and Verena, toward the stairs, and as Zevander twisted, another wolf launched toward him.

The colossal beast crashed on top of him, the sword sinking into its chest, teeth so close to Zevander’s face, its breath grazed his cheek. In one powerful heave, he threw the wolf aside and pushed to his feet.

Lothare and Fennyx dragged Daelan up the staircase. Kazhimyr lay trapped beneath one of the wolves, Dravien straddling its massive back, tugging at its spiked mane, as he fought to keep its head away from Kazhimyr’s face.

As the uninfected wolves lurched, as if to join the fight, Fennyx’s voice bellowed from the staircase.

A gray wolf lunged forward, defying the command and Zevander held up the sword, staring it in the eye. “Unless you long to return to human form, I suggest you follow your alpha’s command.”

The wolf snarled, snapping its teeth at Zevander, but reluctantly turned toward the stairs.

Zevander crossed the room toward Kazhimyr. A split-second of movement caught his periphery, and he swung out on instinct.

A yelp bounced off the walls, as his blade caught the leg of a wolf that’d charged toward him, lopping the limb clean off. He wasted no time gliding the blade across the throat of the wolf atop Kazhimyr. When it collapsed, he spun to face the other half-dozen, or so, wolves stalking toward them, saliva dripping from their bared teeth.