Page 3 of Vasmora

While his lowly height may have contrasted that ruthless image, the excruciating pain he’d inflicted upon me when he’d stolen my blood magic still hummed in my bones as a reminder.

Gaius, the soldier Loyce addressed, nervously wrung his hands. The gesture seemed entirely out of character for someone whose ramrod posture and proud chin made him appear otherwise disciplined. “Perhaps to Lunamarys Falls, General,” he answered.

“Lunamarys Falls.” Her voice held an unimpressed drawl. “In other words, nowhere near Solassios.”

Again, I glanced over my shoulder, back toward the archway, desperate to see Zevander burst through with his scorpions.

Please.

Tears burned the rims of my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away, refusing to show the woman even the slightest weakness.

“And you,” Loyce said, drawing my gaze to where she drifted toward Melantha. “How far could you cleave us?”

“Straight into the heart of Nethyria.” Melantha sneered and retched, spitting blood onto the ground. A coughing fit left her bent over herself, hacking up copious blots of red across her dress.

The general’s lip crimped as she stared down at her. Even so, she knelt beside the woman, head tipped. “You’re weak. You need blood.”

“I don’t need anything from you!” Melantha snapped.

“Gaius!” Loyce barked. “Come forward.”

The soldier swallowed a gulp, once again glancing around at his fellow soldiers, and stepped carefully toward her.

“Remove your gauntlet.”

Without question, the soldier removed the covering, as commanded.

“Feed her.”

Even from where I stood, I could see his hand visibly shaking with the request. “Feed her?”

“Yes. Offer her your blood.”

He hesitated, perhaps contemplating his options, before that trembling arm reached out to Melantha. When she pushed him away, his shoulders seemed to sag with relief.

“You’ll not ply me.” With a proud tip of her chin, the old woman stared down her nose at the general.

As the soldier retracted his hand, Loyce swiped it up, and with movements too quick to register, she reached for her blade, slicing a line across his wrist. A spurt of blood spilled over his arm, and Melantha groaned.

“You must be starving,” Loyce taunted. “Eat.”

Melantha took the soldier by the wrist, scowling while yanking him closer.

“Please,” he begged, his whole body trembling now. “Please don’t.”

Sharp incisors slid from her top lip, and without hesitation, she bit down onto his arm.

The soldier let out a cry of pain, and he tugged at his arm, but to no avail. However frail Melantha may have looked, she held steady against his thrashing and clawing, and his face ashened, eyes turning a dark, sunken black.

So taken by his sudden change in appearance, I didn’t even notice her hair had turned the same golden hue as the soldier’s, her eyes so blue, even the one that’d made her socket appear empty, they almost looked white.

The soldier collapsed to a feeble, white husk, his face shriveled and pale, as if life had literally been sucked right out of him.

Still, I couldn’t pity him. I felt nothing for him while he lay gasping for however many breaths he had left.

“You steal faces?” General Loyce tipped her head, examining the woman. “Interesting.”

What used to be Melantha wiped their face on the back of their hand, eyes brimming with hatred. “Years, I’ve taken orders from you without question.” The being spoke in the same voice as that of the man lying lifeless on the ground. “Swore loyalty to you without hesitation. Didn’t matter that you were nothing but a weak, incompetent bully.”