Page 78 of Vasmora

“I’m here. I’m real.”

Her lips curved downward, and she looked away, shaking her head. “You’re lying. It’s a trick. You’re Dravien.” Her eyes closed over tears. “My Zevander is gone.”

Dravien?

His name on her lips had him clenching his fists, as he forced himself not to imagine what the traitor had done to her. “I promise you, I’m here. Look at me.” He reached out for her, but she jerked her hand away again.

“No, no, no. Don’t touch me. You’re not him.”

Instincts urged him to check the corridor again, but he remained focused on her.

“Moon witch.” He fished out the scorpion necklace she’d given him back at the cabin in Mortasia. The one he’d clutched like a prayer, as he lay clinging to life on the narrow ledge. “I’m here.”

Maevyth stilled, the shine of tears in her eyes wavering as she stared at his palm. When she lifted the necklace, her skin brushed his, and against everything he’d been trained for, he briefly closed his eyes, savoring that touch. Cold, but alive.

He exhaled a breath of relief, his heart beating for the first time since her hand had slipped from his.

His arms burned with a longing to hold her, but he waited.

Waited for her.

She slowly slid her gaze to his, and pressing the necklace to her chest, she shook her head. “I watched you die. The fall …” A tearful sound escaped her, as if his tangible presence pulled at her doubts, but still, she held herself guarded. “Have you come to haunt me, then?”

“No.” He cupped her cheek, and damn the gods, it took strength not to drag her close. “I’m here.”

“You returned?” Her voice trembled, as if she couldn’t fathom the possibility, as if all hope had long since withered inside of her. A hopelessness Zevander knew intimately.

“For you.” The moment he cupped her cheek, she leaned into his hand, shuttering her eyes, and he ran his thumb across her cheek where a tear had fallen. Perhaps the first warm touch she’d felt in weeks.

Breath stuttered out of him, the need to feel her, to hold her against him, prodding him to yank her into his arms, whether she wanted it or not.

Her cold hand gripped his wrist. “You fell,” she whispered, doubt still lingering in her voice. “How are you here? Alive.”

The walls felt as if they would close in at any second, but he stole a moment longer to touch her. To remind himself there was nothing, no one, in the world more important to him. “I would’ve bled across a path of blades to return to you, moon witch.”

The first choke of a sob escaped her, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, another tear spilling down her cheek. She pushed herself to her knees, her body frail and trembling as Zevander steadied her. When she tumbled back, he caught her, watching her throat tighten, her jaw clench, holding back the flood of pain that shone in her eyes.

When Zevander wrapped her in his arms, the tension in her muscles gave way, her body shaking alongside a broken sound of relief that struck him like a knife to the ribs.

Her fingers clutched the loose fabric of his tunic, as if she thought he might suddenly vanish, and she let out a tight trembling breath. She shook her head, one last denial, and he held her tighter.

“I’m here.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re safe now.”

The sob he could hear straining in her throat broke free, and she crumpled against him.

Though he wanted to give her a moment, the clock was ticking. Zevander gathered her closer, her chain dragging across the stone, and lifted her into his arms like a child. “I’m getting you out of here,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise she will never hurt you again.”

Raising his palm, he sent the flame toward her shackles that caught the metal, and guided it around the manacle at her ankle, careful not to touch her skin. The restraint softened to liquid, melting away from her where it pooled onto the floor beside its chain.

Once she was free, he glanced over to the remains of who he realized was Melantha.

“She tried to help me.”

“And Kazhimyr?” He didn’t bother to ask about Dravien. The traitorous cunt had probably led Loyce to them back at the woods. Hopefully, he was already dead, or Zevander would have to do the favor himself.

Maevyth shook her head. “Loyce’s men took him away. He was to return to Nyxteros for execution.”

Without further inquiries, Zevander pushed to his feet and carried her close as he peered around the cell to the corridor. Nothing but the bodies of soldiers he’d already killed.