Page 232 of Vasmora

Eyes narrowed on the canopy, I studied that shimmer a moment longer, where the leaves were woven so thickly that moonlight shouldn’t have penetrated. Yes, she was right. Given that the moon loomed above, the light shouldn’t have struck it that way. “How?”

“It is the Aethyr. Echoes of the real world. When your eyes deceive you and you doubt yourself, search for it. Let it remind you that this is only a dream.”

I stared at the oddity a moment longer and nodded. “I will.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

ZEVANDER

From his office window, Zevander watched as Dravien crossed the grounds toward Eidolon’s entrance. The unwitting bastard would’ve been safer heading straight for a cliff, the way he strode so confidently, as if unaware of what hunted him. At the very least, he served as a distraction. Zevander’s head was so muddled by Maevyth’s strange behavior, he needed to step away or risk doing something he’d regret.

Like fucking her, when he knew damned well he shouldn’t. Leaving her to nap in his bed, he slipped away to his office for a drink.

Beyond the window, Dravien paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder, back toward the gate, before keeping on. Two more steps, and he paused again.

To the right of him, behind the hedges that lined the path toward the keep, the fyredrakes prowled. Yet, Dravien continued to look back toward the gate, as if he sensed something there.

Zevander followed the path of his gaze, watching the barrier that spanned the castle’s perimeter.

A flicker of movement.

He pressed closer to the window, his attention flitting from Dravien to the gate.

A shadow that resembled a spider with long, twitching legs moved across the dying stretch of grass, and the scorpions shifted beneath his skin.

In that split second, the fyredrakes leapt through the hedges and darted toward Dravien, who twisted around, sword drawn.

Growling at the distraction, Zevander shifted his attention back toward the gate, finding only the silhouettes of barren trees. He scanned along the property line, where no sign of the mutations could be observed from his vantage point.

Shaking his head, he swiped up his sword from where he’d laid it on his desk earlier, shoved it into its scabbard, and strode from his office. Down the corridor and a flight of stairs, he arrived at the front entrance, and when he exited the castle, he found Kazhimyr standing alongside Dravien as the two fyredrakes prowled.

“Call them off!” Kazhimyr yelled. “He’s not a threat.”

“Says who?” Zevander kept on past them, straight for the gate.

A gust of wind swooshed over him, and the ground shook beneath his feet. He turned to find Raivox rushing past him, to the other side of the gate, where the oversized bird landed. Neck stretched, the Corvugon searched the surrounding trees and shrubs, dragging his hooked maw through the branches. Achlys soared overhead and landed alongside him, the two of them scouring the small stretch of trees.

Zevander tracked their movements, the trees.

Nothing.

Minutes of frantic sniffing proved fruitless, and the Corvugons seemed to give up the search, hopping back over the gate and heading off toward the sloping hill at the west side of the castle. Zevander sighed and made his way back to where the fyredrakes held Kazhimyr and Dravien captive, closing in on the two of them, despite Kazhimyr’s pathetic jabs toward them with his dagger.

“I’ve traveled weeks with him. He saved my ass more times than I can count,” he argued. “They’re your pets, so I’ll refrain from lysing their organs, if you’ll call them off.”

Zevander whistled, and both fyredrakes growled as they skulked off. “And what role did he play in my mate’s torment?”

Dravien’s brows came together, and he looked away.

“Less than two seconds. That’s the time it would take for sablefyre to consume you entirely.” Not an idle threat, seeing as Zevander felt no compulsion to keep him alive, regardless of his answer.

“I did not torment her. I was–”

“You were what?” Zevander growled.

The Elvyniran’s lips trembled as he stared at the ground. “I was made to look like you and … endured what I suspect you suffered, in front of her.”

Zevander’s hands clenched to tight fists at his sides, and as blinding haze of red clouded his eyes, he squeezed them shut. “Made to look like me?”