Page 262 of Vasmora

Fennyx’s brows pulled tight, and he turned toward the razorwolves. “Some of our brothers turned. They attacked their fellow wolves.”

Zevander’s eyes fell on the razorwolf, whose stumpy tail glistened as though bitten and stripped away by teeth. “When did this happen?”

“Minutes ago … when we … tried to escape.”

“And where are these infected wolves that attacked you?” Zevander asked. The last thing they needed was to encounter a pack of infected mutations that were completely resistant to blood magic.

“Some … were killed. Others chased. We took … shelter here.”

Zevander clocked the twitching of four wolves, one gray, two black, the fourth russet. Even in the dim flicker of his torch, he could see their eyes rolling over black. “They’re infected.” As he jerked his head toward them, one of the wolves bared its teeth, a low growl rumbling in its chest.

“Fuck,” Fennyx said, pushing himself upright against the wall, keeping his wounded leg outstretched.

Verena clambered to her feet and hobbled her way to Maevyth’s side. Once there, Zevander looked her over for any sign of bites, or puncture wounds from fangs, but found none visible. Only what appeared to be a gash at her flank, easily seen through the torn fabric of her shirt.

The wolf Lothare had called Ça’zier joined his growling brothers, their spiny backs hunched in threat. Blackness crawled over their eyes, swallowing the glow. The wolf tipped its head back and let out a deep, glottal howl that reverberated through the tunnel.

Lothare frowned, hooking an arm beneath Daelan’s elbow, helping him to his feet. “I’ve never heard that sound in my life.”

“Nor have I.” Fennyx yanked a dagger from a holster at his ruined thigh, both men backing away.

The wolves that didn’t seem to be infected growled and snarled back, the spikes on their backs raised.

“Keep the other wolves away!” Arm stretched across where Maevyth held Rho to her chest, Zevander backed them up a few steps. “One bite is all it takes. Whether they bite or are bitten.”

Fennyx made a guttural sound in his throat and jerked his head. The uninfected wolves slowly rounded the group, exiting the tunnel.

Ça’zier twitched again, a bulge protruding from his upper lip, where a long fang pushed through the flesh, black ooze leaking down its length. Another bulge appeared, and Zevander raised his palm.

“Your blood magic will be useless against their wolven form,” Verena warned.

He knew that, but what the fuck else could he do without charging toward it?

Lothare reached for the sword at his back, and Ça’zier lunged, just as Zevander threw forth his palm. The flame struck the wolf, only knocking him back a step.

Rho barked and snarled in Maevyth’s arm, wriggling as if the little beast wanted to attack.

With a growl, the russet wolf changed course for her and the pup.

With a ram of his shoulder, Zevander knocked Maevyth aside to avoid its bite and swung out his sword. The blade sparked across the wolf’s flesh as if he’d struck iron, and like an anvil barreling toward him, the wolf threw him to the ground. Air exploded from his lungs, and Zevander gasped, arms trembling as he fought to hold the beast off.

Bones struck its flank without so much as a dent. Seemed even Maevyth’s whip was ineffective against whatever strange material made up its body.

Icy spears bounced off its neck in an explosion of cold liquid—Kazhimyr’s poor attempt to defend him.

Just like that of the other wolf, a knot at its upper lip bulged outward, and Zevander turned his head. He summoned Aeryz to his palm, and a powerful gust struck the beast, air blasting across Zevander’s face while throwing the creature just enough for Zevander to crawl out from under it. He kicked himself back, and the russet wolf lunged again before hesitating and changing course for Lothare.

The small group of uninfected wolves snarled and made a sound like a deep bark that went ignored by their infected pack brothers, but as commanded, they kept to the corner, away from the brawl.

“The sword!” Lothare cried out, holding the black wolf from his face, while Torryn straddled it, his brawny arms locked around its neck. “From my back!”

Without a beat of hesitation, Dravien scrambled for it, just as the gray wolf closed in. The Elvyniran managed to yank the sword from its scabbard and swung out toward the beast that lunged for him. Steel pierced through its flesh with a sickening crack until it stuck out the back of its neck as it impaled itself.

Black ooze sprayed over Dravien’s face and sizzled on contact.

“Ah, fuck! It burns!” He threw the twitching creature aside.

A flash of black in Zevander’s periphery did little to alert him to the wolf charging toward his flank, teeth bared.