Page 254 of Eldritch
She gave a tearful laugh and smothered him in her arms, kissing his face. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
He attempted to rise, but she held him cradled in her lap, kissing his cheek, his forehead, even his nose. Zevander smiled and wrapped his arms around her, yanking her across his body as he sat forward, holding her in his arms.
“I thought I lost you.” Her brows tightened as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip. “I was certain she was going to keep you.”
He’d have told her that not even death could come between them, but his mind was too hung up on checking her over, scanning over her face and arms and legs in what little light they had.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m not hurt.”
Still, he kept on, lifting her arms and sifting through long locks of hair with his frantic search for the slightest bruise or injury. At her throat, he found a small cut marked by dried blood, and his brows tightened.
“I asked you to do it,” she said. “You consumed my blood.”
Gods, what had he done that she’d resorted to such a thing? He couldn’t stop staring at the wound left behind and the bruising around it where he must’ve drawn out her blood.
“Zevander, truly.” She gripped his wrist, and he froze. “We have to get out of here. Is there any chance you know your way?”
“No, but we need to find an exit before I burn this fucking tree to the ground.” An idle threat given that his first priority was getting Maevyth safely across that Umbravale without waking a slumbering god in the process. From the moment he’d first discovered the tree in the woods, he’d felt a presence of something cold. Ancient. Destructive. A power that led him to believe it must’ve harbored Pestilios for centuries.
He hadn’t sensed Cadavros since he’d awakened to Maevyth, though, but if Zevander had died in those moments, it was possible Cadavros had perished alongside him. Which meant Dorjan would’ve perished too, breaking the spell.
“We might’ve awakened a god with your antics,” he said.
“Antics? While it’s true you didn’t harm me, you certainly looked eager a moment ago.”
Zevander winced at that. “I’d like to think a small part of me would’ve recognized you, but I can’t recall anything after I stepped inside this damned tree.” He pushed to his feet, stumbling a step. With her hand in his, he led her through what felt like an endless maze of roots, nothing discernible to indicate he was headed in the right direction. A familiar figure hobbled toward them, and he felt Maevyth’s fingers curl into his arm.
Kazhimyr.
Zevander’s guards went up, as he stared back at his friend, studying him for any sign of trickery or illusion. After all, how convenient that his friend appeared right then—in the heart of a rotting tree in the mortal lands.
“Fucking hell, don’t stare back at me like that. I’m on the verge of tearing my eyeballs out, trying to decide what’s real or not,” Kazhimyr groaned and held up Zevander’s Venetox sword. “We found this in the woods. Followed the sounds of a massive bird dragon that somehow told me you were in here. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“If that didn’t make complete sense to me, I’d probably think you’d lost your mind, too.”
Kazhimyr snorted and handed over Zevander’s sword. A slight smile pulled at his lips, and he gave Zevander a pat on the arm. “You look like shit, by the way. Like you crawled back from death.”
Zevander glanced over his shoulder to see Maevyth’s lips flatten. He’d have laughed at his friend’s comment, but his mind was too wrapped up in getting the hell out of that tree.
Kazhimyr squeezed Zevander’s bicep. “Gods alive, it’s good to see you again, though. When Dolion told me you’d gone to the mortal lands, I wasn’t sure if I’d set eyes on your ugly mug again.”
“Dolion sent you?” The thought eased the tension in Zevander’s muscles.
“Yeah. Had a vision you might be in some shit.” Kazhimyr glanced around the strange cave. “Seems he was right.”
“Cadavros might be dead. We need to get out of here. Back through the Umbravale, assuming it’s still standing.”
“I know the way out.” Kazhimyr jerked his head. “Come with me.”
Zevander frowned. “You’re familiar with this tree?”
“I stepped through a door just a short distance off.”
“A door.” Still, Zevander’s senses flared, but what choice did he have? They didn’t have time to wander in circles.
Reluctantly, he followed after Kazhimyr, through creeping passages, where the roots seemed to shift around them as they went. They finally arrived at a wooden door, just as Kazhimyr had said.
Kazhimyr slowed his steps and paused, rolling his shoulders back.
