Chapter 42

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

ZEVANDER

Z evander stared down at his trembling hands, trying to wrap his head around what, in godsblood, had happened just then. It wasn’t the first time he’d channeled his power–when Rykaia was first coming into her own blood magic, he’d sometimes used the technique to help her, as well. It was common practice, and for the most part, harmless.

Never in his life had he felt such a loss of control. As if she were commanding the flame herself.

And never had he felt the hum of excitement vibrating through his blood, as he had in that training room. Every nerve ending had sprung to life, desperate and eager to connect with every inch of her skin. The very thought of it, of her, had him breaking into a sweat all over again. Whatever poisonous spell she’d cast over him had stirred a dark and dangerous craving for more.

At the same time, it enraged him.

Zevander had spent centuries learning to control the flame. Had trained for hours upon hours, forcing himself to command the very part of him he feared. And there, a mortal with no formal training, had commandeered it as if it had always been a part of her.

As if it longed to be inside of her.

An unrelenting ache throbbed in his groin, and Zevander clutched the arms of the chair, teeth grinding. He refused to fuck his hand at the visual of what her tight body would feel like wrapped around his starving cock.

Instead, he reached for his glass of liquor, swallowed back a long swill, and forced himself to imagine something else. Something that didn’t have every muscle in his body locked and ready to tear into something.

At a knock on the door, Zevander shook his mind free of those thoughts.

“Yes,” he said, and Ravezio stepped inside.

“We’ve got him. In the dungeons.”

The flammellian.

Finally, a means to exercise the pent-up aggression that had him desperate to rip something to shreds.

Better the man who’d harmed his sister.

Z evander stood flanked by Ravezio and Torryn, a flaming sconce in hand as he stared through the bars of the cell, beyond which a pale-skinned man crouched in the corner. Unlike the furnished cells, where Dolion and Maevyth had slept, this one held no bed, no windows and no light. “Where did you find him?”

“Asked around. Found him holed up in one of the tunnels beneath Costelwick.” Torryn tapped his finger on the hilt of his blade, his jaw clenched. “It’s only out of respect for you that I didn’t kill him on the spot.”

The emaciated bastard wore a smug grin that Zevander wanted more than anything to rip clean off his face. Hard to believe Rykaia would’ve had anything to do with him, as gaunt and unkempt as he appeared to be, but perhaps she’d been too far gone on whatever elixirs she’d taken to care. “And the flammapul?”

Ravezio handed off an ampoule of red liquid, the tiny floating bubbles that appeared as negative space confirming its contents.

“Who are you?” Zevander tucked the ampoule away into the pocket of his tunic.

The stranger tipped his chin up, the smile never leaving his face. “I could’ve killed her, if I wanted. But I didn’t.”

“If you think I’ll spare you for that, you’ve overestimated my merciful nature.”

“I wanted to kill her. That is my nature. I wanted to watch life fade from her eyes while I strangled her. I wanted to feel her pain seeping into my skin, tickling me with delicious delight.” A realization dawned on Zevander right then. “You’re a painkeeper.”

His magic was extracting pain from his victims. While some struggled with the power, others found it thrilling. A means of sexual gratification.

The visual he’d planted in Zevander’s head stirred the flames inside of him. A thick, black smoke curled up from his flesh and took the form of a scorpion in his palm. Zevander knelt, allowing the scorpion to enter the man’s cell, and once past the threshold, it grew larger, until it was about the size of a cat, prowling inside the small space.

While the man kept his eyes on the scorpion, the smile on his face still failed to disappear, even in the presence of a threat.

“Who supplied the flammapul?” Torryn asked in his usual gruff voice.

The man chuckled, his eyes shifting between the scorpion and Zevander. “You think your scorpion will frighten me into telling you all I know?”

The scorpion’s size expanded to that of a dog.

“There’s enough venom in that stinger to paralyze you while his pincers rip your flesh to small pieces. You see, I want to kill you, too. It would bring me tremendous joy to hear your suffering.”

This prisoner twitched and scratched at his arm. “Is it so inconceivable that I might’ve made the flammapul myself?”

With a flick of his hand, Zevander’s scorpion lifted its tail, primed to strike at the first command.

“I have a secret,” the man whispered, and the disturbing giggle that followed echoed through the dungeon. “I fucked your sister with the hilt of my blade while she was under. Did she tell you that? She wanted to scream, but couldn’t.” He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “I smell her here. Perhaps when I’m finished with you, I’ll find her for one more fuck before I leave.”

Snarling, Zevander ordered the scorpion to strike with a clench of his fist, and the moment the stinger swung down, it dissipated into black smoke.

The man let out a boisterous laugh that had Zevander grinding his jaw. “Someone smarter than you put an enchantment on me. I can’t be killed by any Letalisz. Regardless of power.”

“Who?” Zevander asked, teeth clenched.

A grin stretched the stranger’s lips, and he rolled his head against the wall. “Are you so mad as to think I would tell you such a secret?”

“I think you fear whoever it is.”

The flammelian’s eyes held a glint of derangement. “Where is your sister, Letalisz? I want to tear into that pretty little flower of hers.”

Torryn lurched on a growl and Zevander gripped his arm to stop him from carrying what he, himself, longed to do right then: flay that smug grin right off his face.

“Do you like riddles?” When Zevander didn’t answer, the flammelian kept on, “What is something that all men yearn for in life but doesn’t begin until the last dying breath?”

“Afterlife,” Ravezio answered beside Zevander.

“I confess.” He scratched at his arm again, and Zevander noticed a marking there. A black snake from what he could make out. “Even if you answer correctly, it’s merely a sense of direction. You won’t glean the answer. But sadly, you are wrong.”

Zevander let out a dark chuckle as he stared back at his prey. When he opened the cell door, the man’s eyes widened, but still, he maintained his smugness, which only goaded Zevander’s rage. The Letalisz lifted him by the collar of his tunic and dragged him out of the cell, then down the corridor between where sconces flickered around the stony alcove.

“Should you attempt to torture me, it’ll only prove fruitless for you. For all of your Letalisz.”

“Do not fear. I am not going to torture you.” Zevander gestured toward Ravezio to grab the key from the wall and unlock the cellar door.

“I cannot be starved, either, for the enchantment grants me a bounty if you should try.”

Still holding the man by his shirt, Zevander bent just enough to throw the door open. “I will not starve you, nor torture you, nor attempt to kill you by my own hands.”

“Then, perhaps it’s best to let me go. Your sister would love a visit, I suspect.”

“Perhaps.” Had he not been granted protection, Zevander would’ve carved out the bastard’s tongue for speaking of Rykaia again. “But whoever enchanted you failed to consider one thing.” He pushed the man down into the hole, where he fell to the ground on a hard thunk. “I have an older brother.”

The stranger groaned and coughed, as the air must’ve exited his lungs on impact. He turned onto his side and gasped, scrambling backward as he undoubtedly caught sight of Branimir and his pets.

Zevander watched the man lurch for the ladder and climb a half dozen rungs, before he slammed the door over top of him and linked the chain back into place.

His screams bled through the wood and iron, until they finally silenced, and the wet squelch of tearing flesh echoed from below.

“Probably should’ve tried to get the answer to the riddle out of him,” Torryn said beside him.

“I already know the answer. It doesn’t bring us any closer to identifying his supplier.”

Ravezio scratched at the back of his head. “Just out of curiosity, what is it?”

“Legacy.”