Page 227 of Red Ruin
“Vhex,” I call him back before he strays.
“Wife.” Vhex snaps back to my side, more eager to be near me than to chase his ghouls. In a blink, his arms wrap my waist. I don’t fight as he drags my back against his bare chest.
His warmth shakes off the chill that keeps creeping under my skin.
I rub his arms and smooth his silks.
Remy glides into the huddle. I can’t cup his jaw when he’s wearing his mask. Instead, I grip the back of his neck, digging into his hair. The color bleeds between black and silver as he flirts the edge of his transformation. The strands between my fingers return to their purest black.
“You’re tiring yourself,” Remy murmurs through the leather.
“I’m fine.” I unknot his tangles while I play with his hair.
Iamtired.
Exhausted, even.
But pouring myself into them, feeling their souls respond, the last thing I want to do is rest.
I’ll rest when we’re done with the undead.
Already moving, I dig recovery potions from my pack to pass around. I plug my nose to knock back a vial.
The liquid tastes like peppermint dish soap, but it perks me up and puts a tingle in my toes.
In the silence of a tomb, we slink ahead. The lich’s energy sharpens, gnawing a chill into my bones.
I peek into the crumbled cells on either side of the hall, but only rubble lies inside. There’s no sign of the chains or the undead they once bound.
The lich king must’ve snacked through its followers to survive centuries of captivity.
Vhex and Remy stick close. Their heightened tension vibrates in my soul. With the toxic mist licking at our feet, I don’t want them out of reach.
I canfeelthe monster watching.
“It’s screwing with us,” Tan mutters.
I nod, not wanting to disturb the thick silence.
With every step, an attack feels imminent. But the attack never comes, leaving us taut with no release.
I smooth out Vhex’s irritated growl.
We pass more empty, crumbling cells, then enter the storage corridors, where ancient urns are shelved in endless rows.
So much for having Vhex burn them all.
Every vessel lies in shards. I stir a broken urn with the tip of my glaive, but there’s no residue left, only dust. “The lich king must’ve devoured it all.”
His servants must’ve been laying the groundwork for his escape for years before I stumbled onto his prison seal.
“Do we push ahead?” Tan asks. His glance starts on Simms and ends on me.
“Yeah.” I hate the ancients for leaving us this mess. “Something’s still binding the lich. This is the weakest he’ll ever be.”
Even knowing what’s ahead, my gut screaming to turn around and escape the crushing, evil aura, I stubbornly put one boot in front of the other.
The air stirs.
