He willed it toward her—willed it to find that seed of power within her. To learn it. “What are you doing,” the spider breathed, shifting on her feet. His magic wrapped around her, and he could feel it—each hateful, horrible year of existence. Each— His mouth dried out. Bile surged in his throat at the scent his magic detected. He’d never forget that scent, that vileness. He’d bear the mark on his throat forever as proof. Valg. The spider, somehow, was Valg. And not possessed, but born.
Oh shit he shifted the spider not himself!
