Chapter 49
Zarathos
The forest in the arena blazed.
The heat from Xaphoron’s fiery blasts was indescribably hot, and the trees burned like kindling.
Zarathos shifted between fewer and fewer safe shadows.
If he moved into the wrong one and came out, the inferno would consume him before he could move on.
His bicep throbbed with distracting iciness, and though every vein in his body pulsed with the instinct to protect his Bloodbound, he forced himself to stay focused on the fight.
He clutched his sword in his hand, his muscles aching from the exertion of his still mending frame.
With his enhanced powers, he’d been able to hold his own, but that was a far cry from defeating a dragon.
They’d clashed several times, and Zarathos’s shadows had kept him from dying, but the damn beast had no vulnerable spots.
As if he knew what Zarathos was thinking, Xaphoron’s words blared across the arena. “Where did you go, Rumpelstiltskin? Hiding in the shadows like the coward you are. Come out and face me.”
The serpentine neck stretched over the arena like a king over its domain, one eye shut and bloodied.
Zarathos shifted through the shadows, searching for the right spot. There had to be some place he could strike. He’d attempted to go for the beast’s eyes, and his sword had merely scratched the surface. Now the lack of shadows made another attack from that angle impossible.
“No?” The dragon’s steps came closer, crushing burning trees under its feet as if it were nothing, sending up clouds of fire and smoke. “Fine then, my retribution on all the demon kingdoms will start here. With those that revel in the pain and destruction of others.”
Zarathos froze, spinning in the shadows, and looked up in horror.
Xaphoron was climbing out of the pit and into the stands. Demons were screaming and racing. The dragon’s enormous claws came down and smashed several spectators who were attempting to flee. Fire heated in the beast’s massive jaws.
Zarathos grabbed the shadows and appeared next to an unburned tree. He ran out into the open. “Xaphoron!” he shouted. “Xaphoron, stop!”
The fire in the dragon's throat died, and his head swiveled to Zarathos.
Xaphoron was right. No more tricks or bargains. They were at a stalemate, and yet Zarathos couldn’t walk away from the trials or he’d die. There was only one thing remaining to be done. One sacrifice left to make.
For his people.
“If I give myself over to you, then you will let the demons in this castle depart in peace.”
“Clever, but no. I have business with other demons in this castle. But I will allow the spectators in this audience who have no role in palace or kingdom business depart this arena without being maimed, if you turn yourself over to me.”
Zarathos’s hands balled into fists. Damn. Xaphoron knew how to play.
“Then one more thing. At my death, take all my bargains upon you and uphold them as I would.”
“Not likely. There will be no more bargains in my kingdom.”
“Then just one agreement,” he said in desperation, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “Take Aryana as your kalator, and the actions she has taken to save me—count them as fulfilling her bargain. Please.”
Aryana was his heart. And in this moment, he’d do anything to ensure she lived.
“Fine. For your dear vampire princess. You have yourself a deal.” He lifted a claw to his eye, gathering the blood that leaked there, and then extended his claw. Zarathos pulled his blade against his hand. And reached out. Sealing his last bargain.
Xaphoron shifted forward, slamming down onto Zarathos’s torso.
Zarathos released a roar of pain as his bones cracked and bent under Xaphoron’s massive weight.
The dragon’s head dipped forward, a gleam of triumph sparking in its one enormous eye.
“When I find Aryana, I am going to take her life ever so slowly. All the work you did to protect her will be incentive for me to drag out her suffering. Let those be the last words you hear as I tear you apart. Piece by piece.”
Blackness gathered around his vision. Pain radiated through every part of his body and blood rushed up his throat, coating his lips.
“Aryana… will… end you.” The certainty blazed in his chest as strongly as the agony enveloping him.
“Pohan!” a voice shouted across the arena.
The dragon’s head lifted, and Zarathos followed its gaze.
Aryana walked toward them, radiant and fierce, her long dark hair streaming, her crimson gaze lit with deadly purpose. She stepped between two smoldering trees, the glowing scepter in her hands.
With a look of determination ablaze in her eyes that outshone the fire burning around her, she pointed the scepter at the dragon, and with a cry, a ray of light shot from the rod.
It slammed into Xaphoron, sending him flying backward into the wall of the arena.
The dragon let out a shriek of pain. The light seared into the dragon’s chest, and when it blinked out, Xaphoron’s form had shrunk back, a gigantic hole in his torso.
Aryana stood there, eyes blazing. “Stay the hell away from my husband.”
Gods, he loved his vampress. His weakness had saved him. She’d become his strength.
She rushed to his side. “Zarathos,”—her hands roved over his body—“What can I do? How can I help?”
“A potion…” he murmured, recalling what Noctyssa had said about every champion receiving one except Zarathos. He motioned toward the wounded demon she had struck down. “Xaphoron is carrying one… it… mends the injured.”
She raced over with the scepter and shifted through Xaphoron’s clothes. She returned with the potion in her grasp. “H-here.” Her fingers shook and her beautiful crimson eyes were wide with panic.
She poured the liquid into his mouth and almost instantly, the pain eased as his body began to knit itself together.
Aryana looked around, worry on her face.
“There are things you need to know. That is not Xaphoron. That is Pohan. He’s a shapeshifter, and this is much bigger than him.
The prison guards and some of the council are involved. ”
“We have a coup on our hands,” he muttered, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “And you are here with me.”
She glanced at Pohan, gasping for breath along the wall, then held the scepter out to Zarathos. “This is for you.”
He took it, then carefully sat up, despite his body screaming in protest. The potion would take time to fully heal him. “Will you assist me? I must speak with Pohan.”
She helped him over to the wounded demon. Zarathos leveled the scepter at him. It glowed under his touch. “I want to make a bargain with you.”
“The hell I will,” Pohan gasped.
“I know I’ve hurt you and your family, and I realize I have no right to ask forgiveness,” Zarathos said.
“But despite everything, I cannot let you seize the throne and hurt my subjects. Give me back my bargain with Aryana, and I swear as king that I will be lenient with those involved in the coup, and I will grant your kind legitimacy within my kingdom.”
Pohan’s face was pale, his eyes beginning to glaze, caught in the last throes of death. “We want… our own kingdom.”
Aryana suddenly collapsed, dragging them both to the ground. Zarathos turned to his vampire princess. She was on her hands and knees, struggling to breathe.
She was dying along with Pohan.
Damn it. He had to end this. Forcing himself upright, he ground out the words: “I can’t grant land that isn’t mine, but you can have my father’s estates. They are vast enough to be a nation of their own. Do with them what you will.”
Pohan’s gaze flicked to Aryana. For an instant, temptation gleamed in his eyes—the desire to take what Zarathos held most dear.
But then his jaw tightened.
“D-deal,” he said.
Zarathos bit into his hand and took Pohan’s bloodied one in his own.
“No,” Pohan said. “Finish me. Let our deal be sealed in a death bargain.”
Zarathos drew a sharp breath. Such a bond would tie his promise to his very life, the only force powerful enough to ensure it. He raised the scepter. “Leave this world knowing your people will be free.”
The scepter flared with light, and when it struck Pohan, his body dissolved into ash.
Zarathos spun to Aryana, who was on the ground.
“I’m not dying anymore,” she said, quickly. “Only drugged with holy water. The Draught of Corruption that was giving me energy has worn off. We need to face the council.”
He stared at her. Despite the mass of pain in his own body, fury rang through his mind, ready to tear down kingdoms for his beloved. “Who drugged you?”
“It’s of no consequence, I defeated her. We must focus on the coup.”
Ah yes, that pesky matter.
As if on cue, the doors of the royal entrance—the only other way into the arena besides the barred side gates—swung open. The council filed in, stepping around the fire as they approached Zarathos and Aryana. The stands above were already empty, the crowds long gone.
“Well done, Zarathos,” Lady Braxia said, as if she wasn’t part of the coup herself. “You may now kill your kalator and you can be king.”
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to his feet. His not yet fully healed body protested every movement.
“That isn’t going to happen. You saw her wield the scepter, and you know what that means. Besides, we have bigger issues at play here.” He nodded to Aryana.
“Shapeshifters have infiltrated the castle. But there is a way to tell,” Aryana said. “They will be carrying a bottle of clear potion on them. It helps them block their scent and bring out the scent they want to be dominant.”
Surprise shot through him. Zarathos’s elixir. How in the hell?
“We start here.” He raised the scepter. “I don’t have time to determine every person’s loyalty. But you will each swear allegiance to your arch king and queen.”
“And if we don’t?” Lady Braxia asked.
He swung the scepter toward her, and it glowed.
Part of him wanted to let loose on her, but instead he said, “I also don’t have time for dissension.
The bargain is thus. You will assist in finding all the shapeshifters in my castle and anyone else in this coup attempt.
You will pledge your loyalty to me. If you decide to revolt, then you have broken the contract.
In return, you can keep your position and your life.
Place your blood on the scepter. Make the unbreakable bargain with me or perish. ”
They looked at one another, but Marbas came forward. “I will make the bargain.”
The others had no other choice but to nod in agreement.
One by one, they stepped forward, laid their bleeding hands on the scepter, and pledged their loyalty. Zarathos faced Marbas. “Find the captain of the guard. Don’t give anything away. Bring him here and once he arrives, search him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Marbas said before he turned on his heel and left. When he returned with the captain in tow, Zarathos added, “Search them both.”
Though Marbas had sworn loyalty, Zarathos had to be sure. Marbas had left their presence, and that made him a risk. A council member stepped forward and carried out the order. Both males came up clean.
Zarathos extended the scepter, giving the same deal to the captain, who accepted and took the oath.
“Go find the other shapeshifters. Do not mention the potion to them, only search them for it. Do not take it or give away that is what we are looking for. When you have them, bring them to me. Tell them that their arch king is offering them their own kingdom. We’ll await them in the throne room.
Be prepared. We will search everyone who enters. ”
“Yes, sir,” they said, and turned to go.
“Zarathos, I left some demons and a human in your quarters,” Aryana said.
“Marbas, assist Aryana to the throne room. Then you have permission to grant temporary access to whomever is necessary in order to take care of those in my chambers,” Zarathos said.
“Yes, sir.” Marbas proceeded to help Aryana while everyone else moved to do as they were instructed.
“Marbas, wait. There is a healing potion on Tigon’s corpse. Bring it here and give it to Aryana.”
“Yes, my king.” He hurried away to do as bidden.
Zarathos sank next to Aryana, finally letting his screaming body take full control.
Somehow, somehow, they’d both made it through this hell alive.
He lowered his head to his knees and reached out to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Well, Vampress, we certainly gave them a show, didn’t we? ”
A soft smile crossed her lip. “We certainly did.”
“I thought you’d left me there for a moment.”
Fierceness flashed in those lovely eyes. “I’d never leave you. I told you. I’m yours, always and forever.”
He’d once believed that loving her would be his downfall. But he’d been wrong. It wasn’t love that destroyed. Her unwavering devotion, her fierce strength, had pulled him back from the edge when hope was gone. Today, it wasn’t death that claimed him.
It was love that saved him.