Chapter 4 #2
Strange. The warmth that enveloped Azriel didn’t feel dry, nor did it smell of jasmine and citrus. Rather, it was humid and sticky and smelled of sulfur. Not grainy sand, but damp scratchy blades.
I hate you more than you hate yourself.
Was he in Valenul? At the Caldwell Manor?
Maybe he’d tripped trying to follow Ariadne out the front door and knocked his head.
She was still pulling down the drive, angry at his lies and deception.
Despite all he’d done to try to keep her safe, she still hated him and left.
Slammed the door, leaving him kneeling in the foyer with naught but a hollow ache.
Azriel rolled to push himself up, head spinning as his spine straightened into a vertical line. Then he doubled over to brace his palms on the ground and screwed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to make the world feel stable once more.
Words registered, though he couldn’t make out their meaning. A pair of hands held his shoulders steady.
He tensed, preparing for the hand to force his mouth open and that wretched blood being poured down his throat.
At first, he shook them off with a growl.
No. No. He had to follow Ariadne, to find where she went and keep her safe.
They were out there somewhere, hunting. Seeking. Willing to drag her back to—
“Rholki.”
The endearing word felt tainted to his ears. Why?
A lake at sunrise. An arm around his neck. A glass tapping on the tips of his sharp teeth. A vile taste on his tongue. A darkness that held him prisoner in his own mind.
I’m sorry, Rholki.
“No.” The single syllable left his heavy tongue like a garbled mess of consonant and vowel.
“You’re safe.” Again, that voice grated on his consciousness until another, like a massive dark cloud, slipped through his mind and steadied him with reassurance. “She’s safe. We’ll get her back soon.”
Her.
Azriel calmed. Pushing away from the ground, he tried to sit just for those arms to wrap around him when he swayed. A warm body, smaller than his own, pressed against his back. Only then, a soft, familiar melody wove its way through the darkness to cradle him, easing the tension from his muscles.
The song brought back memories he hadn’t recalled in quite some time.
A woman with black hair and green eyes, her face half-obscured by time and reconstructed through centuries-old paintings.
She held him close, her mouth curving into a sad smile before she pressed her cheek against his.
The lyrics she sang, while clear in his mind, weren’t in her soft voice.
No matter how hard he tried to recall the tone and pitch of her song, both were lost to him.
“Ysja,” he breathed with an ache in his heart.
Mother.
“Soht, rholkija,” said the one holding him. The pressure changed on his back as their head bobbed in confirmation. “Ysja alhin lhon.”
Yes, my brother. Mother loves you.
Loves, not loved. Present, not past.
Madan. Madan sang to him, recalling the words Azriel had once repeated to soothe his little brother after watching their mother be butchered by Markus Harlow. He’d held the small vampire boy amidst the dhemons at Auhla and whisper-sang as they cried together.
Whatever Madan had tried to distract him from, it worked. Azriel sank back like a child, letting his brother adjust his hold. Only then did Madan press his cheek against Azriel’s, somehow finding the room between his horns and humming the melody again.
Azriel relaxed, his eyes shuttering out the strange silhouettes that faded into the darkness around him. He sucked in a deep breath, one he hadn’t realized he needed.
All too soon, however, the pale green of his memories faded to ocean blue.
A clearer image, one his mind never needed to reconstruct from broken memories and chipped portraits, took shape.
Black hair gave way to the deep raven curls that framed her perfect face.
Rosy lips parted in a surprised smile before colliding with—
“No!” Azriel shoved away from Madan, scrambling for purchase in the darkness.
Only when he felt a thick membrane of a wall did his mind register why everything looked so strange. He’d been under Razer’s wing.
“Az.” Madan’s voice sounded distant, yet as though he spoke to a rabid animal. “Azriel, everything is alright. I promise!”
“Where is she?” His heavy tongue stumbled over the words. Common always felt like mush when he spoke, but now more than ever. Stretching his jaw as though that were the issue, he flailed again, trying to find his feet. She needed him—no, wait.
Her words swam back to him through the dense fog. He is a monster.
Oh, he was going to hurl. A monster. Monster. He was her monster. The terror that stole her away into the night, delivering her unto the very torment from which she wished to now escape. She’d returned to the one she’d said would keep her safe.
“Listen to me.” The command washed over him, unheeded as his bond throttled the logical part of his brain. “We have a plan. We need you, Azriel.”
But Ariadne was gone. She’d left him—left him in the foyer of the Caldwell Manor and again in the tomb. Both times had been to go back to Loren Gard, the one she’d wanted from the very beginning.
“I’ll kill them.” The words, still slurred, snapped from Azriel like a prayer. “I’ll burn it all.”
“And who do you think will help with that?” Razer’s voice was calm. “Because I won’t be joining that particular venture.”
“She thinks I’m a monster.”
Madan grappled for his arm. “No, Azriel, she—”
“If I am a monster,” Azriel snarled and yanked himself away from his brother before stumbling to his feet. He shook his head as everything spun. “Then I will show them what a monster is capable of—”
In an instant, his mouth snapped shut. The words choked in his throat as he struggled to move at all. He swiveled his attention through the darkness until he saw it glinting from Madan’s neck mere feet from him—the key.
That’s when he felt the weight of the metal around his neck.
Each swallow had his throat bobbing against the collar that restrained him.
The same collar once placed on him by none other than Loren Gard before it was replaced by Melia Tagh.
Only when Paerish had alleviated him of the mage metal’s weight had he been truly free.
Now his own brother had imprisoned him.
Muscles taut with rage, Azriel pushed against the bonds before he snapped through. His fingers curled around Madan’s throat, forcing him to the ground with a snarl. Marbled eyes flew wide in shock as the air punched from his lungs.
“How fucking dare you?” Azriel added pressure, blinded by the ire pumping through his veins. “You traitor.”
“Kill him!” called someone in the dhemon language, the tone dark and eager. “Rip out his throat!”
Azriel bared his fangs, ready to do just that, before something massive and sharp crashed into him. His hand slipped loose, and he slammed into the ground, a claw caging his body. Above him, a pair of golden eyes glittered, and teeth as long as his arm flashed in the moonlight.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Razer brought his nose closer to emphasize his point. “You did this to yourself.”
Blinking up at the dragon, Azriel sobered. His immediate actions focused in his mind’s eye, and he turned his head to look at Madan.
Beside his brother, Whelan crouched and spoke low so he couldn’t make out the words beyond the pounding in his ears. Madan sat up, rubbing his throat, and turned his gaze to Azriel from over his partner’s shoulder. Something akin to distrust shone there, shadowing his features.
Fuck.
It was not often that Emillie was grateful for her nocturnal needs.
At times such as these, however, she felt herself not envying those amongst their party who preferred to rest during the night hours.
Though they had adjusted their sleeping schedule to accommodate her and Madan, she knew it had not been entirely necessary, what with the necklace Ariadne had given her prior to running off and setting her dragon on them.
She had read about the Noct in the ritual that created vampires, however, and had not touched it since being informed of its name.
The yelling from across the camp didn’t get to Emillie when they rose up for what felt like the hundredth time that night alone. They started faint, as they always had, and grew steadily as time passed. Only this time, when Phulan stood to put an end to them, it only got worse.
“Stubborn boy,” the mage muttered as she took her seat beside Zeke, now empty-handed and her neck bare of the keyed necklace she had previously worn.
Emillie tilted her head before twisting to look back at where the huge blue dragon lay nestled beside her brother-in-law. “What is it?”
A soft, distant song drifted through the cold of the night, making Emillie frown. Across the fire, Whelan stiffened and pivoted to where he heard the song. Uncertainty shone there, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his face.
“He doesn’t want to give Azriel another potion.” Phulan looked up at the cloudy sky, her sharp amethyst eyes seeing something there that made no sense to Emillie. Tension crept onto her beautiful face. “He wants the Dhemon King to be the one to get Ariadne to safety.”
At that, Whelan looked contemplative. “Would it not be ideal to have Azriel face off with Loren now and be done with this war?”
Phulan’s brows shot high. “You were not in Algorath with us and didn’t see the repercussions of the potions.”
“Is he not regaining himself now?” Luce asked, sitting a little straighter to look over Emillie’s head from where the soft melody drifted.
“It will be some time before he’s ready to fight anyone,” Phulan said, “let alone the King of Valenul with an army at his beck and call.”
Emillie chewed the inside of her cheek a moment before saying, “He defeated Loren in a duel without any preparation and in his vampire form.”