Chapter 22
It’d been years since Azriel marched into a vampire village, let alone a major city, with the intent of battle.
In fact, the last time he’d done so with his smaller, more rugged team of dhemons, he’d already begun to lose the passion for the raids.
He’d been working as a guard for the Caldwells for several months and no longer saw vampires for what he’d believed them to be for so long: cold, heartless monsters.
Now Azriel’s views had been completely turned on their head, rearranged, and painted in a completely new light.
Vampires weren’t any more monsters than he was with his spiraling black horns, red eyes, and pointed teeth.
They now represented the entire world of the woman he loved, and he could never take that away from her.
As they closed in on the outskirts of the city, Azriel slowed.
The Rusans, it seemed, had indeed left. The nearby houses, which had light gleaming from them the night prior, now appeared void of life.
No one moved behind the windows. No one worked in the fields or gardens.
Not one civilian soul walked through the streets.
Of course, he couldn’t account for the Caersans who believed in their army and remained in their homes at the heart of the city or in their large manors.
What he did see, however, were flashes of crimson.
Holding up a silent fist, the odd mix of dhemons, lycans, fae, and mages came to a halt. Half his army stood at his back, the other half waiting for nightfall to take care of the Caersan soldiers who no doubt waited for them. Half an army and yet his whole world stood at his side.
A steady calm overcame him. This was not like the nights in the Pits—not when he chose to be there, bearing his sword to take back the land which rightfully belonged to the horned fae.
“Stay by my side,” Azriel said, fist still raised and without looking at his wife. Doing so would be detrimental. He couldn’t focus on her, but neither could he allow himself to watch her go off on her own. Not again. Not when they were so close to completing the ritual together. “Don’t…leave me.”
This time, Ariadne’s words held no hesitation. “I promise.”
Her hand brushed against the back of his, and Azriel closed his eyes to inhale. Florals.
“Don’t underestimate their speed or strength,” Azriel said, and the words echoed back through the ranks in common, dhemon, and fae. “Rusans are just as lethal as Caersans in their own right. They lack healing and therefore train harder to not get injured.”
Boots took up a beat, the soft thudding of soles on dirt and grass rising in a steady rhythm. The same rhythm as the night he’d been named Dhemon King. It thundered through him like a drum—like a heartbeat. It enlivened him, as it appeared to do for the rest of his soldiers.
Another flash of crimson, closer this time. They couldn’t risk the Rusans setting up in advantageous positions, so Azriel flared his fingers and let his hand drop, pointing forward.
No words were needed. Dhemons, fae, lycans, and mages surged past. The air rushed, tousling the few hairs from his top knot that refused to stay in place into his face.
Sounds of battle rose almost immediately.
Shouts. Orders. But others that he’d not grown accustomed to were tangled with those which he found most familiar.
Snarls. Howls. Barks. Claws on cobblestones.
The snap and crash of magic. It created a cacophony that grated on Azriel’s ears like nothing he’d heard before—not even in the Pits.
What he missed most as he and Ariadne started forward, at the rear of their army now, was the sound of wings. The screech of dragons. The thunderous roar of flames consuming everything in sight.
But Razer would not be leading any dragons, old or young, into the fight during the daylight hours.
The greatest advantage for most was their stealth in the dark.
Like his bondheart, several others who had agreed to fight bore dark scales and had been training for weeks to evade projectiles.
Even the recent hatchlings were capable of fire already.
“I knew you missed me,” Razer said, sifting through Azriel’s thoughts like memos on a desk. “It’s about time you realized just how much you want me around.”
Azriel cursed under his breath. “Now is not the time.”
“I think it’s the perfect time.” Razer’s chipper mood conflicted with the sudden rush of panic as a crimson-clad soldier appeared on the far side of Ariadne.
Lifting his sword, he watched as his wife parried the soldier’s swing, twisted in a full circle, and slammed her elbow into the Rusan’s face.
The vampire stumbled just enough for her to yank a dagger free from beneath her breast plate and lodge it in his neck.
Blood gushed as she yanked the blade loose, rushing down her hand and arm.
“See?” Razer’s voice gave hints of laughter. “She’s fine.”
“You won’t be if you don’t shut up.”
A mental prod, then Razer huffed indignantly. “Tell me how wonderful it is to have me around.”
Another handful of soldiers rounded the corner. Azriel met the first with a heavy downstroke of his blade, taking the Rusan to the ground in one swing. The next dodged his attack as the third engaged with Ariadne.
This wasn’t good.
Keeping one eye on his wife, Azriel stepped back to bring the soldier who tried to stalk behind him back into view. He exchanged blows with the man and cursed as the fifth stalked around the far side of Ariadne in the hopes of gaining the advantage of her distraction.
“I’m waiting.” Razer prodded again.
“Fuck you!” Azriel slammed back at his bondheart at the same moment his fist collided with the soldier’s jaw. As the vampire careened backwards, he swung his sword again, this time dislodging the man’s head from his body.
Razer snorted. “That was unnecessary.”
“Go away.” Pivoting, Azriel slipped between Ariadne and the fifth soldier just as she tripped the man she faced and drove her sword through his throat.
The young Rusan he forced back from her widened his eyes in shock just before Azriel knocked the sword to the ground.
He raised his hands in surrender. Had it been someone who had attempted to fight his wife fairly face-to-face, Azriel might’ve been merciful.
He likely would’ve leaned in and told the vampire to run.
Instead, Azriel angled the sword and drove it up beneath the soldier’s armor into his chest cavity. A strangled gasp escaped the Rusan, and Azriel bared his fangs.
“He was surrendering,” Ariadne said as he ripped the sword free. “I thought we were letting them surrender.”
Azriel growled. “Not when they try to stab you in the back.”
In the brief lull in which he was able to catch his breath, Azriel silenced Razer’s incessant voice by shutting the dragon out of his mind.
The last thing he needed was to lose his focus thanks to a bondheart that couldn’t stop yapping.
Having Ariadne fighting by his side was enough of a distraction on its own.
When Ariadne did not look convinced by his reasoning for killing the soldier, Azriel said, “Maybe the next one.”
Then they started forward again, stepping over corpses without looking too closely at those not clad in crimson. Though most were not from their ranks, Azriel’s heart leaped anytime he caught sight of blue skin. This was what he’d feared—happy and hopeful people dying in the name of peace.
No…
Dying in his name.
In the past, dhemons followed him into battle, but they never died because he asked it of them.
His father carried that burden. Azriel had lamented the deaths of his friends and comrades, mourned those who never returned from raids.
But he never felt responsible for what happened to them. Never blamed himself.
Now every death bloodied his hands. Even one was too many, and they had just begun. Too many more were to come, and there’d be no stopping the inevitable. He’d sparked the fire of war within the clans. Should he fall or step down, the battles would continue—and they’d continue because of him.
So he charged forward, praying to Keon for fewer deaths and more surrenders. Ariadne was right: he’d told his people to accept a surrender, yet he failed to do so when the moment mattered. Instead, he let the bond take over and put an end to a young vampire’s life.
Before long, he and Ariadne turned a corner to find themselves in the thick of the battle.
Clash of steel, screams of pain, and the noxious odor of too much blood had Azriel’s world spinning on its axis.
Beside him, Ariadne sucked in a sharp breath before being dragged into the fight by a soldier aiming straight for her.
Azriel launched himself at the Rusan, hauling him back from his wife and tearing into the vampire’s throat with his sharp teeth and fangs.
The taste of metal, accompanied by a surprised, gurgling shriek, had even more adrenaline dumping into his system.
Eyes unfocused and body humming with the shock of energy, he let the soldier’s body drop to the ground.
When he turned back, Ariadne was nowhere to be seen.
A surge of panic had Azriel’s stomach churning. She had promised. Promised. Where could she have gone?
He is a monster.
No, no, no.
This is what you deserve.
Fuck.
Azriel turned in place, a scream of horror stuck in his throat as he searched beyond the sprays of blood, massive bodies of fur, and metal shining in the sunlight. This couldn’t be happening.
Not able to find Ariadne amongst those who stood, Azriel choked back the bile that rose up his throat as he turned his attention to the ground. To the corpses and actively dying. To the blank stares, matted hair, and missing limbs.
Flesh peeled away beneath his touch, the too-soft decay exposing bone and sinew. Blue eyes, glazed over with death, gazed into the eternal darkness that awaited them all. Skin dangled from the frayed edges of a severed neck. Her decapitated head.