Like a wraith wielding a massive ax, Kall stepped into the room and cut the vampires closest to him in half with a battle cry. He twisted, taking on the next opponents with ease. Between his sheer size and the grace with which he moved his body, the dhemon looked more like a dancer on a stage. The tattoos on his face glistened with perspiration as his expression twisted with rage.
Another wave of fear flooded Ariadne as she stared at the dhemon in shock. How was this possible? How could he be there in that moment like an angel come to take them away?
Yet the strangest part of it all was that the fear had not only hit Ariadne. As she turned back to Loren, her hands shaking from the fresh dump of adrenaline, she found his eyes wide and face pale. The blade in his hand quaked like she had never seen before, and he even took a step back.
“Azriel!” Kall cried, but his voice sounded wrong. Too deep. Too familiar in a way that made Ariadne’s fear double. “Get Ariadne andrun.”
Now the soldiers converged. Some rushed from the room, the palpable fear forcing them out. Some pushed towards Kall, clamoring to put an end to the latest threat. Most, however, encircled Loren in a protective maneuver.
“Ari,” Azriel grit out and took her free hand.
Ariadne turned to where the soldiers exited to find Camilla and Nikolai gone. Gone, and it was all her fault.
“What about Camilla?” she asked, praying to Keon that Nikolai had done something with her in an attempt to keep her safe.
“We’ll get Camilla back,” Azriel promised, then wrapped an arm around her waist. “But if we don’t leave now…”
He need not finish the sentence. Ariadne nodded and pivoted towards Kall, so many questions on her tongue. Once they got to safety, she would throw herself into his arms and ask them all. How had he lived? She had watched his body burn. Where was Bindhe? How had he found them?
Then the dhemon turned, the single tattoo on his face nothing like those on Kall’s.
Ariadne’s heart stuttered as Azriel pushed her into the arms of Ehrun. Stumbling over her own feet, the dhemon caught her with one before she could fall, the other swinging his ax to keep the vampire soldiers at bay. A scream stuck in her throat, and she writhed to no avail. Ehrun held firm.
Behind her, a loud thud made her freeze. Ariadne twisted just enough to find Azriel collapsed in a pool of blood, his breathing shallow and ragged.
“Razer is here,” Ehrun said in her ear, releasing his hold on her. “Go. I’ve got him.”
Ariadne did not move towards the balcony. She lunged for her husband, only to be thrown back by Ehrun with a curt command togoin the dhemon language.
“Listen to him.” Almandine’s small voice sounded so far away as though they had flown out of reach, then turned back. “He is there to help.”
Help was not part of Ehrun’s vocabulary.
Despite her initial thoughts, however, she watched as he stood over Azriel and fought the vampires back enough to give him the room required to stoop down and haul her husband’s limp body over his shoulders.
“Run, Ariadne!” Ehrun shouted when he turned to see her staring.
Jolting back into action, she turned and did as he bid. She ran to the balcony where Razer swept down low enough for her to launch onto his back. The dragon roared and swiped with his foreclaws at the vampires below before lifting into the air.
“Who will get them out?” Ariadne asked, heart hammering, when she righted herself on Razer’s back and looked at the shrinking castle behind her. “We left them!”
But Almandine sent a rush of calm reassurance through their connection. “Someone named Mhorn came to help.”
Waiting made Madan’s skin crawl. Had Brutis not been tasked with ensuring Almandine’s close proximity to Ariadne, he would have flown into Laeton alongside his brother and partner to save his half-sister. As it were, he was forced to stand on the far side of Lake Cypher, waiting for something. Anything.
With Brutis’s location constantly shifting, Madan’s vinculum stretched and compressed at irregular intervals, and he couldn’t depend on his bondheart’s updates to keep him apprised of the events in Laeton. So when Anthoria swooped over the camp, his heart lurched. If they were on their way back, he should’ve heard from someone.
Then Whelan dropped unceremoniously into the camp before scrambling back to his feet, cursing at the dragon in the dhemon language. A slew of vile words like Madan had never heard before from his partner had a fresh dose of adrenaline rushing through his veins.
“Whelan—Whe—alhija!” Madan grabbed the dhemon’s hand before he could let loose the rock he gripped and yanked him back. “What’s happening?”
“She took me away!” Whelan cried, his face twisting with anguish. “He wassurrounded, and he ordered me gone, and shelistenedto him!”
Madan’s mind went blank. “What do you meansurrounded?”
“He was injured—there were too many soldiers, and—” Whelan yelled, his voice ringing through the trees. “Gavrhil isdead—they chained down Rhun and now…fuck!”
The words registered but didn’t quite make sense to Madan. He knew about Gavrhil already, unfortunately. Despite Brutis being too far away for their connection to replicate the dhemon’s death as it’d done with Kall, Lhuka was certain to inform him as soon as he’d arrived with Revelie before ushering the Caersan woman into a tent with Emillie.
