But Phulan shook her head. “Trust me, boy. So long as your brother still has his mate out there to fight for, he will not be so easy to control. That pile of filth,” she shot Ehrun a nasty look, “is alone in this world, whether he can admit it to himself or not.”
The notion almost made Emillie pity him. Almost. All it took to relieve herself of the feeling was imagining her sister being tortured by his hands.
“We should probably let him eat,” Edira said from where she sat near the campfire.
In unison, the four of them turned to look at the camp at large. Azriel’s prone body lay curled near the edge, in a clearing large enough for Razer to lie down beside him and provide him with coverage from the elements. With the dragon gone, the Dhemon King looked almost abandoned. Moreso, even, than their true prisoner.
Their camp, located along the northeastern shore of Lake Cypher, was larger than what Emillie was used to while traveling with the spice merchants through the Keonis Mountains and L’Oden Forest. With the addition of Phulan along with three other dhemons and their dragons, they needed to occupy a far larger range. As such, it was quite the task to find a place that could accommodate them all without being seen by other vampires.
The large canvas tent used by her, Luce, and the high fae stood on the far side of the fire. Two smaller accommodations were for Phulan and Zeke, Dahlia and Riu. Dhemons, she learned, were built for cold weather, and they slept fine outside. It became quite evident how little they needed as Emillie became accustomed to the dragons’ presence. They let off enough heat that, were it not for cooking alone, the fire would be unnecessary when they were in the vicinity.
But Ehrun had no dragon—at least not with them—and therefore sat nearer the fire than Azriel. At the mention of his name and the prospect of food, the dhemon dragged his gaze to the high fae, his mouth curling around his binds.
“We should let him starve,” Phulan muttered, but turned to him nonetheless, the key around her neck glinting in the firelight.
At her unspoken permission, the holds on the collar loosened, and Ehrun groaned in satisfaction as he pulled the cloth from between his teeth. He stretched languidly and pushed himself to his feet, back against the tree to twist one way, then another. As much as Emillie hated him, she did not envy the idea of being stuck in a sedentary position, unable to move.
Edira approached Ehrun first with a bowl of stewed vegetables. She was, as always, someone who looked out for others. Though she expressed her opinions on him, and they aligned well with Emillie’s own, she had a kinder spirit.
Humming his approval, Ehrun bent at the waist to bring his wicked face nearer the high fae’s. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
With a scoff and roll of her eyes, Edira shoved the bowl forward. “No. Don’t push it, usurper.”
“Oh, good.” Ehrun took the food, eyeing it suspiciously as he always did. “It would be a lie.”
When he did not dig into the food right away, choosing instead to tilt the bowl back and forth to inspect its contents, Whelan peeled himself away from Madan and dunked his finger into the bowl. He made a show of licking his finger clean before using it to flick Ehrun’s cheek. Ehrun snarled and lunged at Whelan before his body locked up, nearly spilling his food into the grass underfoot.
“Careful,” Whelan drawled, “or you’ll end up eating a dagger instead.”
Ehrun’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Did Kall say it tasted good?”
At that, Phulan put herself between the two dhemons as Whelan let out a loud roar of fury. Emillie’s heart thundered, and she took a step back, afraid she would end up on the ground if one dhemon tackled another. She did not get far before a hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her away from the violent pair.
Swinging her gaze around, Emillie found herself being hauled closer to the fire by Luce. The lycan’s umber skin shone in the dancing light, and when she turned her golden eyes back to her, they glowed like twin suns. Her full lips pinched into a line as her attention flickered from Emillie’s face to Whelan.
“They aren’t safe to be around like that,” Luce said, her brows lowering.
Emillie followed her line of sight to see Ehrun grinning like the madman he was as Madan tried to haul Whelan back. The fury etched into Whelan’s usually stunning features had her choking back her retort about him being more understanding. She did not want to imagine losing a close friend to someone they now had to keep alive.
“How much longer do you think all of this is going to take?” Emillie asked as Luce pressed a bowl of the stew into her hands.
Luce sat and looked at her expectantly until she sat alongside the lycan before responding. The change in the woman’s demeanor since the tomb had been blatant. Not only did Luce keep in close proximity to Emillie, but she now carried on conversations as though there had never been any distance between them.
As though they had not, in fact, shared a kiss to keep Emillie safe from the Valenul soldiers, the brethren of whom inevitably helped take her sister away.
“Your sister’s wedding is tonight,” Luce mused, watching her until she took a bite of the stew. Satisfied, the lycan continued, “So I assume she should be back by sunrise.”
Because if Ariadne didnotmake it out by sunrise…
Gods, Emillie could not stomach the alternatives. Ariadnehadto make it out. There was no other way around it.
She turned back toward Azriel, beyond the shouting men and Phulan, who had Ehrun sitting back down as he laughed into his bowl. He had not moved in all the commotion. Not a flinch. Even as Razer passed overhead, drifting down slowly to land beside his bondheart and nudging him with his huge snout, the Dhemon King did not stir. Were it not for his steady breathing, Emillie would have thought him dead.
How would Azriel ever be ready to get Ariadne out before it was too late?
It’d been a year and a half since it was just Madan and Emillie sitting by as a sibling withered away. Last time, he’d stood outside Ariadne’s door too many nights to count alongside his half-sister, wondering if they could go in and interrupt the sobsin the room beyond. Her cries of anguish had shattered his heart.
Now, Azriel’s screams buried into his mind, fixing themselves so thoroughly alongside the mortifying image of his brother clawing bloody trenches into his own neck. They reminded Madan of the deep bruising that took shape around Azriel’s neck after he’d been forced to cut him down from the rafters.
