Then again, she had not truly trained forwar.
The evidence of that was clear the moment Ariadne deflected a blow from one soldier, not considering the fact that a second was already stepping into their tête-á-tête, ready to intervene. She laughed at the shock on the first soldier’s face, giddy that yet another Caersan was foolishly falling for her trap—
Then a blade sank through her lower belly, just below her own armor’s edge, with a familiar burn she had not felt since her time hanging from chains.
Three things happened all at once: Ariadne’s laughter died while pain as she had never felt before registered in her brain, replacing her high spirits with pure shock; the second soldier’s head disappeared from his shoulders, then the first’s followed; and the world roared around her as her own back hit the cobblestones, forcing the air from her lungs.
Not for the first time since sunrise, a boot cracked against the side of her head. Whether on purpose or not, Ariadne neither knew nor cared.
What she did know was that she welcomed the darkness that stole her from the agony.
Azriel turned at the sound of Ariadne’s laughter, and the world stopped. Ocean eyes widened as she looked up at the soldier before her, then fell to the blade sticking all the way through her belly. Her sword dropped from her hand as she took in what had happened—
And the offending Caersan’s head tumbled to the ground as Azriel cleaved it from his body with a bellowing roar, followed by that of the other soldier. Their decapitated forms crumpled to the ground in unison with Ariadne’s—too fast for him to catch her. Too fast for him to keep the others away before one of their own accidentally struck her head with his heel.
All but throwing himself over Ariadne to protect her from the possibility of getting hit again, Azriel lifted her upper half from the ground. Everything slowed, and no sound registered in his ears as his only beacon of light stuttered in his arms.
“No, no,” he choked and gripped the sword handle. Pulling it out meant letting her bleed more. Leaving it in meant slowing the Caersan healing process. Neither worked in her favor. “Fuck!”
“Get her to Phulan,” Razer said. The next moment, his bondheart swept low overhead. “I’ll clear a path.”
Taking advantage of Azriel’s weak position, a Caersan soldier turned to him and swung, aiming for his neck. Azriel ducked, yanked the sword from Ariadne’s gut, and lunged, angling the blade up and through the man’s head from below.
Fuck him. Fuck them all. Azriel would burn this fucking place to the ground—once he had Ariadne somewhere safe.
Hauling his bleeding, unconscious wife into his arms, Azriel stood and turned in the direction of Razer. If he focused on what he needed to do, he could keep the bond’s claws at bay. The monster inside him writhed to be let loose.
This isyourfault.This is what youdeserve.
Melia’s words never felt more real. Thiswashis fault. He’d brought her here, given her a sword, and stepped back to watch her fight even when every fiber of his being screamed not to.
“What happened?” Lhuka asked, and Venja soared overhead, diving down long enough to have the vampires dodging out of Azriel’s path.
Azriel didn’t reply. Instead, he sent the image of her gaping at the sword in her belly as he clung to her body. It was met not with words, but a shared sense of horror.
Everyone knew what would happen if Ariadne—
No. He couldn’t even consider the possibility. The very idea of it had the monster inside clawing for freedom. The deaths of those soldiers had been too quick. Too painless. They deserved to suffer—to feel every second of pain.
“Sabharni, Vhaltrinja,” Lhuka said through the vinculum as he and Venja dove again, jolting him back from the depths of his darkness in time to refocus on the battle raging around him.
Razer did as he promised, his massive presence in the town square scattering the dhemons and capturing the Caersans’ attention long enough for Azriel to rush through the battle. Cradling Ariadne’s painfully limp body to his chest with one arm, he hauled himself onto the blue dragon’s back. No sooner had he found his seat than Razer launched into the sky—and the moment they took flight, a massive bolt flew through the narrow space between him and Razer.
Heart stuttering at almost having his horns chipped off by the artillery, Azriel clutched Ariadne even closer to his chest before pinning her with his body to Razer’s neck. Again, he communicated with Lhuka and Venja through a series of images, sharing the now-memory of the bolt flying past. Then, to Razer, he said, “Higher.”
Without hesitation, Razer responded by stretching his head skyward and pumping his wings hard to put more distance between them and the projectiles before leveling out and shooting toward their encampment to the east.
Azriel eased back only when he was certain they’d flown out of harm’s way and made what had to be the biggest mistake since the battle began at dusk. Prior to that moment, he’d thought having her fighting beside him, pulling his attention from the fight, had been the worst he could do. Now he knew just how wrong he’d been, for the greatest misstep of the night was looking at his unconscious wife in his arms.
Ariadne’s face was too pale, the wind blowing her loose curls across the perfect angles of her cheek and jaw. Lips that were supposed to be a rosy shade were now a pale pink. He forced himself to touch her skin, to reassure himself that it would not be cold and peeling. Then he looked farther down to where the blade had been stuck to find her clothes soaked through with blood—blood that still leaked from the wound.
The wound thatshouldbe healing.
“She is alive.” The small voice came from Almandine, though it shook with uncertainty. “She’s holding on.I can feel her fighting.”
“Why isn’t she healing?” Azriel shook as he peeled the shirt back.
Another mistake. Within seconds, his wife’s blood covered his hand.
