The Demon did, confusion digging a line between his brows. With a snarl, he fought against the thrall of magic. Sweat dripped down Vaeron’s brow as he lunged for the raider’s weapon.
The mature male battled the slender shell Vaeron had wrapped around him, inky tendrils swirling around his stilled body. The youngling gripped the sheath at his enemy’s hip, yanking the sword free. Shadows leaped toward him, and something insidious crawled through his veins. The sensation caused his hold over his own magic to slip, and that was all the Demon needed to backhand him as he retreated, blade in hand.Vaeron skidded and collapsed to the ground, stars dotting his vision.
The intruder snarled, stalking toward him.
Vaeron’s fingers closed around the hilt, palms slick with sweat. He waited one heartbeat, then another, as his enemy closed in. Countless times, he’d practiced the maneuver—but never in a moment of life or death.
Help me, Goddess,he prayed to his deity.
The Demon leaped forward, arms outstretched like he was going to throttle the heir.
And Vaeron swung.
Blood spurted as the male fell down his own blade. The edges scraped against bone. A shudder rippled through Vaeron’s arms at the sensation. Hot liquid rolled and dotted his face, slipping between his lips until hot metal replaced the sour apple’s tang.
More cries from his mother and sister split the orchard air. With trembling hands, he shoved with all his might.
The Demon wheezed as the Angel knocked him backward. On his knees, he wrapped a hand around the blade and tugged like the object hadn’t maimed him in the slightest. Another sinister laugh followed Vaeron as he hurtled toward his family, spitting out the life force of his attacker.
His sister babbled incoherently, her tiny voice drawing closer. Pumping his arms, he closed the remaining distance in five long strides.
Only to skid into a clearing with half a dozen of their enemy surrounding Iaoth and his mother.
The two closest whirled, weapons raised.
Vaeron used his powerful voice again. “FREEZE.”
But he was inexperienced, having just come into his magic. Only one fully stuck in place. The other kept use of his legs and charged.
Chaos erupted as the rest encircled for his family.
The heir’s focus narrowed on what he had to do. Swallowing terror, shutting out doubtful thoughts, he ducked a blow from the moving raider and freed a dagger at the male’s thigh. He sank it first into the neck of the immobilized one, then faced his second opponent, more magic available to wield with the death of the other.
Incandescence rose in his periphery as his mother called on her primary power. Shadows erupted around them as the Demons fought back in violent, vicious whips.
Vaeron’s opponent lunged, swiping the dagger down. A sting ripped across his forehead. Hot iron poured over his eye, half-blinding him.
With a growl, he stabbed back, managing to strike the male in the hip. The red-eyed male landed a harsh knee to his stomach, causing him to double over. Vaeron clutched his abdomen, wheezing. The follow-up glanced off his shoulder as he spun away.
“FREEZE!” he Commanded again.
This time, the male did. Vaeron dispatched him with a strike to the ribs, then released him to crumple to the ground.
Whirling, he found his mother engaged with three more, having felled another on her own. He raced to her side.
“Take your sister and run,” she snapped at him as he added radiant power to hers. Iaoth hid behind them both, brandishing a stick similar to the one her brother had picked up upon their entry into the orchard. She wasn’t old enough to possess a glimmer to aid them.
“I’m not leaving you,” he insisted, using his tunic to wipe the blood and sweat from his brow. But his hand shook, and the bottom of his magic well neared.
His limbs grew heavy, guilt from his lack weighing him down as much as the exhaustion from expending his power.
“You’re white as your father’s hair. You will not burn out on me, Vaeron. You have so much life left to live. Your gift will shape the world,” she swore, allowing herself a momentary glance at her son. She noted the crimson on his teeth, and the deep cut over his eye. But what rested in his mouth was not the same as what dripped from above. Horror cinched her ribs. Blood magic was common among powerful Demons, but there was nothing she could do now to help her son.
His eyes—so clear, so tortured—pleaded with her not to die.
But they both knew what was inevitable.
“I love you, Vaeron. No matter what happens, follow your heart. You have a good one, even if you have shoved it deep inside.”
