Page 140 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Azriel couldn’t dwell on it. Couldn’t relish the flavors as the high fae met the mages in a vicious battle of skills. He, like Sasja, needed to find the guards with weapons to knick.

An ear-shattering howl cut through the night. Two lycans shot past Azriel, their beastly forms unbound. They tackled the nearest guards, ripping into them without mercy and cutting their screams of terror short as the massive jaws tore open their throats.

Launching forward, Azriel ripped a sword from one of the dead guards’ sheaths and turned. Sasja dodged a mage’s attack, and he called her name. As she turned, he tossed the blade to her, which she caught with deft hands. Her red eyes glowed in the darkness, no doubt seeing each foe like a temporal aura thanks to her heat vision. Within a heartbeat, she had cut through the attacking guard and rounded on the next.

He gathered another sword from a fallen guard and turned in time to see the one for whom he’d been waiting. His grip tightened on the blade’s hilt as that horrible, beautiful rage curled through him. Across the yard, guards barked orders, screamed in agony, or called for help just before another prisoner broke their defenses.

But Azriel only saw Melia. She swept into the training grounds, her silver eyes alight. Her mouth formed a straight, tight line as she glared at him. Of course she blamed him. What she didn’t know was that it was only thanks to her guard captain.

In an instant, everything went black. Silent. The cold of the desert night disappeared. Azriel stood in a vacuum of absolutely nothing.

At first, his heart thundered. She couldn’t have possibly killed him so quickly. It wasn’t possible. He’d heard tales of those who’d died and returned to the land of the living; they’d claimed to have seen nothing. No gods, no afterlife. Just a void of loneliness.

Then he sucked in a long, deep breath and calmed his panicking mind. No. She wouldn’t kill him so quickly. She wouldn’t allow him to leave the land of the living without suffering. Not until she was certain he had nothing left within him except pain. Not even the rage and hate he felt was enough of an endless torment for her.

So he bared his fangs and waited. His senses were gone, so he’d fight without them.

Azriel shifted his stance, sword held at the ready and free hand extended. If she were wise, she’d put another collar on him. One that she alone could control.

Magic lashed the side of his face, burning like fire before spreading into his blood. As swift as poison, it seeped down his neck and into his chest. It crept through his extremities, drawing a long, low groan from between gritted teeth.

Then it started. He couldn’t tell if it was a product of Melia’s or rogue magic he’d been hit with. All he knew was what he saw. What he smelled and felt and heard. Whether ripped from his memories or formed through Melia’s own twisted imagination, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that he saw her. Bright, oceanic eyes sparkled as she danced and danced in the arms of the General. She smiled up at Loren as though he were the center of her universe, and when he leaned down to whisper in her ear, her cheeks flushed. The resulting laugh sent daggers through him.

This is what you deserve.

Ariadne swayed with Loren, her midnight hair the perfect contrast to Loren’s silver. She cupped his face, gaze dreamy despite the dancers around her—around all of them, for Azriel no longer existed in the void of darkness. He stood in the corner of the Harlow Estate’s ballroom wearing his black guard clothes and watching them like a voyeur.

Another turn about the dance floor. The crimson engagement choker around Ariadne’s neck gleamed with diamonds. Her dress turned from powder blue to dusty rose to ivory and silver. Her wedding dress.

Loren pulled her close, his body forming to hers like the missing piece of a puzzle. She laid her head on his chest, savoring the feeling of him against her. His icy eyes gleamed with victory as he looked down at her. Not love. Not devotion. Pure, wicked triumph.

Then he brushed her hair back from her face, and when she turned her gaze up to him again, it nearly shattered Azriel’s heart. He lurched forward, feet stumbling on oddly soft ground. Something he held fell silently to the floor. Perhaps the chatter of the Caersan guests covered it up. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She danced with the General, and he had to stop it.

He shoved through the crowd. They parted for him without a word, though his hands never touched anyone. He stumbled again. No matter how far he advanced, he never gained an inch. Ariadne and Loren, twirling at the center of the dance floor, remained out of reach.

“Ariadne!” His pitiful cry was lost even to his own ears.

She certainly didn’t hear him. The only one who did was Loren. The General lifted his attention to Azriel, his mouth pulling into a smirk. “You lost.”

The words echoed in Azriel’s mind. Again and again, louder and louder, the same two words. You lost. He shook his head. Another stumble forward, and he finally lost his footing. Azriel landed on his hands and knees, the wood floor giving like sand under his fingertips.

Ariadne followed Loren’s line of sight and frowned. “Disgusting half-breed. Go back to the filth from which you crawled.”

Loren took hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger, returning her gaze to him. He stared at her mouth as he said, “Ignore him. He is nothing to you.”

Another beautiful laugh, then Ariadne rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to Loren’s. The General let out a satisfied moan, the hand on her back tucking her in close as he deepened the kiss.

Azriel blinked hard. The wood floor beneath his hands vanished, replaced by sand illuminated by moonlight. Screams cracked through the air around him, eclipsing the quartet’s melody. Pain lanced through his side, and a guard ripped a dagger swirling with magic from his body, spilling blood across the sands.

He roared, still shaking from the images now burned in his mind. How long had he been under Melia’s influence? By the pace of the fight around him, he wagered mere moments. It’d felt like an eternity. His bond ached as the vision played and replayed in his mind. The way Ariadne had looked at Loren…

The guard raised the dagger again. Azriel slammed his elbow back into the human’s gut, grabbed his wrist, and twisted hard. The blade fell from his grasp, and Azriel caught it, then shoved it into the guard’s throat.

With the guard disposed of, Azriel turned to discover why the scene had broken so suddenly: Raoul stood across from Melia in the strangest face-off he’d ever seen. While she fought with illusions, he hit back with the elements available to him. Wind whipped and sand flared, sending the fine grains into Melia’s half-closed eyes. Illusions flashed in and out of focus, vampires with long, vicious fangs dripping with blood.

Anger flared to life, hot and sharp. Melia was his to kill, not Raoul’s. He didn’t care what he’d told Raoul before. Every prisoner in there had reason to hate her. Every one of them wanted to see her dead.

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