Page 141 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

But the Desmo, after all she’d done over the weeks—the years—belonged to him.

This is what you deserve.

“Melia!” He shoved back to his feet and stalked forward, shaking the illusions still haunting him from his mind. All around, guards and prisoners surged to and fro. As the prisoners worked, it became increasingly obvious why the guards required the magic-inhibiting shackles. Their skills were not at the same level of those who chose the Pits as their punishment.

A mage stepped into his path, face pale from overusing his magic. He didn’t wear his usual shemagh and was likely woken after a long day of standing in the sun. His pale skin glistened with sweat, the exertion of the battle clearly not something he was accustomed to.

There had been times in Azriel’s life when he offered to let an opponent go. If they stepped aside, he’d forget he ever saw them.

This was not one of those times. This mage, weary as he was, put himself in Azriel’s way. He knew full well what he was doing. There would be no mercy.

Dagger in hand, Azriel sank low into his thighs. It didn’t matter if the mage wanted to use a blade or magic. He wouldn’t have the chance for either.

The mage brought his hands together, and Azriel surged forward. His feet slid in the sand, weakening his charge, but he still got his hands around the back of the mage’s knees and slammed him to the ground. A tendril of magic lashed across his back like a whip. He snarled at the memories it pried from the dormant recesses of his mind before taking advantage of the human’s lack of physical defense training and kicking him hard in the side.

What felt akin to hands wrapped around Azriel’s limbs, dragging him backward like a marionette. He fought against the hold. Dhemon strength against magic.

But the mage was slipping. Each second of energy used to keep him at bay only drained the man more. Fear crept into his eyes as bit by bit, Azriel powered through the weakening grasp. Still on the ground, he scrambled back as though distance would keep him alive.

The moment the magic snapped, Azriel threw the dagger. It plunged into the mage’s chest at the same moment Melia drove a blade up beneath Raoul’s rib cage, just far enough from his heart to make the inevitable death slow and painful. Blood sprayed from the human’s lips, coating the front of the Desmo.

Azriel lunged forward, catching his friend as his knees buckled. Sasja stepped up to Melia, who now stood weaponless except for her magic. The dhemon woman snarled as she stalked forward with a vicious glint in her eyes, sword dripping with the blood of guards.

Raoul’s eyes widened as he understood what was happening; there wasn’t a mage in the vicinity capable of or willing to heal him. His stupid human body wouldn’t mend itself fast enough to keep him alive. Just long enough to draw it out.

“I fucked up,” Raoul gurgled. “Let those stupid…illusions in.”

For the last week, Azriel didn’t believe himself capable of feeling anything beyond his shattered bond. Nothing had mattered aside from vengeance. Recruiting the prisoners under a blood oath to serve him had been a means to an end. A way to utilize their skills beyond the Pits.

Holding Raoul in his final moments cracked open a piece of him he hadn’t realized still felt something. His first friend in this gods’ forsaken desert. The one who’d made him laugh when he fell into despair. The one who ensured he remembered his own name every morning. The one who kept the broken pieces of his mind and heart together as they slogged their way through life under the Desmo.

“Shut up,” he snapped, a familiar tightness in his throat forcing him to swallow hard. All around them, the fighting continued, though slower now as the guards fell. He didn’t want to see how many prisoners had met their end. “You should’ve left her to me.”

A pained grin spread across Raoul’s face. “And let you…have all the fun?”

Azriel tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a quiet sob. Tears pricked at his eyes. Gods, he was so sick of crying. So tired of having the people he loved dying all around him.

A guard rushed at them, seeing the opportunity to put an end to Azriel as sure as the end beckoned Raoul. A tendril of shadow crept across the mage’s throat before tightening and, in the next moment, snapping the guard’s neck in midstride. Liulund lowered his hands as the human’s body collapsed to the sand, then turned to the next foe, darkness writhing at his feet.

A shadow-wielder. Azriel would have to remember that. Somehow.

“Kill me,” Raoul said, the smile vanishing and dragging Azriel’s attention back to him. “Don’t let her…be the one. Use my blood. You need it.”

For a long moment, Azriel stared at him. What he suggested was, quite possibly, Raoul’s worst nightmare. To die by a vampire? Nothing frightened the human more. Even the illusions Melia had cast to distract him had been of bloodthirsty Caersans.

“I’m dying anyway,” the human argued, his voice weaker. His breath hitched, then quickened. “Take it…and kill her. Let me…help you kill her.”

Azriel could feel the human’s heartbeat slowing. His chest moved slower, and when jostled, he didn’t speak again.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping his friend heard the words before he dug his fangs into Raoul’s neck. The human jerked, the movements weak and delayed, as the blood gushed into Azriel’s mouth, then diverted up his hollow fangs.

He hated it. Hated taking his friend’s life in a last-ditch attempt to free himself. Hated the sudden surge of energy. Hated the way he couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop until he had everything he needed.

At least he’d likely forget the entire ordeal. It was the one bit of comfort Azriel had left. Perhaps that's why dhemons with broken bonds lost their memories: they wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they remembered all their terrible deeds.

Once sated, Azriel lay Raoul’s body on the sand and stepped over him. He vibrated with renewed energy, the stab wound in his side closing at a much faster rate.

He rounded on Melia. Sasja had pushed the mage back against an outer wall, the dhemon holding up against the illusions swirling around her with admirable clarity. She fought dhemons positioned around the Desmo like guards, one of whom had a face that stopped Azriel dead in his tracks.

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