Page 144 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Ariadne blindly felt up Melia’s arms and neck until she found the mage’s face. She returned the favor, then brought her own wrist to her mouth and used her fangs to tear open her skin. Pain lanced up her arm. It did not matter. Not if this worked.

For once, she prayed her father had been correct.

A different illusion replaced the forest. A trick of a different sense. As the sand and ruined red wall returned to Ariadne’s view, Melia disappeared along with any physical feeling of her.

No. Ariadne grappled for where the mage’s face had just been and slid her bleeding arm everywhere she could reach. Something—someone—was there, for her blood did not touch the sand. It smeared over…nothing before disappearing.

Within a few heartbeats, Melia returned, and all traces of her illusions withered away. Blood swept across the Desmo’s mouth. She turned and spit into the sand as though ridding herself of the vampire blood would bring her magic back faster.

In truth, Ariadne had no idea how long she had before Melia regained her illusions. Rather than find out, she clambered onto the mage’s chest and cracked a fist across her face hard enough to make her stop struggling.

Before Melia could recover, Ariadne dug her fangs into the mage’s throat. At first, Melia shrieked and thrashed. Ariadne held firm, twisting her fingers into the woman’s hair and pinning her head to the ground.

It was not long before the Desmo ceased her desperate flailing, and a pair of hands pulled Ariadne back.

“Enough.” Nothing but that deep, gravelly voice would have sufficed in stopping her from completely draining the mage. “She’s dead, Ariadne.”

While not as potent as another vampire’s, Melia’s blood rushed through her like a breath of fresh air. She had not consumed so much in one sitting since Azriel had been taken—mere offerings from Phulan. It revitalized her in a way she dared not consider.

Particularly when she finally turned her gaze up to him. When she finally searched his ruby eyes as though seeking confirmation that it was truly he and not another trick of her mind. But the longer she stared, the more the reality set in.

Azriel was alive.

Ariadne’s knees gave out from the relief, but she never reached the ground. His arms wrapped around her, hauling her up against his thin body. He buried his face against her neck, thick horns framing them in like a cage of bones, and shuddered.

“What is wrong?” she breathed, her throat hot and tight as he let out a quiet wail. “Azriel…are you hurt?”

He shook his head, horn bumping her face gently. “You were dead.”

Her heart cracked. The look of astonishment on his face had given her the courage to face Melia. She had not realized it was because he saw a ghost. “Why would you think that?”

“Because Melia…” His voice broke, and he pulled back, taking her face in his hands to look her over as though still reassuring himself it was she he held. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and shuddered. “She gave me your head.”

Ariadne’s mind whirled. The devastation she had endured in those moments at the Pits, watching him give up, had been excruciating. Time had slowed, and she had known nothing but the pure terror of almost watching the man she loved above all else die. Nothing would have brought her back from that.

But for him, bound to her through that soul-deep bond she could never understand, to have been presented with her head? Unfathomable.

“If I could bring her back,” Ariadne rasped, leaning into his touch to further convince him of her presence, “just to kill her again…I would do so a thousand times for what she has done to you.”

Wing beats broke the eerie silence around them. Razer landed behind Azriel, tucking his membranous wings in tight to his scaled body. Though Azriel did not take his eyes from her face, he stilled, speaking to his dragon mind-to-mind. He threaded his fingers into her hair, the fear slowly draining from his eyes as whatever they said quelled his doubt.

“We need to go,” Azriel said after a moment. He stepped back, still holding on to her like she was his last tether to the world. His hand slipped from her face, down her neck and arm, to her hand. “Kall and Phulan are waiting for us.”

She nodded. There was so much to tell him, though she was certain Razer was able to explain a good portion through their mental connection. But it needed to wait until they were all far from Algorath.

Azriel hoisted her onto Razer’s back before clambering up himself. He tucked his body in close behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist. Razer stretched his wings, readying to launch them into the sky, when Azriel said, “Burn it all.”

Chapter 34

Madan and Margot spent the daylight hours following their escape from the Caldwell Estate in one of the huts he and Azriel had built along the foothills of the Keonis Mountains. His grandmother slept in the bed, tucked against Lhuka’s side for warmth not unlike how Madan curled up with Whelan to keep from shivering. But while she closed her eyes and did not wake, he struggled to sleep.

When the sun set, Madan was not refreshed. He said goodbye to Margot as she was hoisted onto the back of Lhuka’s dragon, Venja—much to her displeasure—and took flight to the one place they determined safest: Auhla. That they were returning to the dhemon keep after all that had occurred there last year made Madan’s skin crawl. Nonetheless, Ehrun had abandoned the fortified keep in favor of constant migration in search of the clutch and dhemons to add to his cause.

Madan mounted Brutis with Cinisja behind him. Whelan nodded to him once from Oria, and together, they led their small company back into Eastwood Province. Though Madan had argued that Whelan’s wounds from the previous night needed more time to heal, he’d argued that he wouldn’t allow Madan to go without him and promised to stay with the dragons.

“Why are we risking our lives for bloodsuckers?” Jakhov had demanded at dusk when Madan ordered them all to prepare for another battle. The dhemon had not walked away from Madan’s rescue unscathed and now bore a gash from his hairline that swept across the bridge of his nose. “You are one of us. They plotted our deaths.”

It had been Whelan who rounded on him, eyes flashing. When he spoke, he did so in the dhemon language to punctuate his words. “We share this valley with the vampires, whether we like it or not. The more of them we convert to our cause, the more likely we are to end this war and focus on more important things…like keeping Ehrun from burning everything to the ground.”

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