Page 98 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“Come with me.” She took his hand, interlacing their fingers, and started off, dragging him along. “I need you.”

Fuck…he needed her, too. Needed her so badly, it ached. So he followed, ignoring the way the bond screamed at him to look back. After all, if his mind was as muddled as he knew it to be, there was no reason to ever disobey her.

When she had seen Azriel in the dining room, Ariadne almost cried. He was there, alive and so very close. She had wanted nothing more than to run to him, wrap herself around him, and never let him go again. It had taken all of her self-control not to act upon her urges and to remember what Phulan had warned on their way over: Melia cannot know the truth.

It had been the only thing holding her back as she asked Phulan questions about what to say, though her heart had ached. He had looked right at her, yet somehow did not seem to fully recognize her right away. His eyes had widened after a moment as though registering that she had, in fact, been real.

Then Phulan grabbed her wrist and yanked her away.

“What is it?” Ariadne looked back over her shoulder to where Azriel had been, just around the corner. “He was right there. I thought I needed to speak with him.”

Phulan said nothing at first, merely shaking her head until they were tucked into a corner alone. Her amethyst eyes were wide with warning, though her expression gave nothing away to onlookers as she said, “Something’s wrong. He’s not himself.”

“Of course he is not,” Ariadne breathed. “He has been imprisoned for weeks!”

“No.” Phulan nodded over her shoulder with a grimace. “Look.”

Azriel crashed out of the room, stumbling over his own feet and slamming into a table, spilling the drinks across the floor. His bright red eyes almost glowed as they scanned the room, his nostrils flaring as though following her by scent alone. He blinked rapidly, and his face screwed up in a heart-deep pain at first.

And that was when she understood. She had never seen him so out of sorts. Like his mind would not clear and nothing stayed in focus. Never had she seen him so uncoordinated. Not even as he had been bleeding out in the Pits.

“What did she do to him?” she whispered, stomach knotting.

Her heart thundered as another woman whispered something to her friend, set down her drink, and hurried over to him. Even over the hushed commentary, she could hear what the woman said with her vampire ears. She knew by the way his eyes darkened and how he leaned into her touch that he believed that imposter to be her.

She lurched forward. She had to stop it. He would not be able to live with himself if he realized what he was about to do. The bond connecting him to her ran too deep for infidelity, and she could not live with herself if she could have prevented it yet did nothing.

But Phulan held firm to her wrist and squeezed hard. “Do. Not. Move.”

“Please…”

“You’ll ruin everything.”

“I cannot let him—”

“You must.” The urgency in her tone made Ariadne peel her eyes from the disaster before her. Phulan stared at her with more intensity than she had ever seen before. “Would you rather help him heal later…or watch him die now?”

She did not need to voice her answer.

So Ariadne watched in horror as the mage locked her hand with Azriel’s and started up a set of stairs to the second floor. She knew what happened to the prisoners in the rooms above. They were used like toys and expected to fulfill any demand, no matter how atrocious. The notion had mortified her the last time she visited Melia’s home. She knew all too well that feeling of helplessness.

Now she wanted to vomit.

“I will kill her.” The words left Ariadne on a breath before she could consider the truthfulness behind them. Her heart burned, the agony spreading through her like wildfire. “I swear to any god listening, I will kill her for this.”

Phulan’s grip loosened. “Not yet. Now get ready to play nice.”

Ariadne frowned, dragging her gaze from where her drugged husband had disappeared. Melia entered, likely drawn by the ruckus, back straight and a small smile curling her red-painted lips, and surveyed the room.

Upon seeing the two of them, she swept forward. Her layered gossamer gown matched her eyes, each movement like quicksilver. Had she seen the final moments between Azriel and the human?

“Phulan. Cressida.” Melia lifted her glass toward them as she approached. “I am pleased to see you join us again.”

Ariadne forced herself back into character. Cressida would not care about that prisoner. At least not the way she did. Instead, she curtsied to the mage and plastered a tight smile to her face. “Desmo. I am honored to have received the invitation.”

“Now, now.” Melia gave her a wink. “Friends don’t bow to one another. Be at ease.”

“I didn’t know he was a prisoner under your watch,” Phulan said, nodding toward the hall through which Azriel had disappeared. “I’m surprised you haven’t run him through yourself.”

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