Page 55 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

With every second, he felt the fury raging inside Zel lessen until the demon placed his hand over Shalendra’s and gently pried it from his arm. Loki and Cyran dropped their hands to their sides and stepped away.

“No one has ever given me such a gift,” Zel said, gratefulness shining in his silvery-gray eyes. “However, if we go up against Haman, I will need some of that fury to fight.” He met Cyran’s gaze and nodded his thanks.

“It’s now or never.” Cyran moved to the closed door and splayed his hand in front of the worn wood, sensing the magical barrier. Haman was also no stranger to adding a few surprises within his wards. Nasty surprises.

Centering his emotions, he cleared his mind and searched for the right spell to reverse the ward. If Haman felt his presence, which he probably had, Cyran could not make a mistake. While he was willing to march into a trap, keeping Shalendra safe was paramount. Obtaining someone as powerful as she would be a bonus.

Regarding Cyran, his stepfather always focused on the wrong things and never saw him or how powerful he was. Haman also never understood the ancient healing magic his mother taught him, which was a bonus in this fight.

During his apprenticeship, attention was paid only when Cyran wasn’t following Haman’s convoluted spells. The punishments for failing to break them down led to his spending so much time with Lamruil and Ailuin. The time away allowed him a brief respite. However, when Cyran saw how King Glanduil was with his two sons, he longed for more and to be a part of a family. He, too, wanted a loving father.

Exhaling, he knew what spell to use.Illumino. Resigno. Libero.He said in a clear voice. A soft green light illuminated the bottom corners of the door, then moved up each side until meeting at the center on top. The latch clicked, and the door opened about an inch.

“What kind of spell was that?” Zel asked.

Cyran heard a hint of appreciation in his tone, which made him want to smile. “I learned a long time ago to keep things simple when dealing with Haman. His spells are layered and convoluted, but he never realized they canceled themselves out. Or at least parts of them did.”

Zel’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this how? Did you study under him?”

Cyran hesitated, not wanting even this demon to judge him because of who his stepfather was, but, in truth, it didn’t matter. Rejection and revilement were the difficult things to deal with. “My last name is Daralei. Unfortunately, Haman is my stepfather.”

Shalendra stepped between them, her body rigid with a determined expression. “Before you open your mouth and accuse him of doing horrible things, Cyran is nothing like his stepfather. He is an amazing healer who believes in life's sanctity and helping others. He is also the best friend of Lamruil and Ailuin, the co-regents of Alfheimr, and their father, King Glanduil, loved him like a son. Freyja, Idunn, Heimdall, and many other gods are fond of him, so don’t even think about harming him!”

A grin played over Zel’s lips as he tried to remain serious, which should not have been difficult for a demon. Witnessing the subtle emotion, Cyran realized Zel had more good emotions than most other demons, or he had unintentionally embraced a few of Olivier’s during the time he had been possessing his body. Either way, it settled Cyran’s nerves about having him around.

Zel nodded, reminding Cyran of a prince or king acknowledging his subjects. “Have no fear, my lady. I wouldn’t think of harming your mate. I am usually a good judge of character, and Cyran doesn’t strike me as having anything in common with the sadistic individual inside that room, if he's there. Now, before more werewolves show up, we need to go inside. I don't sense Haman's presence, but I have been wrong before. He has become quite adept at hiding, even from me.”

Shalendra relaxed and, with a shy glance at Cyran, moved to stand behind him. No one knew what they would find in the next room, and an unsettling sensation coursed through him at the thought of her being touched by anything evil.

I'm stronger than I look, my warrior. Besides, you will protect me if something happens. I have complete faith in you.

He glanced back at her. Reaching out to her, he slid his curled finger along the soft skin of her cheek, wishing they were back in Alfhiemr and not here, getting ready to confront his stepfather and his mutated soldiers. She was so beautiful, with an innate elegance and gentleness. The battle was no place for someone such as her.

I am still reading your mind, silly elf. All my life, people have pigeonholed me as a dainty princess. I don’t need you doing that too.

Cyran moved toward the door.I’m sorry. I will not apologize for wanting to keep someone I care for safe. I hope you can understand that.He reached out with his left hand and eased it openwith the tip of one finger. His other hand gripped his sword and stepped into the room, only to find it empty.

A narrow worktable hugged the wall to their right. Shelves hung overhead filled with colored and clear liquids and herb-filled baskets. Where the table pushed up against the wall, there was a neatly arranged row of tubes, lit candles, and half-filled flasks in various states of potions. At least, that’s what Cyran hoped Haman was making.

He inhaled, his lungs drawing in the mixed odors throughout the room—the stench of the creatures, the sickly sweet, cloying scent of Haman’s tobacco, and, strangely, the very slight fragrance of lilac. “The werewolves and Haman were here—I smell the stench of his pipe tobacco.”

“It's an acquired taste. One I do not have,” Zel agreed.

Shalendra walked to the center of the room. She glanced at Zel, a confused expression on her face. “I sense them, yet not. As if they are near…” She took a few more steps toward the far wall of the room.

Zel stood behind her, staring at the wall in front of them. “I understand you were sent here to find your aunt and uncle, but are you certain they wish to be found?”

She turned to face him. “Why do you say that? Why wouldn’t they? My father has searched for Uncle Olivier and Aunt Jessica for years and misses his brother. When my father was cursed into a werewolf, my uncle kept him sane, especially after we left Niflheimr and my mother. I don’t understand why theywouldn’twant to come home.”

Zel studied her face while Cyran studied him and recognized the indecision warring inside the demon’s mind, the intense emotion subtly sending an agitated shiver over his body. Cyran couldn’t help but wonder what he was trying to hide.

With a large exhale, Zel let go of whatever was bothering him. “I have been with them and understand their reasoning. They have been away from everyone and gone through a difficult time. Maybe they aren’t ready to be with many people or explain what happened. Maybe they aren’t ready to settle back into their lives—lives, I might add, that were viciously torn from them. Maybe they want to be rescued but also require time alone to figure out what they want their lives to become.”

Shalendra closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. “I never thought about it that way. I thought I was helping them. I will do whatevertheyneed. I only wish to love and care for them.”

Zel placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “You were acting out of love, and they know that, but more issues are at stake than just them. Unfortunately, I am now a part of the situation. It takes a lot of power to separate a summoned demon from his host, but it is nearly impossible when a long time is factored into the equation. On Midgard, Olivier and I briefly have been together, but it has been centuries in your world.”

“What might happen if you are separated from one another?” Cyran asked.

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