Page 101 of Prince of Demons
Not again.
He propelled his body forward and finally managed to catch Aragalan by the throat. Before the European prince could get free, Kesh slammed him into the ground hard enough to crater the arena floor. Blood trailed from his temple.
But there were too many.
Before Kesh could finish the job, magic exploded against his side. A sword found his ribs. Another slammed into his back. He staggered but didn’t fall.
Until he did.
A blast hit him square in the chest, ripping through shadow and armor and skin. He crumpled to one knee, blood slicking the ground beneath him.
Another strike. Then another.
The last burst of magic threw him backward, slamming his body into the shattered remains of the central platform. Columns collapsed. The ceiling cracked.
Stone rained from above as the palace began to break apart.
Dust settled around him. The stone beneath his back burned hot with dark magic, and his every breath was a blade in his chest.
Kesh pushed up on shaking arms. He had to move. Had to stand. He couldn’t fail her, he couldn’t?—
Before he could lift more than his shoulders, a black whip of magic slammed into his spine, forcing him flat. He snarled and tried again, but another lash struck, then another. Power lashed from every direction, from the surviving lords who’d chosen the Europeans’ side.
Aragalan limped into view, blood streaking his face, one arm held stiff, but his eyes burned with fury. Behind him, two more lords, hands raised, magic coiled and ready, closed in. Together, they bound Kesh down. Power wrapped around his limbs, his chest, pressing harder the more he fought it.
He snarled and strained against it until his muscles screamed and his veins burned. The marble cracked beneath his body with the rumble of his magic, fighting to break free, but the binds held. There were too many.
He’d lost.
Through the haze of blood and dust, his gaze found Georgia again. His heart ached more than his body ever could at her wide, sorrowful eyes, fixed on his. She hadn’t looked away during the entirety of the battle. Nor his defeat.
In her blue gaze, he saw everything he’d lost when he let fear and weakness reject the woman who’d shown him what it was to know love. If he’d claimed her, like every instinct in him had screamed to do, like even she’d known he was meant to do, none of this would have happened.
Instead, he would now die with the knowledge that his failure to protect the one who should have been his mate meant an eternity of debasement for her.
The magic pinning him tightened. A crack in his ribcage sent blinding pain through his bones, but it was nothing—nothing—in comparison to the rending of his heart as the final vestiges of strength bled from his broken body.
In the end, he didn’t get to tell her how bitterly he regretted his cowardice.
His vision blurred, and as she faded into the darkness, all he managed was to mouth the last, inadequate words that mattered.
I’m sorry.
The magic constricted. Kesh’s spine arched with the force of it, nerves blazing in white-hot agony. He heard Aragalan’s snarl—something guttural and victorious—and then the pressure grew sharp, focused. The unmistakable crack of vertebrae beginning to split.
This was it.
His body failed, muscles twitching against the stone, breath a thin whistle in his throat.
Somewhere beyond the noise in his skull, he heard it. Her voice. Desperate. Shattered.
“No!”
And then came the light.
Blinding, pure. It exploded through the darkness behind his lids like a sun bursting open, searing into what little consciousness he had left.
And then…
