Page 147 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“Then one more thing. At my death, take all my bargains upon you and uphold them as I would.”
“Not likely. There will be no more bargains in my kingdom.”
“Then just one agreement,” he said in desperation, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “Take Aryana as your kalator, and the actions she has taken to save me—count them as fulfilling her bargain. Please.”
Aryana was his heart. And in this moment, he’d do anything to ensure she lived.
“Fine. For your dear vampire princess. You have yourself a deal.”He lifted a claw to his eye, gathering the blood that leaked there, and then extended his claw. Zarathos pulled his blade against his hand. And reached out. Sealing his last bargain.
Xaphoron shifted forward, slamming down onto Zarathos’s torso.
Zarathos released a roar of pain as his bones cracked and bent under Xaphoron’s massive weight.
The dragon’s head dipped forward, a gleam of triumph sparking in its one enormous eye. “When I find Aryana, I am going to take her life ever so slowly. All the work you did to protect her will be incentive for me to drag out her suffering. Let those be the last words you hear as I tear you apart. Piece by piece.”
Blackness gathered around his vision. Pain radiated through every part of his body and blood rushed up his throat, coating his lips.
“Aryana… will… end you.” The certainty blazed in his chest as strongly as the agony enveloping him.
“Pohan!” a voice shouted across the arena.
The dragon’s head lifted, and Zarathos followed its gaze.
Aryana walked toward them, radiant and fierce, her long dark hair streaming, her crimson gaze lit with deadly purpose. She stepped between two smoldering trees, the glowing scepter in her hands.
With a look of determination ablaze in her eyes that outshone the fire burning around her, she pointed the scepter at the dragon, and with a cry, a ray of light shot from the rod. It slammed into Xaphoron, sending him flying backward into the wall of the arena. The dragon let out a shriek of pain. The light seared into the dragon’s chest, and when it blinked out, Xaphoron’s form had shrunk back, a gigantic hole in his torso.
Aryana stood there, eyes blazing. “Stay the hell away from my husband.”
Gods, he loved his vampress. His weakness had saved him. She’d become his strength.
She rushed to his side. “Zarathos,”—her hands roved over his body—“What can I do? How can I help?”
“A potion…” he murmured, recalling what Noctyssa had said about every champion receiving one except Zarathos. He motioned toward the wounded demon she had struck down. “Xaphoron is carrying one… it… mends the injured.”
She raced over with the scepter and shifted through Xaphoron’s clothes. She returned with the potion in her grasp. “H-here.” Her fingers shook and her beautiful crimson eyes were wide with panic.
She poured the liquid into his mouth and almost instantly, the pain eased as his body began to knit itself together. Aryana looked around, worry on her face. “There are things you need to know. That is not Xaphoron. That is Pohan. He’s a shapeshifter, and this is much bigger than him. The prison guards and some of the council are involved.”
“We have a coup on our hands,” he muttered, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “And you are here with me.”
She glanced at Pohan, gasping for breath along the wall, then held the scepter out to Zarathos. “This is for you.”
He took it, then carefully sat up, despite his body screaming in protest. The potion would take time to fully heal him. “Will you assist me? I must speak with Pohan.”
She helped him over to the wounded demon. Zarathos leveled the scepter at him. It glowed under his touch. “I want to make a bargain with you.”
“The hell I will,” Pohan gasped.
“I know I’ve hurt you and your family, and I realize I have no right to ask forgiveness,” Zarathos said. “But despite everything, I cannot let you seize the throne and hurt my subjects. Give me back my bargain with Aryana, and I swear as king that I will be lenient with those involved in the coup, and I will grant your kind legitimacy within my kingdom.”
Pohan’s face was pale, his eyes beginning to glaze, caught in the last throes of death. “We want… our own kingdom.”
Aryana suddenly collapsed, dragging them both to the ground. Zarathos turned to his vampire princess. She was on her hands and knees, struggling to breathe.
She was dying along with Pohan.
Damn it. He had to end this. Forcing himself upright, he ground out the words: “I can’t grant land that isn’t mine, but you can have my father’s estates. They are vast enough to be a nation of their own. Do with them what you will.”
