Page 138 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
No. No. No. No.
Somewhere distant, her mother’s hands clutched at her, her voice frantic and pleading. But it was all fading.
Zarathos, her love. And with crushing certainty came the regret that she’d never see him again, that she had failed them both.
He would die there, and she would die here.
Miles apart.
No final moment. No last touch.
She’d never again feel his arms around her, never see the heat flare in his eyes when he looked at her. Never hear his wicked voice whisper to her from the shadows, or the way he said her name,Vampress, like it belonged only to him.
As her mother held her dying body against her bloodstained clothes, sobbing, all Aryana could think was how she regretted that there wasn’t more time. More time with her mother to really learn about the female she was without her uncle’s presence looming over them. More time to rebuild their relationship. More time to find out who she was in her new role as demon queen.
But especially more time with Zarathos.
A small breath speared through Aryana’s lungs. She hungrily sucked it in, cooling the horrible fire inside her. Her next breath came a little more easily, and the next. After a few more moments, she managed to sit up.
Why? How?
Her mother sat back, her eyes wide. “Are-are you all right?”
Aryana provided a nod. “My bargain. Zarathos must have been dying, but he…” What? Wasn’t now? Frantically, she yanked up her skirts and checked the mark on her thigh. It was still there. Only as the pain in the rest of her body cooled, could she feel the cold piercing ache that told her that he was still in danger—though not dying.
Shit. What was going on? Had the final trial started, or was it something else? She stood on shaky feet, tucking the scepter piece safely in her cloak pocket. “I have to go.”
Her mother watched her with wide eyes. “He’s worth all of this?”
A burning ignited in Aryana’s heart. “Zarathos is the only one who deserves to be king. His people need him.”
“And he needs you.”
“I love you, Mother.” She touched her mother’s head before racing for the door. She could grab a bat-winged steed from the stables. They could fly and get her to Zarathos’s castle within half the night. Her heart pounded. But if the final trial had already started, then half the night would be too late.
It didn’t matter. She had to try.
“Aryana,” her mother called, and she turned to see her mother’s tear-stained face. “If you go back, you must understand, there willbe demons who won’t want a demon queen on the throne, let alone a vampire demon queen.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Be safe, my sweet.”
Aryana clutched the vampire portion of the scepter in her grasp and raced through the castle to the stables, where she knocked out the stable hand. She sought out the skeletal flying horse with large bat-like wings and eyes of flame. It was her uncle’s, but now she’d use it as hers.
She leapt on its back and ignored the shouts of alarm as she lifted into the sky. Hopefully, her mother would quickly get the guard sorted out as to who was now in charge. The low-hanging clouds soon enveloped her, hiding her from sight.
The wind shifted about her, and she took a deep breath in.
Her heart plummeted.
The smell of demons filled the air.
They dropped from the heavens, coming from every direction. Aryana reached for her sword, but time had run out. A harpy rammed into her. Knocking her off her steed and she fell, slamming into the dirt so hard her breath expelled from her lungs and pain radiated through her back and torso. Several abaddons landed on the ground and grabbed her, pinning her in place.
Then one backed off, leaving the others to hold her immobile. He regarded her and then he changed. In only a couple of seconds, his shape had completely melted into a vampire’s form.
How was that possible?
