Page 10 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“That is my name, yes.”

“—it’s night time.” Azriel gestured around them. “It’s dark everywhere.”

Taken by surprise, Ariadne choked on her laughter. She tilted her head back and let the sound loose in a way she had not in what felt like ages. When she finished, she wiped the mirth from her eyes and shook her head. “Fair enough.”

Ariadne leaned back on her hands, kicking her feet out in front of her, and studied him for a long moment. Perhaps it was the wine making her head fuzzy, but she found herself lamenting her first impression of the man. His sheer size and stony face painted him as intimidating. It seemed her judgment had been incorrect.

“From where do you hail, Mister Tenebra?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment as though relishing the thought of his home. “Asterbury.”

“Eastwood Province.”

“Have you been?”

“Not for many years.” She paused, considering the route from Laeton to the eastern range of Keonis Mountains. She had passed through the area more recently than she would admit to a guard she did not know. “The first time I met the Lord Governor, actually.”

Azriel grunted by way of response. Odd.

“Have you met him?” Ariadne let her feet settle against the cold stone path, soaking in the iciness on her sore pads. “Lord Caldwell, I mean.”

“Yes.”

Short and to the point. She pursed her lips. “How did you come to us, Mister Tenebra?”

“Madan is my cousin.”

“And you followed him here?”

“He asked me to join him for the Season.”

So he would not remain with them beyond the Autumnal equinox. All the more reason not to divulge too much. Madan, she knew and trusted. This man was a stranger, and before long, he would become one again.

“Where did you train to fight?”

“Quiet.” Azriel’s nostrils flared, and he shifted, boots sliding over the stone tiles with a hiss.

“Excuse me—”

“Silence!”

Ariadne stiffened at the sharp command in his tone. His hand drifted up and over his shoulder, gripping the handle of his sword. Her pulse picked up its pace at the implication. She had not seen or heard anything alarming, but she knew well that her failed senses meant nothing.

She had not seen, heard, or smelled anything off the night a dhemon clambered onto her bedroom veranda and dragged her into the forest, either.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask why he had silenced her, a bolt the diameter of her thumb stuck into the flowerbed a foot away. A second clattered to the stones at her feet in pieces, cut in two by a swing of Azriel’s blade. Her scream stuck in her throat, and for the next few heartbeats, everything went silent.

Then absolute pandemonium erupted.

Shrieks echoed across the lawn. A Caersan running pell mell toward the manor fell to the stones mere feet away, another bolt lodged between his shoulder blades. It struck him in the heart; not even a fast-healing vampire could survive that. When she tore her gaze from the blood sliding toward her bare toes, she saw them.

Like wraiths through the shadows, the dhemons of her nightmares stalked forward. A dozen massive forms blended into the darkness with their midnight blue skin and black clothes. More shifted behind them, glints of silver from their blades reflecting the light as they butchered the guards on patrol. Red eyes of every shade burned into her soul. From their brows spiraled huge black horns; they curled like a ram’s at the side of their faces before ending in a vicious point at their cheekbones. Long, pointed ears jutted from their silky black hair—the only sign of their fae heritage.

Every fiber of her being demanded she run. They had returned to finish what they had started a year ago. She had to run. Fast. Disappear and go anywhere but there.

“Ariadne!” The shout cut through the screaming in her head, and she looked up. Azriel stood low in front of her, sword drawn. He did not take his eyes off the dhemons. “Get inside.”

A small noise escaped her. She knew what she needed to do, yet her body refused to respond. Running meant pain. Running meant fire or knives or worse.

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