Page 103 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Don’t speak to her.” Azriel leveled his sword at the dhemon who spoke. “Don’t even look at her.”

The dhemon tilted his head with a smirk and said something in his language. It grated on Emillie’s ears. When he finished, Azriel’s mouth twisted as though he understood exactly what was said. Maybe he did.

The next moment, Azriel charged forward. The dhemon laughed, but before he could pull the sword from his hip, the vampire was there. Emillie gaped. The dhemon dodged the sword and backhanded Azriel so hard, he nearly collapsed to the ground.

A small sound escaped Ariadne, and she lurched forward, then froze again as the other dhemon clicked his tongue at her and shook his head.

Why the dhemons did not attack her or Ariadne, Emillie had no idea. All she knew was that the moment Sul and Gracen unsheathed their weapons, they became targets, too. To their credit, neither had fallen to their foes.

The dhemon knocked the sword from Azriel’s hand with a swift kick. He grabbed the vampire’s hair and yanked him back to his feet, snarling something else in the foreign tongue. Azriel glared back and spit in his face.

The dhemon released him in disgust, and Azriel righted himself. Slamming into the dhemon, just as he had done in his duel with Loren, Emillie was unsurprised to find the dhemon did not go down as easily as the General. He shoved harder and pulled at the back of the dhemon’s knees, but the monster would not budge. Rather, he leaned onto the smaller vampire’s shoulders and shoved him to the ground.

Azriel scrambled away from the sudden turn out of his favor. He gripped the dhemon’s ankle and yanked his foot out from under him, pinning it to his chest. Standing, he grabbed the dhemon’s horn with his free hand and kicked the back of his ankle, taking him to the ground. Azriel landed on top of the dhemon and slammed his fist into the monster’s jaw. Now the second dhemon rushed forward, making to grab Azriel, but he twisted out of reach. As he moved, he gripped the horns of the one on the ground and pulled the dhemon’s face closer.

What Azriel did next reminded Emillie just how far removed he was from the Society. He bared his long fangs and ripped into the dhemon’s throat like a hound.

Ariadne gasped and grabbed Emillie’s arm in alarm. Emillie’s stomach churned. The brutality numbed her mind.

Azriel released the horn, and the second dhemon wrapped an arm around his neck to haul him back. He hissed something in Azriel’s ear, then looked up at her and Ariadne. A jolt of pure terror radiated through her body. Azriel’s sudden frantic attempt to get free told her everything she needed to know.

He knew what the dhemon said, and it did not bode well for them.

“We have to run, Ariadne,” Emillie spoke quietly and looked down the path the way they came. They would have to get around the throatless dhemon and past the one cutting off Azriel’s airway.

Ariadne said on a breath, “I cannot leave him.”

“You must!” Emillie pulled on her arm and blinked back tears. “You must!”

A hand landed on her shoulder, tearing a cry of panic from her lips. She wrenched away to find Gracen clutching his stomach, the dhemon he fought dead behind him. Blood gushed from between his fingers, and his wide eyes said it all—they needed to get out. Now.

In the next moment, Sul appeared. He limped up beside Gracen, sporting his own injuries where he had been stabbed multiple times in his thigh. A massive bruise swelled enough to close one eye, and the dhemon he left behind still breathed, though it was incapacitated. The worst part, however, was the broken and dangling arm at his side.

“Get them out,” he rasped to Gracen. “Go!”

Gracen took two steps before his knees gave out just as Azriel wrenched himself free of the dhemon’s vice-like grip. One vampire fell. The other sucked in a much-needed breath and charged back in.

In a single, swift movement, Azriel gripped the dhemon’s arm and pivoted, tossing the massive figure to the ground. He stepped over the dhemon’s chest, still holding the arm, and yanked hard.

A loud crack rang out, followed by the dhemon’s scream of pain. Azriel knelt over the monster, pinning his unbroken arm under a heavy boot, and grabbed the horn again. For a moment, Emillie thought he would tear into his throat. Instead, he did something far more alarming.

He spoke in the dhemon language. Back and forth, the two went as she watched in shock. Emillie had never known of a vampire—Caersan or Rusan—who spoke the tongue.

Ariadne let out a shuddering breath as Azriel stood again, dragging the dhemon’s own blade across his throat. When he turned to them, both sisters froze. Blood dripped from Azriel’s mouth and hands and coated the front of his shirt. His eyes shone like twin flames radiating untempered rage.

“What did he say?” Ariadne asked, her voice small and cracked. She watched him with a wary gaze but did not back away as he moved closer.

“Nothing of import.”

“But you know what he said?” Sul growled, lips lifted in a sneer. “You speak that foul tongue?”

Azriel glared at him. “A good soldier knows his enemies well. Don’t worry about me—worry about your charges.”

“Azriel,” Ariadne breathed and dropped the short sword as she stepped toward him.

“I’ll escort you to the carriage.” Azriel reached for her, then dropped his hand before smearing blood on her unscathed skin. “Sul will get you home.”

Emillie knelt beside Gracen and pressed her fingers to his neck. The slow pulse felt weak under her touch. “Will he live?”

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