Page 132 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

The breath left the dhemon in a rush as his back hit the ground, punching the air from his lungs. Before he could recover, Azriel kicked his wrist hard to knock one blade from the monster’s grip. It flew toward the dagger while the second knife sliced at his leg.

Searing hot pain lanced through his thigh. Blood splattered across the stones as he cursed in the dhemon tongue. He shifted his weight off his injured leg and kicked again, forcing the dhemon to curl in to protect his face. His foot connected with the massive, curling horn closest to him with a resounding crack. Though nothing broke, slivers splintered down the bony annuli.

The dhemon swung his feet around to force distance between them. Azriel charged forward, took hold of the beast’s boot, and shoved it to the side. He took advantage of the split second he had to pass and slammed his weight to the dhemon’s body. To keep him from wriggling out from under him, Azriel pushed the dhemon’s hip down with one hand and held firm to the knife-wielding hand with the other.

“Fucking traitor!” The dhemon snarled, yanking his arm away with his incredible strength. “You will choke on the blood from your deceptions.”

Azriel roared right back as the hilt of the dagger slammed into his temple. He slid a knee onto the dhemon’s diaphragm and leaned onto it. Again, air coughed out from the monster, and his attention turned to pushing Azriel’s knee away. It was all he needed to control the dhemon’s wrist and twist hard enough to force the knife to drop.

Before the dhemon could recover, Azriel jerked the arm to his chest and adjusted the placement of his weight to pin the massive horns to the ground. Grabbing his own wrist to create a lock on the arm, he sat up straight and yanked the dhemon’s arm behind his back.

Another loud snap, followed shortly by the dhemon’s scream, told Azriel he’d broken the shoulder as intended.

“I will raze Keon’s mountains to the deepest levels of hell before you hurt her again,” Azriel hissed into the dhemon’s ear. He snatched up the fallen knife, dug his knee into the dhemon’s chest again, and held the blade to his throat. “Now tell me where my brother is.”

“Fuck you.”

Azriel slammed his fist into the dhemon’s face and said louder, “Where is my brother?”

The dhemon laughed, blood pouring from his broken nose. “May you suffer for the rest of—“

Another punch. Blood splattered. Now he yelled, “Where is my brother?”

“Kill me like you did your comrades.”

Memories flashed through Azriel’s mind, burning into his vision. He screamed in rage. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Dhomin,“ the dhemon taunted him by drawing out the word. “Dhomin then, dhomin forever.”

Azriel brought the blade down next, stabbing through the dhemon’s face again and again. Blood splashed across his face, the heat of it mixing with his tears.

They had him. They had Madan and would do anything to torment him with that knowledge. If he wasn’t dead already, he would be soon.

And it was all his fault.

He sat back onto the stone road, feet flat before him. The knife clattered to the ground beside him, and he crossed his arms over his knees to rest his forehead on them. His head pounded, his vision darkened, and the steady drip of the blood leaking from the dhemon’s destroyed face echoed in his ears.

Dhomin. Dhomin. Dhomin.

“Azriel.” Ariadne’s voice was quiet and cautious behind him. “Azriel, are you hurt?”

Sucking in a breath, he turned to her, and, for a moment, horror flitted across her face. The dark, oily feeling of shame twisted through his gut. He knew what he looked like. He’d seen his reflection after a fight like that.

“Not bad,” he croaked and stood, thigh screaming in protest. Warmth streamed down his leg.

Ariadne’s eyes snapped to the wound. “Not bad?”

“I’ll live.”

A long moment passed. He stepped closer, and—thank the gods—she did not recoil from him. In fact, she held out a hand to his face, and when he paused just within her reach, she brushed his cheek with her thumb. A stream of blood ran down her wrist before dropping to the ground.

“Why did you do it?” She searched him for an answer he didn’t want to admit even to himself.

But his face crumpled anyway. His throat burned, and though he tried to hold them back, fresh tears escaped. “They have him.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened. “Madan?”

Azriel nodded. “I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

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