Page 138 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Every memory leading to the door slamming behind his wife only made him want to crawl farther inside himself. They blinked in and out of his mind, solidifying each terrible choice he made—all beginning with listening to Ehrun.

After Madan’s partner, Whelan, had been reported captured to be sold into the fighting Pits of Algorath, Ehrun claimed Azriel to be too invested to think clearly on a rescue mission. In response to Madan’s frantic desperation, Azriel’s father, the Crowe and long-standing Dhemon King, promised to free him. Azriel remained behind with his brother.

No one believed Ehrun would go directly against the Crowe’s decree: do not attack Valenul unless provoked.

But Ehrun had a vendetta after the vampires slaughtered his family. Holding a dying mate and infant daughter changed a man forever. He’d do anything to get his revenge on the one who ordered the massacre: General Markus Harlow.

So the Crowe left, and Ehrun, his trusted general, had taken Madan to manipulate the only dhemon capable of hiding amongst the vampires—Azriel.

“Bring me the eldest daughter of Markus Harlow,” Ehrun instructed as Madan struggled against his bonds, feet slipping out from under him as they neared the dungeon steps.

“Don’t do it, Azriel, or—” The only words Madan had said before Ehrun’s cronies knocked him out.

Ehrun smirked. “I’ll teach that fanged bastard the true meaning of pain.”

I hate you more than you hate yourself.

Azriel opened his eyes and stared at the floor of the foyer, the tile swimming beyond the sea of tears. After all he’d sacrificed, endured, and wrought, he still lost everything.

He pushed to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him as he staggered forward. The front door seemed so far away, but he had to reach it. Had to focus long enough to get through.

Ariadne wasn’t safe. So long as the dhemons hunted him, she would be a target.

I hate you—I hate you—I hate you…

The night they met hadn’t been Vertium, as Ariadne had once believed. It’d been a late-winter celebration. He’d waited patiently outside the Harlow Estate in his vampire form, watching the greedy Caersans dance. Hate rolled through him.

Hate for the way he’d been treated. Hate for how much he longed to be a part of it. Hate for himself at what he had to do.

At first, he’d seen Emillie. The knowledge-loving younger sister, laughing and eyeing the women in their ball gowns. Though he’d spent the journey to Laeton steeling himself against the horrible deed laid at his feet, his strength wavered. She didn’t deserve Ehrun’s wrath. Her sister didn’t, either.

Emillie had swept through the crowd, and as she disappeared from view, Azriel desperately pieced together a plan to ensure neither sister would be harmed by the deranged dhemon. Once he had Madan safe, he’d break the elder sister free.

Then he had found Ariadne in the arms of another man—Darien Gard. The bond snapped into place, and everything changed.

I hate you more…

He ripped open the front door of the manor he didn’t deserve and almost vomited at the sight of the carriage pulling away. The hole in his heart—gods, the wounds cracking through his soul—would be more than he could endure. Something he knew would happen the moment he agreed to join Madan in Laeton.

Mistake after mistake. How had he been so thick to believe he’d make it out unscathed?

He nearly had, though. For those few beautiful nights, he had everything he wanted. Everything he needed.

Despite Ariadne’s altered views of him, his feelings would never change. He belonged to her, body, mind, and soul. So he would do anything possible to keep her safe—whether she wanted him to or not.

To die for her was all he had left.

I hate you…

Changing into his dhemon form had never been painless, but there’d been a time he could endure it in silence. He’d done so in the shadows of the Harlow Estate before vomiting into the bushes at what he’d been about to do. Then he scaled the walls to her balcony and waited for her appearance after the ball.

Her screams when he had dragged her from the room almost destroyed him. He’d let her go several times. Then the memory of Madan’s limp body steeled his resolve, and he convinced himself he could make it work. Somehow, he’d free his brother and save Ariadne before she had to endure anything.

He’d hated himself then.

…more than you hate yourself.

He still hated himself.

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