Page 160 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Azriel leaned away from the blade at this throat, but it followed. “I did nothing.”

A wicked grin stretched across the bastard’s face. “You killed our King.”

Numb understanding crept through Azriel. That was what he’d used to convince all the dhemons to continue following him—how he’d gained the title the Crowe once held. Ehrun blamed the death of their leader on Azriel, the Crowe’s own son, as though he’d ever vie for the position.

“Liar.”

“I wonder,” Ehrun mused, ignoring his accusation, “what decision will you make this time?”

He reached into the carriage and, to Azriel’s horror, dragged Madan out by his mangled arm. His brother shrieked and tried to pull away. The abrupt movement only peeled off more of his ruined flesh.

Ehrun laughed. “Now, doesn’t this look familiar? Your brother or your mate?”

Ariadne’s lips parted in horror. She twisted to look at Madan, but Ehrun’s grip tightened, and she whimpered, eyes squeezing closed.

Choosing between his brother and his wife had never been an option. It hadn’t been in Auhla, and it remained so even in the face of the dhemon who frightened him the most.

Fire lit through his veins, and Azriel closed his eyes against the pain as it ripped through his body. Bones cracked, lengthened, and settled into place. His skull split, making room for the two horns to form. He grit his sharp teeth and growled as he blinked his eyes open again.

“No,” Azriel snarled. “Not again.”

The sword disappeared from his neck as the dhemon holding it barked a curse. Ehrun’s eyes widened. The last of the unnamed cronies, a pace away, yanked a long, serrated knife from his belt.

At first, Azriel didn’t understand. They’d all seen him transform before. The latest additions to Ehrun’s ranks, perhaps not, but they’d have been told the truth about their old dhomin, just like the two in the Harlows’ garden the previous morning. Why, then, were they surprised?

The dhemon who held the sword to his throat fell face down onto the road before him, a massive ax buried in his back.

Before Azriel could turn to see the latest adversary, a scarred, midnight-blue hand gripped the ax handle and yanked it from the dhemon’s back. Azriel looked up and almost cried in relief.

Kall’s twisted face was at once utterly terrifying and beautiful. Three broad, jagged scars stretched from the horn base across one foggy red eye to mar his nose and lift his lip in a permanent snarl. With his hair shorn close to his head, the black tattoos of dhemon runes stood stark against his blue skin. The one, seeing deep ruby eye, narrowed in on Ehrun, and he pointed the head of the ax at the dhemon. “Release them.”

Of course. Madan had told him Whelan and Kall would be nearby for the wedding. Though there’d been silence along his connection to Razer, his plea for aid was still heard. Kall answered, not with words, but action—as the horned fae was wont to do.

Before the others could regain their composure, Azriel launched forward, aiming for Ehrun’s legs. The massive dhemon dropped his hold on both Ariadne and Madan to step out of reach.

“Run,” Azriel snapped to Ariadne, and to his relief, she did not freeze. She gaped, then took off in the direction they’d come.

When Mikhal started after her, Kall grunted in annoyance and charged. The dhemon fell, a hair’s breadth from grabbing Ariadne again, as his friend tackled him to the ground. They grappled there for a moment before Kall snapped the bastard’s neck.

Ehrun’s fist collided with Azriel’s face. He staggered back, head spinning. His vision flickered, and Madan pushed to his feet with a grimace. The movement reopened several cuts, including his stomach, but Azriel couldn’t find his voice to tell him to stand down.

The last dhemon stepped in behind Azriel and wrapped an arm around his chest, holding him steady as Ehrun pulled out a knife with a smirk. He stepped forward and flipped the blade once. “This is going to be so fun.”

To his horror, three more dhemons stepped out of the shadows between the trees and stalked forward. This was it.

At least Ariadne ran.

Madan lurched forward and grabbed Ehrun’s wrist. He snarled and jerked the dhemon down with enough surprise force he could sink his fangs into the bastard’s neck.

“No!” Azriel wheezed as one of the latest dhemons punched him in the stomach. He curled in on himself.

It didn’t take much for Ehrun to shake Madan off. A firm push and the vampire fell to the ground again, where Ehrun kicked him hard in the ribs. “Maybe I should make you watch him die first.”

Azriel writhed in the dhemon’s grip and, planting his feet wide, picked him up on his back and twisted his shoulders to drop him to the ground. The dhemon landed on his back. This time Azriel didn’t kick his head; he stomped his foot straight down on his face. The hard skull cracked beneath his force the first time. The second time, it caved in.

Then he grabbed both of Ehrun’s knees and slammed him backward onto the gravel. The knife flew from the dhemon’s grip. They scrambled, Azriel on top in a desperate attempt to keep the bastard on the ground. With the size difference, he didn’t manage it for long.

Ehrun’s grappling had always been the best in Auhla.

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