Page 161 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

As the final two dhemons converged, Kall hurdled back. He engaged the two, ax in hand, pressing them further and further away.

Azriel felt his world tip upside down as Ehrun bridged his entire body to one side, landing on top. In a desperate attempt to keep the dhemon from hitting him again, Azriel shoved a knee into Ehrun’s chest and let his body lift up onto his shoulders. Twisting under him, he grabbed the dhemon’s ankle and yanked as he pushed with his leg.

Ehrun hopped back on one foot, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. He snarled and brought his lifted foot back down onto Azriel’s outstretched arm.

Pain lanced up the limb, but nothing broke—not like his femur the last time they’d fought. But it pinned Azriel long enough for Ehrun to kneel on his chest with all his weight and slam a hand around his throat. Azriel coughed, then pressed a hand to the knee keeping him on the ground. His vision flickered.

One moment everything went black. The next, Ehrun reeled back off him, snarling a string of curses. A knife stuck out from between his ribs, just beside his heart. Azriel’s head swam, but the full picture slid into view bit by bit.

Ehrun whipped around to face Ariadne. She held Azriel’s sword aloft between them and bared her long fangs.

“You little bitch,” Ehrun growled and stepped forward.

One of the cronies disengaged from Kall, who gripped his bleeding gut with one hand and charged toward them. Azriel shoved back to his feet, still unfocused, and leapt onto his back. He wrapped his legs around the dhemon and ripped into his throat with his fangs.

Ariadne backed away from Ehrun and swung the sword, much to the dhemon’s amusement. Ehrun yanked the knife from his side with a hiss and held it tip down, ready to stab.

Kall landed heavily on his knees as the final dhemon crony slammed an elbow into his face. The next blow made Kall’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He toppled to the ground and didn’t move again.

The dhemon, satisfied with Kall’s unconsciousness, turned to Azriel with a snarl. Azriel tried to circle around, but the dhemon saw through the maneuver and held his ground. “You’ve failed, little prince.”

“No.” Azriel glanced beyond the dhemon, adrenaline spiking. “Not tonight.”

Madan dragged himself to his feet and, clutching the dagger from the carriage, stumbled to Ehrun. He shoved the steel between the dhemon’s shoulder blades once, twice—

In a whirl, Ehrun turned and slammed his horns into Madan’s chest, sending him spinning. Then the bastard’s knees gave out.

The false Dhemon King heaved a breath and looked to his last-standing warrior. “Go.”

As Ehrun struggled to stand, the final dhemon pulled him over his shoulders and took off into the woods. In just a few paces, the pair disappeared into the darkness.

Azriel surged forward to follow but stopped short when a small hand wrapped around his wrist. He looked back at Ariadne. “I can end this now.”

“If you go after them,” she said, “then you condemn your brother—and your friend.”

He looked beyond his wife to where Kall, then Madan, lay unconscious. Fresh blood leaked from the wounds, old and new.

She was right. Though he knew Kall would survive, if they didn’t get to a mage fast, Madan would die. Revelie’s blood may have helped, but it wouldn’t keep him from succumbing to his injuries—or the aegrisolis—forever. Ehrun would have to wait.

Loren could not believe what he saw. So outrageous was the scene in the distance that he doubted anyone else would believe him, either.

But after finding a dozen guards in various states of deceased strewn down the guard house cellar steps, he knew exactly who had been behind it. They left the ball early, Emillie had claimed when the other Caersans asked. But the hem of her dress had been torn, Revelie kept hiding her wrist, and Camilla would look no one in the eye.

No one else noticed the blood on their shoes.

So Loren headed down the highway at full speed atop his stallion in time to see a pair of dhemons racing into the woods, leaving Ariadne alone, wielding a sword as another dhemon approached her. She did not flinch away. She did not react other than to lay a gentle hand on the monster’s face.

Loren’s stomach twisted, and heat flared through his blood. This entire time, she had been plotting with the very beasts who had abducted her. Had this been her plan the entire time?

Behind them, another dhemon staggered to his feet, and after exchanging a few words with his comrade, hobbled away. Then Ariadne and the remaining dhemon turned to a form on the ground. In the three steps it took for the dhemon to reach the body, he changed. The horns seemed to reverse into his skull, his body shrank, and every piece of evidence Loren had been searching for revealed itself.

Azriel fucking Caldwell was a dhemon.

The Lord Governor stooped down and cradled the body—Madan—to his chest. Ariadne opened the carriage door so Azriel could lay the vampire inside, then closed it after she, too, sat on one of the inside seats.

The monstrous half-breed bastard climbed up to the bench at the front of the carriage and called to the horses. They started forward, leaving behind a wreckage of bodies and blood.

Loren watched them go, his sneer twisting into a grin. Finally. Finally, he had the bastard.

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