Page 115 of The Demon King's Destiny

Chapter 30

Marrok stood on a narrow ledge, overlooking the ocean. The salted wind whipped his hair and cooled his skin. He spun to take in his surroundings.

He was standing on the small lip of a cave carved into the face of a cliff. It was over two-hundred feet above the water and at least fifty feet below the overhang leading to flat land. Shades of red clued him in to his location.

Prajna’s coastline was full of shiny, black stone. Gwydion’s was made up of sandy beaches. The Northland shores of Burghard were heavy with thick vegetation and the climate was cold, much colder thanthis place’s warm temperature.

The red volcanic rock was a trademark of Sundari’s southern coast. He was somewhere in the Southland. It couldn’t be the Corak Peninsula, whose coast was protected by ancient magics to prevent invasion from the sea. The magics of that place wouldn’t allow Dmitri to dwell within the cliffs.

Was this a normal dream? Disappointment landed on his shoulders right before his demon came to full attention.She is here. Look at the sky.

The sky was full of purples and blues, shades not made by the natural atmosphere. It looked just like Evelyn’s dream sky. It was the first time he’d dreamwalked to his mate in a setting outside of Gwydion.

She was alive so she wouldn’t be at the bottom of the cliff. With nowhere else to search, Marrok unsheathed his weapon and entered the narrow mouth of the cave. He moved cautiously, unsure what dark magics Dmitri might have at his disposal, like another demon who could break into Evelyn’s dream as Brennen had.

Orange and yellow light flickered ahead, where the passage made a sharp turn to the left. He could hear the mute crackling of a fire. His nose picked up the scent of burning wood combined with something putrid.

He moved faster. When Marrok got to the bend, he lifted his sword, preparing to fight. Silently, he rounded the corner.

The small circular space was well-lit by twin fires. One campfire at the back of the cave, and one blazing lump to his right. It looked like a pile of rags set afire.

The fetid stench of something that had been alive when it burned singed his nose hairs.Dmitri, his demon spirit rumbled.

Evelyn was on her side, her back to him. Marrok did a onceover, checking for danger. Nobody else was here.

He sheathed the blade and knelt behind his mate. Dampness soaked into the fabric where his knees touched the ground. Marrok’s eyes dropped to the dark shadow under Evelyn’s form.

No, not a shadow. Blood.

Carefully, he rolled her to her back and his heart stopped. The jeweled handle of the dagger protruding from her chest shimmered brightly, reflecting thenearbyflames.

Marrok debated removing the knife, but he didn’t know what would happen if he did. He checked her pulse. It was slow, but it was there. She’d lost a lot of blood and needed a healer.

He needed to wake and get help. Conjuring a short blade, he shifted to lie down beside his mate. As gently as he could, he slid one arm under Evelyn. He hooked one leg over both of hers, trying his best to hold on to her body in any way he could.

Marrok brought the hand holding the short blade across Evelyn’s torso, cognizant of not jostling the jeweled dagger. He cut the palm of his hand and quickly gripped the strap of her leather harness, praying to the Goddess he could pull her with him.

If he couldn’t, he’d have to search for this location. Even with Hale’s assistance, the chances of finding her before she bled out were slim to none.

He waited. Nothing happened.

Marrok sliced his hand again. Still nothing. Frustration and fear had him digging it deep into the underside of his forearm.

Finally, he felt the welcome dissolution of the dreamworld. He clutched Evelyn to him, begging the Goddess to save her, to let him hang on long enough to break her out of this nightmare.

* * *

Marrok’s eyes fluttered, the remaining fragments of sleep slowly falling away.

“What the—call for the healer, Favin. Now!” Danil’s low tenor barked and hurried footsteps scuttled off towards the door.

The bedding was wet under Marrok’s side, as was skin of the body he held. Hair caught on the scruff covering his jaw. Long, red hair.

He’d done it.

A moment of elation ran through him, cut off by the horrified look on Danil’s face. He was leaning over the opposite side of the bed, inspecting both Evelyn’s torso and his king’s arm.

“Slide your arm out from under her, Marrok. One of your cuts is deep and won’t stop bleeding without pressure.”

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