"The only misunderstanding is yours, thinking you'd ever see him again." I take a step forward, ignoring the guards who immediately tense. "Remove your hand from him."
Erisen's eyes lock with mine, and I see a flicker of hope rise in them. It feeds something primal in my chest—something I thought had died with Zevan.
Vorrak rises, pulling Erisen closer. "Fascinating. You've gone native, Vrath'Sarrin. Developed sympathies for my property." His lip curls. "Did the human whore seduce you? Is that it? Or was it simple greed? Did you think to extort more novas from me?"
My hand tightens on my sword hilt. "A dead man can't claim anyone or anything."
The threat hangs in the air between us, heavy and unmistakable. Vorrak's face darkens, those aristocratic features contorting with rage.
"You dare threaten me? In my own stronghold?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "Guards, remove his limbs. Slowly. I want him conscious for what comes after."
The guards move as one, drawing their weapons with practiced precision. I don't wait for them to reach me. I lunge toward the nearest, driving my shoulder into his chest and using the momentum to swing my blade at the second guard. The sword connects with a wet thud, and I pivot back to finish the first.
"Run, Erisen!" I shout, but Vorrak has already yanked the boy behind his throne, toward a hidden exit.
The remaining two guards converge on me, their blades a coordinated dance of death. Under normal circumstances, I'd dispatch them efficiently, but exhaustion makes my movements sluggish. A blade catches my side, opening a fresh gash beneath my ribs. Blood, hot and slick, courses down my leg. Another strike grazes my shoulder, cutting through muscle.
Pain blooms white-hot through my body, but I push through it, focusing on Vorrak's retreating back. On Erisen's fear.
"You'll have to kill me to keep him," I growl, driving my sword through one guard's throat while taking a vicious cut across my back from the other.
I whirl, catching the last guard's sword with my bare hand, feeling flesh part as I pull him forward onto my blade. His weight drives me back against a column, the impact jarring my wounds. My vision swims, black edges creeping in, but I force myself upright.
Vorrak has paused at a side door, watching with cruel amusement. "Look at you," he sneers. "You can barely stand."
He's right. My body is a collection of injuries, each clamoring for attention. The firemaw burns across my arms have reopened, weeping clear fluid down my wrists. The crossbow bolt grazeon my thigh throbs with every heartbeat. Fresh cuts and a stab wound leak my lifeblood onto the polished floor.
But none of that matters. Not when Erisen's eyes meet mine again, those golden irises so like my own, filled with a desperate trust that cuts deeper than any blade.
"I don't need to stand," I say, pushing away from the column. "I just need to kill you."
26
DOMNO
Ihaul myself forward, my body a catalog of agony, each movement tearing open fresh wounds. Blood trails behind me, turning Vorrak's pristine floor slick beneath my boots. The logical part of my mind—the hunter's instinct—screams that I'm finished, that my injuries are too severe to continue.
But something deeper rises above that voice. Something primal and fierce that has nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the small, wide-eyed boy watching me.
"He's mine," I growl, the words barely audible through blood-flecked lips. "Not Yours.Mineto protect."
Vorrak yanks Erisen closer, his perfect aristocratic features twisting with contempt. "Pathetic. Is this what the feared Domno has become? Bleeding out for a half-breed child?" He draws a ceremonial dagger from his belt, its black blade gleaming with an unnatural sheen. "Perhaps I'll let the boy watch you die before I teach him his proper place."
The world narrows to a single point—Erisen's face, terror and hope warring in those golden eyes so like my own. Not by blood, but by something stronger. Something I never believed in until now.
I lunge forward, my movements no longer calculated or efficient. Just raw desperation fueled by something I've never felt before. Not rage. Not duty.
Love.
Vorrak sidesteps, slashing the dagger across my chest. The blade burns like acid, enchanted steel leaving a wound that smokes and hisses. I ignore it. Pain is temporary. Losing Erisen is unthinkable.
"You won't touch him again," I snarl, catching Vorrak's wrist as he attempts another strike. His shock at my speed despite my injuries gives me the opening I need. I slam my forehead into his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of his aristocratic nose.
He staggers back, blood streaming between his fingers. "Guards!" he screams, but there's no one left to answer.
I advance on him, relentless despite the blood pouring from my wounds, despite the black edges crowding my vision. Vorrak's eyes widen as he realizes what stands before him isn't just a wounded demon, but something he's never faced—a father who would tear apart the world for his child.
"This isn't possible," he hisses, genuine fear flickering across his features. "What are you?"
