The smell of burnt wood choked the air. Lord Herman's once-grand mansion was now a crumbling ruin, flames licking up the walls while smoke billowed into the night sky.
Screams tore through the chaos. Nobles ran in blind panic, some dragging injured friends, others trampling anyone who fell. Shattered crystal and burning tapestries rained down behind them.
Dorian's eyes darted wildly until they found Simon. The knight's crimson gaze blazed with pure fury.
A crushing pressure slammed into Dorian's chest. He groaned, knees buckling as the weight of Simon's killing intent pressed down on him like an iron fist.
"Do you know anything about this?" Simon growled.
"I don't!" Dorian rasped, fighting for air. "I'm as confused as you are. Where are the others? That explosion—it came from Lady Hazel's position!"
"She'll be fine…" Simon's fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. "The others… they're dead. I was too late."
Dorian dragged a hand through his hair, breath shaky. This was bad. Really bad.
"Two incoming on your right," Simon whispered, already shifting into a fighting stance.
"We have to get out of here. Go assist Lady Hazel. I'll take care of them—or at least buy you time."
Simon hesitated. Those two incoming auras were strong, but Her Highness's condition was unknown. As much as he hated the noble's cocky attitude, he was grateful for the sacrifice.
"Go." Dorian shoved him forward. "This pitiful gaze doesn't suit you."
Simon nodded once, then broke into a run. He paused mid-stride when Dorian called after him.
"Tell her… we'll always be with her."
***
"Well done, Princess."
That voice.
Hazel's blood turned to ice.
She hadn't been hallucinating on the dance floor. He was here.
"Let me offer you a deal," the velvet tone slid into her mind, dark, sultry, and far too familiar. "Tell me… what is it you truly desire?
The question hit her like a blade. Power. Freedom. Answers. She wanted them all.
She struggled to stand, legs shaking. That last attack had drained her completely. Black spots danced across her vision. The power laced behind his words tugged at her, urging her to answer, to give in.
She refused.
She would never sell herself to a demon. They were all pathetic, power-hungry monsters. Especially not him. But gods, she was in a dire situation. Her heart bled at the thought of her men.
She prayed Simon had understood the signal behind the explosion.
"What an interesting little thing you are," the demon—Malaar—drawled, strolling closer with unhurried steps. "A half-blood with flames strong enough to harm demons."
He pressed a hand against her wounded shoulder. She winced. With casual cruelty he flung her sideways. She crashed through pillars, marble shattering around her. Pain exploded across her back and chest.
Malaar kept walking, the building crumbling beside him. That same mocking smile never left his face.
"You think I'd kill you quickly? No. You deserve a slow, painful death for being so weak. For carrying that cursed bloodline."
"Bloodline, huh?" Hazel laughed, the sound tired and broken. Her eyes burned with exhaustion and defiance.
"Your Highness!" Simon's shout cut through the smoke. He appeared in a blur, dragging her to a safer spot before turning to face the demon.
Malaar tilted his head, unbothered. "Oh? A vampire. Interesting." He rested both hands on his sword. "A pure one at that."
Simon attacked in a clean, vicious sweep. The demon parried effortlessly and countered with lazy slashes.
"Disappointing."
"We can be considered your superiors,"
Simon snarled.
He attacked again, faster, more brutal. Malaar still dodged and parried with ease, clearly toying with him.
Hazel watched from the ground, injuries healing slowly. This demon was too strong. He wasn't even trying.
He's going to die.
Her body ran cold.
She knew it. They all were.
"Beg for my help, Hazel," the voice whispered again in her head.
She clenched her fist. She hated how helpless she felt. The demon was toying with her right-hand man like a cat with a mouse.
"Enough. This is already boring," Malaar sighed.
His speed exploded. Before Simon could react, the demon's hand tore straight through his chest.
Hazel watched Simon's body slump. His crimson eyes widened in shock, then dimmed.
"Run…" he tried to shout, but the word died in a gurgle of blood.
"Nooooo!" she roared. This was madness. This wasn't fair. Why had she hesitated? Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Please… help…"
Malaar laughed, loud and delighted, savoring the sound of her breaking. "Sorry, girl. There's no one here anymore."
Suddenly the shadows stirred.
A heavy, suffocating wave of death rolled through the room. The world itself seemed to lose all color—everything drained to greys and blacks, as if death had swallowed the light.
A silhouette stepped out of the darkness.
Hazel felt a gentle hand stroke her tear-streaked cheek. Violet eyes burned with cold fury.
"It's alright," the voice murmured, soft yet terrifying. "I'm here, Hazel."
The world went black.
"You… Lord Lucien!" Malaar gasped, stance shifting to flee. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"It's Damon now." Damon rose slowly, cradling the unconscious princess against his chest. Tears still glistened on her lashes.
Her spirit looked shattered.
Rage ignited in his veins.
He turned toward the demon, voice low and lethal. "Malaar, right?"
The demon froze. That was his true name.
"You shouldn't have touched her."
Damon appeared in front of him in a blink. His hand clamped around Malaar's throat. The demon thrashed, clawing at the unbreakable grip.
"You see, I've been restraining myself for a while," Damon said softly, almost conversationally. "But you… you deserve to die like this."
Black energy swirled from his palm. His violet eyes glowed darker, threaded with inky shadows. The power invaded Malaar's body. The demon convulsed, screaming in pure terror as his soul was torn apart and consumed piece by piece. In seconds he crumbled into drifting motes of black ash.
"What a pathetic waste."
Damon turned back, scooping Hazel into his arms once more. His gaze lingered on the fallen vampire bleeding out on the floor. He hesitated for half a second.
She would feel even worse knowing none of her men survived.
With a casual flick of his wrist, red energy swirled from Simon's corpse and sank back into the knight's body.
"Live, vampire," Damon murmured. "We'll meet again."