Page 27

DOMNO

I haul 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. Mine to 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?"

"I told you," I say, my voice steady despite the fire in my lungs. "A father."

The word gives me strength as I drive my sword through his chest, angling up beneath his ribs to find his heart. His eyes widen in disbelief as I push the blade deeper, bringing our faces close enough that only he can hear my final words to him.

"He was never yours. He belongs to her. To me. To himself."

Light fades from Vorrak's eyes as I twist the blade, making certain. His body slumps to the floor, the dagger clattering beside him. For a moment, the chamber is silent except for my ragged breathing and the steady drip of my blood onto stone.

Then a small sound breaks the stillness. I turn to find Erisen emerging from behind the throne, his golden eyes huge in his small face.

"Domno?" His voice trembles.

I drop to my knees, partly from weakness, partly to meet his gaze. "I'm here, little one. I'm here."

He throws himself into my arms with such force that pain explodes through my battered body. But I don't flinch. I hold him close, breathing in the scent of his hair, feeling his small heart hammering against my chest.

"We're going home," I whisper against his temple. "To your mother."

"You're hurt." His small fingers trace the edge of a wound on my shoulder, leaving smears of my blood on his skin.

"It doesn't matter."

And strangely, it doesn't. The pain seems distant now, secondary to the fierce protectiveness that fills my chest as I lift Erisen into my arms and carry him from the chamber of death.

The stronghold is chaos, servants flee in terror and the few remaining guards don't seem to know what to do.

I have to slash a few down, but it doesn't take long for me to make my way to the stables, where ornate carriages stand ready for Vorrak's use.

Ironic justice in stealing one to take Erisen home.

I settle him gently on the plush seat, wrapping him in a cloak from the carriage to hide his fine clothes—the last traces of Vorrak's claim on him.

My wounds scream as I climb in and urge the elegant zarryn into motion, but I push the pain aside.

There will be time for weakness later. Not now. Not until he's safe.

The journey back to Velzaroth passes in a blur of pain and determination.

I manage to address my wounds, enough so that I don't bleed out or get an infection.

Erisen stays close beside me, his small body pressed against mine as if afraid I might disappear.

Neither of us speaks much—there are no words for what we've survived together, what we've become to each other.

As we approach the abandoned temple where I left Esalyn, I see light flickering through the trees—a campfire blazing outside the crumbling structure. My heart thunders against my ribs as I slow the carriage, muscles screaming in protest as I draw back on the reins.

The moment the carriage stops, Erisen is scrambling down, his small boots hitting the ground running. He tears across the clearing toward the fire, toward the slender figure who rises from beside it like a spirit materializing from smoke.

"Mama!" His voice breaks on the word as he throws himself into her arms.

Esalyn catches him, dropping to her knees as she clutches him to her chest. Her entire body shakes with sobs as she covers his face with desperate kisses, her fingers tracing every inch of him as if to convince herself he's real.

"He saved me, Mama," Erisen's voice carries clearly in the night air, his words tumbling out in breathless excitement. "Domno fought everyone. The bad men tried to hurt him, but he wouldn't stop. He said I was his. He said he would die for us."

I remain in the carriage, watching them cling to each other, feeling like an intruder on their reunion.

Esalyn's eyes lift to find me, tears carving clean paths down her ash-dusted cheeks.

Even in the firelight, I can see the awed disbelief in her expression as she holds Erisen close, her son's words confirming what she never dared hope—that someone would risk everything for them.

Something shifts in my chest at the sight of her tears, her fierce protectiveness mirroring my own. I've never belonged anywhere, to anyone. But watching them, I know with bone-deep certainty that I would bleed out a thousand times to keep them safe.

I step down from the carriage, my legs nearly buckling beneath me.

The wounds across my body scream in protest, but I force myself forward, one boot in front of the other.

Each step feels like walking through deep water, resistance pushing against my every movement.

The firelight catches the blood still seeping through my torn clothing, but I don't care how I look.

All that matters is the woman and child before me.

Esalyn's eyes never leave mine as I approach. Her face is a battlefield of emotions—relief warring with fear, joy with uncertainty. She holds Erisen against her chest, fingers tangled protectively in his dark hair, but she doesn't back away. Doesn't turn from me.

"You're hurt," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Badly."

I stop a few paces away, giving her space. "It doesn't matter."

"You're covered in blood."

"Most of it isn't mine." A lie. I can feel the warmth running down my side, pooling in my boot. I guess I didn't stop all of it.

Erisen wriggles in her grip, turning to face me. Despite everything he's witnessed, his golden eyes light up. "Domno killed the bad men, Mama. All of them." He makes a slashing motion with his small hand. "They tried to hurt me, but he wouldn't let them."

Esalyn cups his face, examining every inch as though searching for injuries. "Did they hurt you? Did they touch you?"

"No." He shakes his head firmly. "Domno wouldn't let them get close enough."

Her eyes lift to mine again, something shifting in their depths. Not forgiveness—not yet—but understanding, perhaps. She knows what I risked. What I chose.

"Come," she says finally, rising to her feet with Erisen in her arms. "You need to sit before you fall."

I follow her into the temple, boots crunching on fallen leaves that have blown through the broken windows.

Inside, she's created a makeshift camp—a pallet of blankets, a small supply of food, a lamp burning low beside what looks like a nest for Erisen.

It's barely adequate shelter, but she's made it safe. Made it theirs.

Erisen stays close to her side but keeps glancing back at me, as if making sure I'm still there.

His small hands twist in the fabric of his shirt—the same one I dressed him in after rescuing him, now dirty and torn at the sleeve.

Despite that, despite the shadows under his eyes, he seems more animated than I've seen him since I found him in Vorrak's stronghold.

"Show Mama your new rock," I suggest, nodding toward his pocket where I know he stashed a piece of obsidian I'd given him during our ride back here.

His face lights up, and he digs into his pocket, producing the glossy black stone. "Look, Mama! It's from a volcano."

Esalyn takes it from his small palm, examining it with exaggerated interest. "It's beautiful. Where did you find it?"

"Domno gave it to me. He says it's the same color as his heart used to be before he met us."

Her eyes flick to mine, surprise written across her features. I don't look away. Let her see the truth of it.