“You would kill your own brother for this woman?” he demanded. “Thishuman?”
Dorian panted, his heart slamming against his ribs, sweat pouring into his eyes and nearly blinding him. “Again, and again, and again.”
The demon laughed once more. Then, in a move so sudden and unexpected it made the whole world spin, Azerius blurred them back to the edge of the roof, pinning Dorian down once more.
He wrapped his hands around Dorian’s throat, and this time, his grip didn’t slip. It was unrelenting, choking off the last of Dorian’s air, crushing his windpipe, fracturing the small bones of his neck.
Soon, he would pass out.
Soon, the crush of Azerius’s grip would decapitate him.
Soon, Dorian Redthorne would reach his immortal end.
“You fought well, vampire king,” Azerius taunted, blood leaking from an unhealed gash over his eye. “But only a miracle will save you now.”
Miracle.
The word triggered something in Dorian’s memory, just out of reach.
An argument with his brothers.
Colin, erupting in anger.
A glass vial flickering in the firelight. A deep, red-orange glow.
A miracle.
Colin’s words whispering from the farthest reaches of his mind.
The miracle our father spent the better part of his immortal life creating. Distilled to its essence, slightly improved for quicker administration and effectiveness, but the cure nevertheless...
A smudge of light as he blurred to the mantle.
His fingers closing on the cold glass vial.
The miracle, still in his shirt pocket where he’d shoved it out of Malcolm’s reach.
“I am Azerius,” the demon said now, a grin of victory twisting his cruel mouth. “I am the King of Blood and Ravens. I am He Who Slaughters the Blood of his Blood. I am He Who Drinks the Blood of the Fallen. I am He Whom Before All Mortals Weep.”
“You,” Dorian choked out,“are a test subject.” With his very last bit of strength, he jammed the syringe into Azerius’ neck and pressed the plunger, dosing him with the miracle cure.
The air rushed back into his lungs as Azerius released his throat, his hands clawing at the puncture wound.
But it was too late. The cure was already doing its work, turning the vampire body into a human, weakening him. Breaking him down.
With Azerius still looming over him, Dorian shoved his hand through the demon’s chest—Malcolm’s chest—gripping his heart just as he’d done the night of the council meeting.
In that terrible, blood-drenched moment, the demon’s eyes shifted from black to golden, his face crumpling in anguish as he looked upon Dorian with the face of his brother Malcolm.
“Please, brother,” he said, stealing Malcolm’s voice. “Don’t do this.”
A tear slid down Dorian’s cheek, and though he knew it wasn’t really Mac—knew it was just another of Azerius’ tricks—he took the opportunity to say goodbye anyway, knowing it would be the very last time he could.
“I’m so sorry, Mac. For… for everything. But it’s already done. I… I hope you find peace, brother.”
He tore the heart from his chest, holding it for a brief, bloody instant before everything turned to black ash in his hands, falling onto his chest and scattering in the chilly Manhattan wind.
Dorian got to his knees.
