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He stares deep into my eyes. I meet his gaze, feeling as if I am looking at a Volikan no one else has ever seen. The Volikan that hides inside of him, protecting all his bruised pieces.
“Just come back to me,” I whisper, placing a hand on his cheek.
He cups his own hand over it, trapping it against the skin. Smiling softly, he moves my hand to kiss the palm. “I will. But for now, I must go. I won’t leave you waiting long this time, my dear Anastasia. And I’ll bring more kisses when I return.”
He hurries out, offering only one last quick glance behind him. In the door, I see Laura move suddenly out of the way. She has been watching our interaction with a smile on her face, but she sobers when she sees him coming.
He isn’t angry, as I think she expected. He offers only a brief, distracted nod and makes a quick exit. I stare at him in stunned silence, and hope that he will keep his word.
Just come back to me, Volikan.
118
VOLIKAN
My blood thrums with barely checked rage. And with Prince Rej’thorek at my side, I can act with impunity.
Crowds part for us as we march down the street. Even the matrons take a step back as we pass, their eyes lingering on the hard leather breastplates and armor we wear and the Prince’s twin scimitars.
Lightning flashes above, glittering in the hilt of my sword.
Today is the day Drir’gen dies.
The path to the bar is well-worn and familiar, and I can’t help but remember all the times I stumbled down it with Drir’gen in tow. How I trusted him, like a fool. The rage bubbling inside spills over into a full-blown boil by the time we reach the front steps.
Before I see him, I hear his wretched voice.
His laughter.
“You should try one, if you get the chance. The King is handing them out like candy now, even that oaf Volikan got one, not that he knew the first thing to do with her.”
“And you did?”
The Prince holds my arm fast. We stand at the front of the steps, and the pub door is wide open. Drir’gen would see me if he’d just look slightly to the left, but his gaze is only for the sycophantic volvaths that stand a head beneath him, hanging on his every word.
“Stay calm,” the Prince urges.
Drir’gen sets his glass down with a clank and spreads his hands wide. “I took that bitch so hard, nothing was left but a blood stain.”
The crowd roars with laughter, which is fortunate, because it covers the sound of my thundering steps. My sword swings above his friend’s head, taking a corner of his horn with it. I don’t care—he was laughing at Anastasia, and I’ll take a piece off his head once I finish with Drir’gen for the sheer audacity. But first, I’ll end this with my old friend. My sword sails towards his bare, vulnerable throat.
If he were anyone else, this is where the battle would end. He’d drunk, and I have the element of surprise. It shouldn’t even be a contest.
But even drunk, Drir’gen is fast. Hasn’t he been the only demon who can best me in battle? My sword plunges into his seat, but he’s leapt up onto the bar counter, spilling drinks to the floor with a crash.
A bit of his useless wing falls as well, and dark blood oozes from his wound.
I pull my sword free. The oily black stone is cracked, and the bar owner is displeased. He storms out from the back of the pub, hands on his hips.
“Take this out…” he trails off.
“We are having a battle of honor,” the Prince says with an imperious tilt to his chin and a foreboding stare. “Here, and now. You will be compensated accordingly.”
The pub owner lifts his hands in placation and slowly steps back into his office. As soon as he leaves, I point at Drir’gen with the end of my sword.
“You trashed my home,” I snarl at my former friend. “Like some sort of hexed razorfiend, and still couldn’t catch a little human woman while you were at it.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
