Diana Rowland - Fury of the Demon

Szerain drew a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, but to my relief some of the tension left his body. His face eased back to normal. I unwound his fingers from the grass and held his hand securely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“You did not know.” He opened his eyes again, focused on mine as though drawing support from me. And maybe he was. Moment by moment his speech improved. “Zakaar. You doubt him.”

“I do,” I admitted. “The thing with Tessa is pretty big to hide from me. And he hesitated back at the warehouse when I needed him to bring Mzatal.” I scowled. “And shit, he didn’t point blank warn me about Rhyzkahl before I ended up with a torso full of body art. As long as he’s bound to Rhyzkahl, I don’t see how I can trust him.” I searched his face. “Am I being unreasonable?”

“Rhyzkahl’s ptarl. Reasonable doubt.”

A sliver of dismay went through me. I’d hoped for some brilliant rationalization of why it was okay to trust Zack despite all the shit. “That’s the conclusion I came to,” I said with a sigh. “I asked Ilana about him, and she said he opposed Rhyzkahl’s actions and chose to guard you. And I was actually cool with that until I found out he knew about Tessa’s manipulation.” I leaned closer, looking into eyes that were Ryan’s but not Ryan’s. “Szerain, do you trust him?”

His face tightened as though a wave of pain swept through him. “Zakaar. Yes. With my essence.”

I processed that. With his essence . Then again, Szerain didn’t have much choice in the matter. Zakaar controlled his existence—very literally held his essence. If he didn’t trust Zakaar, what did he have? I felt my mouth tighten as I mulled over the implications. So what if Zakaar rewarded him every once in a while by loosening the grate? It sure as hell didn’t make up for keeping him submerged in the first place.

Yet to Szerain, those times would be precious gifts, conditioning him to dependence and attachment. The torturer lets up on the pain a little, offers mercy and brief kindness, and becomes the hero. A technique as old as pain itself.

A shudder crawled over me. Rhyzkahl had used that method when he carved the sigils in my flesh, and if not for Mzatal’s intervention it would have worked. Throw in the fact that Szerain had been enduring this for years , and it was a full blown case of Stockholm syndrome.

Szerain’s fingers spasmed on mine before his grip firmed. “Kara. No,” he murmured, and I realized with a startled shock he’d read my thoughts. “So much more than that.”

His quiet voice held such intensity and presence that I went still, focused on him. “Okay. Tell me.”

“I am not insane.”

“No, you’re not,” I acknowledged as I tried to figure out where he was going with this. He wasn’t stable by any means, but he wasn’t nuts either. “And that’s pretty amazing. I wouldn’t have lasted a week.”

“Some times of madness. Despair. But I am still . . . here.” He lifted his free hand, rubbed the fingers together as though to reassure himself he really was. “Because of Zakaar. Only because of Zakaar.”

I considered that. “Because he occasionally eases the pressure?” I couldn’t fathom how that would be enough to counter the effects of the submersion, especially long term.

“No. Yes, though that is only a small part.” He trembled then extricated his hand from mine and placed both hands palm down on the ground. “Every night— every night for over fifteen years—he speaks to me while Ryan sleeps. For hours. Tells me stories. Reads to me. Keeps me focused. Passes glimmers of potency to me, palm to palm. Halts my certain descent into madness.”

I stared at him as I tried to assimilate this new information into my perspective. “That’s some pretty serious dedication.”

“He does not have to do this. It is his choice.” Another spasm of pain twisted his face. “He expends much potency in my care. He grows tired. He does not say it, but I know it is truth. This does not change what you experience with him, but it is unfair to include his treatment of me in your considerations unless it is weighted in his favor.”

“Point taken,” I said, subdued. I remained quiet for a moment as I rearranged my perception of Zakaar in my mind. “I heard this from Ilana,” I finally said, “but I’d like to hear it from you. It’ll help me—” I sought the right word to capture what I meant. “It’ll help me reconcile everything. Did he really oppose Rhyzkahl and distance himself because of it?”

“This is truth,” Szerain replied. “And distanced himself yet more by coming here with me since Helori was prepared to be my guardian.” He closed his eyes as though gathering the strength to speak again.

I willed calm and focus for both of us as I considered his words. I had no trouble seeing the demahnk Helori as a guardian. It was Helori who nurtured me in the days immediately following Rhyzkahl’s torture. Mzatal healed the physical damage, but without Helori’s firm, gentle presence and imperturbable patience, I never would have recovered from the mental and emotional trauma.

Szerain drew a labored breath, opened his eyes and continued. “Though Zakaar stood against Rhyzkahl’s actions on many levels, it was still a heavy blow to Rhyzkahl to lose contact with his . . .” Szerain’s face went ashen. “To lose a ptarl. To lose . . .” His gaze sharpened, fierce and predatory. “Kara. Call Vsuhl. I need my blade.” He reached, caught my wrist. “I cannot call it as I am. Diminished. Through you. Through you.”

I tensed in shock at the instantaneous shift in his manner, but then a snarl curled my lip. No way was I calling the essence blade for him. Not now. Hell, not ever. I’d worked my ass off for it and damned near destroyed the demon realm to get it. Then I felt it—an insidious drawing sensation as he used our contact to call to Vsuhl through me.

“No!” I shouted. I yanked my wrist from his weak grasp, scrabbled back and lurched to my feet. Breathing hard, I watched him warily. “You ever try shit like that again, and I’ll kick your motherfucking demonic ass.”

His hands went limp in the grass, and his eyes grew wild and unfocused. An instant later he jerked heavily, collapsed to the side and went into convulsions.

My anger evaporated in an instant. “Shit! Szerain!” I threw myself to my knees beside him, caught movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced that way. “Zack!” Relief flooded through me as he loped quickly toward us. Of course the guard and guardian wouldn’t be far away. “He tried to call Vsuhl.”

Zack gave a nod, crouched on the other side of Szerain. He spoke in demon as he laid his hand on Szerain’s forehead, and within seconds the convulsions stilled. “I will put Ryan into deep sleep and fog Szerain as much as I am able.”

“It came out of nowhere,” I told him, brow creased. “We were having a good conversation. Then he told me to call Vsuhl, and grabbed my wrist. When I broke away, he collapsed.”

Zack lifted his eyes to me. “The blades have a strong hold.”

“So I’ve noticed.” I scowled. “He’s obviously obsessed. When he tried to call the blade, it was like I suddenly didn’t know him. Before that, even though it was Szerain without Ryan, he was familiar.”

“You’ve held Vsuhl. You know a hint of its allure.” His gaze penetrated me. “Not a day goes by that you don’t think about the feel of it in your hand, even toy with the idea of calling it.”

I opened my mouth to deny such an absurd notion, then realized he was right. “Sure, but that’s no big deal,” I said, feeling an obscure need to defend myself.