Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

“It is a flash burn,” he said quietly, focus remaining straight ahead.

I swept my gaze around again. Freshly disturbed ash nearby marked where Rhyzkahl and those with him had passed. Centuries-old char would surely have settled more. “This didn’t happen all that long ago,” I observed.

“No. Not long. Months.” Mzatal’s gaze followed Gestamar as the reyza leapt into flight.

I took in the magnitude of the destruction, felt the ripples of arcane residue, unable to deny that it felt like . . . “Mzatal?” My voice quavered for an instant before I controlled it. “Tell me what happened here.”

He continued to watch Gestamar. “I caused it. I unleashed flash potency.”

I stared at him, shocked and baffled. “Why?”

Mzatal’s eyes dropped to mine. “Because when you escaped me and used the grove to flee to Rhyzkahl, I . . .” He paused, jaw tightening. “Rather than taking you by force from the reyza Pyrenth, I retreated. I lost you not only due to your cleverness, but because of my adherence to agreements subsequently ignored by Rhyzkahl.” Remembered pain flashed silver in his eyes. “I vented my rage.”

I shifted close and rested my cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Mzatal wrapped his arms around me. “I cannot allow myself to lose control thus again.”

I sensed the turmoil within him, held him close. “I will try very hard not to be so unspeakably clever again.”

A quick laugh escaped him, and I felt some of the tension ease away. “Impossible,” he said, then cradled my face between his hands and kissed me.

I returned the kiss and did my best to conceal how gobsmacked I was at the amount of power it must have required to wreak this much devastation, pushed down the quick flare of Holy shit, I’m dating a demigod, what the hell?

“Well, if this demonic lord gig doesn’t work out for you,” I said with a smile, “I can hire you out to clear cropland.”

Amusement touched his mouth. “An interesting proposition, zharkat.”

“Just something to keep in mind.”

Chapter 2

A touch like a brush of leaves caressed me as the grove activated. “Someone’s coming,” I told Mzatal, then scowled. “Amkir.” One of the Mraztur. King of the assholes.

Mzatal growled a curse. “He will be a thorn in our side if we do not turn him away now.”

“Then we’d best kick his ass quickly so we can get on with our business,” I advised with a tight smile.

“Agreed.” His expression darkened with annoyance over the distraction. With me at his side, he strode toward the stand of white-trunked trees. Ten yards from the grove he stopped, took a wide stance

and coalesced a glowing ball of potency in his right palm.

I prepared to trace the sigils and direct the flows that would augment his attack, should it come to that. I no longer traced a standard summoner support diagram to feed him potency. We’d become a team, unique, communicating without words or even direct thought, in more of a unified awareness. All of the qaztahl—demonic lords—lacked the ability to create portals, and so I was able to supply those aspects, along with touches of grove energy. As he formed either attack or defense, I wove in flows, added my tweaks, and together we created pure awesomeness.

Amkir emerged from the tree tunnel trailed by a syraza and a venerable-looking reyza. I knew—or at least was pretty sure—we didn’t have to worry about the two demons since they all tended to stay out of any direct conflict with the demonic lords. Sometimes the demons would fight amongst themselves for their “side,” though I had yet to figure out the dynamics, and their explanations of the rules left me baffled. It was easiest to let them do their thing and not try to make sense of it.

Hard-faced, with dark eyes and a slightly olive complexion, Amkir came to a sharp halt at the sight of Mzatal. His confident smirk slipped into a scowl, but then he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “I have no business with you, Mzatal.”

Mzatal’s aura flared with menace. He swept his hand up to send potency in a scintillating veil to block the entrance to the tree tunnel. “If you travel with your syraza to your allies,” he snarled the word, “I will hunt you, and I will hurt you.”

The native potency flowed around us, appearing in my othersight as rivulets of varicolored light that spider-webbed through a faintly luminescent mist. I chose the strands I needed and called them to me, then wove them into enhancements for our shield, smiling in fierce satisfaction as the arcane barrier settled solidly into place. Mzatal wasn’t about to let Amkir retreat only to return once we’d gone for Idris.

Amkir glowered and clenched his fists at his sides. He knew Mzatal could and would carry out his threat. “Why block the grove then? Do you wish to entertain yourself and your slut by attacking me with no provocation?” His disdainful gaze slid to me, then back to Mzatal. “Or does she revel in carnage? Do the screams of others make her wet?”

Mzatal slowly opened his right hand. I felt the power build. “You will agree to depart and not return to this hemisphere for half a day,” he stated.

Amkir dropped his eyes to Mzatal’s hand and he took a step back, fear marring his expression for an instant before Totally Pissed Off took its place. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I will depart for half a day if you agree to stay any attack on me.”

“You will depart via the grove within fifty-five heartbeats,” Mzatal pronounced as he continued to draw power. “You will not return to this hemisphere for half a day. Unless you take aggressive action, I will stay any attack on you for fifty-five heartbeats, beginning . . . now.”