Touch of the Demon (Kara Gillian 5)

Horrific entrapment for horrific entrapment? Was that what that meant? Knight had given no indication that it referred to Szerain, but that’s what I’d guessed the moment I heard it. And it sure seemed to fit here. Far too well.

Gooseflesh crawled across my skin. “Is killing and trapping Elinor why you’re in exile?”

He shook his head once. “Only—” He stopped as Zack tugged on his arm, as if to prevent him from saying something he shouldn’t. Szerain shot Zack a look that clearly said, I can’t take this anymore. He drew a deep breath, gathered what potency he could, gaze returning to Vsuhl. “It was most assuredly a contributing factor to everything.”

Szerain lifted eyes filled with a perilous hunger to mine. “My blade,” he said, voice low and fractured. He held out his hand. Twitched heavily. “Kara, give me Vsuhl.”

I took a step back, chilled. Vsuhl rested cool and quiescent in my hand, telling me all I needed to know. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I felt Eilahn at my back, silent and supporting, wings half-spread.

Zack’s grip tightened on Szerain’s arm.

“It is time it came back to me,” Szerain said, baring his teeth slightly, hand still extended. “Time to end this madness.” Clear in his eyes was the certainty that once the blade was in his hand everything would be different. And I knew that to be true.

Zack reached for Szerain’s head to put him back under, but with a feral snarl, the demonic lord ducked the hand and twisted in Zack’s grip, nearly freeing himself.

“Kara!” Zack shouted. “Send Vsuhl away!”

Sucking in a breath, I looked to the blade in confused shock. Send it away? How? I didn’t have more than a second or two to figure it out. Mzatal and Rhyzkahl seemed to simply will their blades to them and away. Is that it?

I did so, simply willed it to go elsewhere, felt its acquiescence, and jerked in shock when it actually did. “Holy shit.”

Szerain gave a strangled cry between dismay, frustration, and fury. “Dahn!” He closed his extended hand into a fist, shaking more as the quiet potency of the blade departed. Zack wrapped an arm around him from behind. Szerain struggled vainly as the Elder syraza clamped his other hand over Szerain’s forehead and pulled his head back.

Dismayed, I stepped forward. Stricken horror replaced the determined, haunted intensity in Szerain’s eyes, as if he knew he could do nothing to stop what was about to happen. “Dahn. No. I will subside. Jhivral, Zakaar…please,” Szerain gasped, voice near breaking. “I will subside.”

“Please, Zack,” I said, agonized, reaching a hand out toward him. I knew the torment that awaited Szerain. “Please don’t.”

Zack looked from him to me and back again, clearly assessing us both carefully, weighing options and determining if the risk was worth it. He slowly eased his grip. “You have a moment,” he said, and only the tension in his voice betrayed how much he despised all of this.

Szerain closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. I knew without doubt that he was calling a pygah, and in a few heartbeats he visibly calmed in both features and energy. How long has it been since he’s been able to do that? I wondered with a deep ache.

Szerain opened liquid, ancient eyes and met mine. “Dak lahn. Thank you.”

I gave a slight nod in response, watching him.

His brows drew together as though he heard or smelled something he couldn’t identify. His eyes shifted around, then came to rest on the exposed sigil on my chest. A muscle in his jaw leaped as his eyes traced the contours, expression shifting as if the patterns spoke to him. “Fuck,” he murmured, then lifted his gaze back to my face. “Rhyzkahl?”

A chill went through me. My lip curled. “Kri.”

Szerain went demonic-lord still, a deep seething anger, long submerged, perceptible behind his eyes. Without warning he ripped fully from Zack’s grasp and moved toward me, eyes on what he could see of the sigils. I sucked in a breath and took a step back, but before he could reach me Zack grabbed him by the collar and seized his arm once again.

Szerain pulled against the restraint. “Release me. I must touch it. You know I must touch it.”

Zack maintained his hold, looked from him to me. “Kara?”

“Let him,” I said, feeling Eilahn’s solid presence behind me.

Szerain moved in closer with Zack still holding his upper arm, intensity in his face intermittently shot with anguish and instability. He lifted a hand, laid his full palm against my upper chest, sucked in a breath.

“Rakkuhr. One sigil for each qaztahl, and one more to…” He tipped his head back, took a shuddering breath and then released it in what could only be relief. “Not completed.”

“No,” I said, throat dry. “Mzatal saved me.”

Realization flashed across his face. “He was the one who summoned you. He is ever the wisest of the three.” He shook his head. “There were times he should have listened to me. But far more when I should have listened to him.” He let his hand drop from the scars. “Fuck Rhyzkahl. Fuck him.”

I snorted. “Been there, done that. Rather not.”

His mouth twitched into a smile. “And I told you it was a very poor idea.”