Chapter 43 When Death Comes Calling
AZRAETH'S POV
Lilith's blade descends toward Mireya's heart.
I move on pure instinct—throwing myself between them despite my body screaming in protest. The soul-eater blade pierces my shoulder instead, and agony explodes through every nerve.
Soul-eater blades don't just wound. They devour.
I feel my life force draining into the weapon, feeding its dark magic. The curse accelerates, devouring what little time I had left. Hours become minutes. Minutes become seconds.
But Mireya is alive behind me. That's all that matters.
"Touching," Lilith sneers, twisting the blade deeper. "The demon king, sacrificing himself for his pet witch. Morwenna would be so proud."
"Leave... her... alone," I gasp, my vision darkening at the edges.
"Or what? You'll die at me? You're already dead, demon." She yanks the blade free, and I collapse. "But don't worry—she'll join you shortly. I need both your deaths to complete the ritual."
Through our bond, I feel Mireya's terror mixing with rage. She's pulling at her chains with everything she has, but the angel magic holds firm.
I try to stand. My legs won't cooperate.
The curse is eating me alive from the inside out. I can feel my power hemorrhaging, my immortal body finally giving up after five hundred years of slow death.
This is it. This is how I die.
Not in glorious battle. Not taking revenge on the angels who imprisoned me. But bleeding out on a cell floor while the woman I love watches helplessly.
Morwenna's final curse, claiming its prize.
Lilith raises her blade again, this time aimed at Mireya.
"Stop!" A voice echoes from the doorway.
Everyone freezes.
Seraphina stands there, but she's not alone. Behind her are dozens of angel guards, weapons drawn—all aimed at Lilith.
"You've violated the Celestial Council's authority," Seraphina says coldly. "The witch is ours to execute, not yours."
Lilith laughs. "Since when do angels care about proper procedure? You just want her death to yourself."
"Actually," a new voice says, "we're reconsidering the execution altogether."
An angel I don't recognize steps forward—older, with silver wings and eyes that have seen centuries. His presence radiates authority. Council member.
"Councilman Raphael," Seraphina says, surprised. "What are you—"
"The girl's research," Raphael interrupts. "The documents exposing our... historical inaccuracies. They've been distributed to every major university and supernatural community in the world." His jaw tightens. "Killing her now would only confirm the accusations."
My heart stutters. Mireya's research about the angels' lies—someone spread it everywhere. The truth is out.
"So you're just going to let her live?" Lilith demands. "Let the prophecy fulfill itself?"
"We're going to negotiate," Raphael says carefully. "Ms. Ashcroft, if you're willing to recant your findings publicly, admit they were fabrications influenced by demon manipulation, the Council is prepared to offer full clemency—"
"No," Mireya says.
Everyone turns to stare at her.
"No," she repeats, stronger now. Her eyes are blazing gold despite the chains suppressing her power. "I won't lie for you. Everything I published is true. You framed demons for atrocities you committed. You imprisoned an innocent king for five hundred years. You've been hunting demon-bonded bloodlines to extinction to protect your tyranny. And I have proof of all of it."
"Then you're choosing execution," Seraphina hisses.
"I'm choosing truth." Mireya looks at me, and through our bond, I feel her absolute certainty. Her fierce, beautiful defiance. "Even if it kills me. Especially if it kills me. Because my death will only prove I was right."
Pride floods through me so strong it hurts.
This woman. This magnificent, stubborn, brilliant woman.
I've lived over two thousand years. I've commanded armies, ruled kingdoms, survived torture that would break gods.
But nothing—nothing—has ever made me feel what I feel watching Mireya refuse to bow even with death staring her in the face.
I love her.
Not because of Morwenna's curse. Not because of the bond. Not because of prophecy or fate or any cosmic design.
I love her because she's everything Morwenna wasn't—wild instead of controlled, rage instead of peace, chaos instead of order. I love her because she sees the monster in me and chooses to stand beside it anyway. I love her because she makes me want to be worthy of her courage.
And I'm going to die without ever telling her.
"The Demon King appears to be expiring," Raphael observes clinically. "Once he's dead, the girl loses her power source. She'll be manageable then."
"Unless the Old Gods wake first," Lilith snarls. "Then none of your politics will matter!"
"The Old Gods are a myth—"
The entire prison shakes.
Not an earthquake. Something worse.
Reality itself cracks—the same way it did beneath Lilith's fortress. That impossible cold breathes through the walls, and ancient magic floods the cell.
"THE DEMON KING DIES," a voice booms in everyone's minds. "THE BOND BREAKS. THE SEALS WEAKEN. WE RISE."
Through the cracking walls, I see them. Three massive shadows moving beneath the prison, beneath the entire city. The Old Gods, stirring from their imprisonment.
"No," Raphael breathes. "They're supposed to be sealed until—"
"THE HIGH WITCH FED US WELL. DEMON BLOOD. WITCH BLOOD. ANGEL BLOOD. ALL SACRIFICES TO HASTEN OUR WAKING. AND NOW, THE DEMON KING'S DEATH WILL SHATTER THE FINAL SEAL."
Everyone in the cell freezes, understanding flooding through them.
Lilith wasn't working alone. The Old Gods have been manipulating everything—the kidnappings, the rescue mission, my impending death. They needed all these pieces in place.
And now I'm dying exactly where they need me to.
"We have to complete the bond," Mireya gasps. "Right now. It's the only way to stop them!"
"She's right," I manage, though speaking takes everything I have left. "The ritual... amplifies our power... enough to reinforce the seals..."
"It will also kill you," Seraphina says. "You're too weak. The power drain will—"
"I know." I meet Mireya's eyes across the cell. "But it buys the world time. That's enough."
"No!" Mireya screams. "I won't let you die for—"
The prison collapses.
Not the building. Reality.
The Old Gods tear through the barrier between worlds, and chaos erupts. Angels scatter. Witches flee. The cell walls dissolve into shadow.
And in the confusion, someone grabs Mireya.
Not Lilith. Not Seraphina.
A figure I recognize with horrible clarity—older, wearing a bone crown, with Azraeth's face twisted by five hundred years of jealous rage.
Cain. My brother. The one the Old Gods claimed was imprisoned.
"Hello, little brother," he says, holding Mireya like a shield. "Did you miss me? Because I've been planning this reunion for a very, very long time."
He presses a blade to Mireya's throat.
"Here's how this works," Cain continues. "You die quietly, and I let her live—as my bonded mate, once your curse completes and frees her for claiming. Or you try to stop me, and I kill her now, dooming us both but ensuring you die knowing you failed her just like you failed Morwenna."
Through the bond, I feel Mireya's terror.
And my own helpless rage.
Because Cain is right. I'm too weak to fight. Too close to death to save her.
I can only watch as my brother—the one I thought was lost forever—steals everything I love.
Again.