No response.

"Enough sniveling. Now you will listen. We are going to allow you to live, king." The words were sneered by the dragon leader, a towering hulk of muscle and rage. "And with every breath you take, you will remember this day and the consequences of allowing your people free rein."

Layel barely heard him. Susan, sweet Susan. None had been as gentle, tender, loving or kind. Her greatest crime was—had been, he corrected with an inward roar—loving him.

She had been his everything. Yet his precious human had been slaughtered. For his lack of leadership, the dragon had said. She had been tortured because Layel had wanted nothing to do with the vampire throne and had refused to place restrictions upon the army under his command as his father had.

"I've awaited this moment for many months," another of the hated beasts said, spraying him with a stream of fire.

The flames settled in Layel's cheek, crackling, singeing deep. He gave no reaction, didn't even open his eyes. Truly, he felt nothing except the razor-sharp edge of his grief. If the gods would not heed his cries, he wanted to remain in this spot forever, wanted to die with his woman and child. His family.

"Look at him. Look at the mighty Layel, reduced to this."

All of the dragons laughed.

"I can see why you liked her, vampire. That tight little sheath took me all the way to the hilt."

"I liked pumping into her mouth, feeling her throat close around me."

"I think she liked what we did to her. You heard the way she whimpered…"

Finally Layel's eyelids cracked open, tendrils of hatred and rage blooming, growing, consuming him. Overshadowing his grief, becoming all that he knew. He glanced at the surrounding forest. The demons were still there, still giggling like children. Most of the nearby trees were charred, offering little refuge. Next he glanced at the expanse of dragon warriors. There were eight of them, their stances cocky, assured. Their golden eyes blazed with triumph. Except…