Madness Beyond Control

Book Four of the Aruvalia Chronicles

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When presented with difficult tasks
A warrior never questions their orders
Unless their actions represent danger

It has been one year since Domerin saved Aruvalia from the brink of war by restoring the true heir to her throne. And the restoration of stability hasn’t gone as smoothly as anyone hoped. Domerin has spent most of the past year in the field, bringing dangerous rogue agents to justice. It has earned him the unenviable moniker of ‘the queen’s jackal.’

But as always, Domerin is devoted to his duty. So much so that he fears it will destroy his burgeoning relationship with Crescent – as it has destroyed all of his relationships in the past.

Crescent can’t pretend to love Domerin’s job. But he does understand its necessity – and why it plays such a central role in Domerin’s life. He understands so completely, in fact, he has restructured his life to work more closely with Domerin – and keep him safe whenever an opportunity presents itself.

This change comes not a moment too soon, as Crescent is starting to suspect the queen is overworking Domerin on purpose, driving him toward ever more dangerous missions for some reason he can’t comprehend. And as Domerin embraces the tasks presented to him, something dark stirs within his consciousness, threatening to overwhelm him and drive him to the brink of madness.

Darkness and the threat of danger are hardly new to Domerin. Never before have they turned him away from an important task. But if the beast inside him should break free, he might cause an immeasurable amount of damage – if he can even be stopped.

A Darkness from Within…
Arum cursed and darted forward. Domerin swung the sword in his left hand to intercept his blade.

Their swords came together with a clash of steel followed by a rending crack.

Arum’s sword cut clean trough the electric blade. The top portion clattered uselessly to the ground, and the glow once again dissipated.

Whatever they used to dispel his channeling must have weakened the blade. A sudden, uncontrolled shift in energy states would have been enough – and he should have realized that.

He’d miscalculated.

He thrust the broken portion of the blade still in his left hand toward his opponent and managed a shallow cut across his arm. It was enough to make Arum scream and drop his weapon.

But in the time it took Domerin to close, the man with the daggers descended on him. He hadn’t had a chance to activate his armor, and the first strike pierced his side to the blade guard. The second strike managed only a shallow knick across the lower portion of the arm he raised to block it, but only because he was already falling backward, momentarily consumed by the searing pain shooting through the right side of his body.

The pain seemed to carry something with it, a poison that tainted his blood. But it wasn’t born from a chemical compound. It rose from deep inside him. It was an infernal frustration, a smoldering temper he had been swallowing since he broke through the grate. It was familiar and alien, a beast that had dogged his steps for months.

Normally, Domerin dissolved it with razor focus, knowing he couldn’t afford to let his concentration slip in the midst of battle.

But he was alone. No one knew where he was. Backup wasn’t coming, and it was distinctly possible that dagger hit something vital.

Something snapped inside him. That outraged frustration tore through his body, making his limbs move. By the time he hit the ground, he had slashed three times with the full blade in his right hand, and two of them battered straight through his opponent’s defenses.

He surged to his feet, heedless of the pain that consumed his body and the hot, sticky flow that drenched his lower right side.

He pressed his attack but stumbled when it came time to put weight on his right foot.

He fell to his knees but his blade had already struck its mark, sheering clean through the limb extended to block his blow.

Even as the man fell, Domerin tried to turn, hoping to strike Arum. But he was already poised for a killing blow of his own.

Arum’s sword arced.

Domerin mustered all the strength of the strange force that filled him to block the blow, but blood seemed to be rushing quickly from his body, leaving his answering movement slow and sluggish.

He gritted his teeth and braced for the inevitable slash.