Pain.
That was the first thing Damien felt. It wasn't the sharp, stabbing pain of a wound, nor the dull ache of a bruise.
It was the feeling of being cooked from the inside out.
His veins felt like they were filled with liquid lead.
His heart hammered against his ribs with a rhythm that was too slow, too heavy, like a war drum beaten by a giant.
"Young Master!"
A frantic voice cut through the haze. A cool, soft hand touched his forehead.
Damien gasped, his eyes snapping open.
He wasn't dead. He was lying on a bed of gold coins that had been partially melted into a solid, lumpy sheet.
Isabelle was hovering over him, her face streaked with soot and tears.
Her demon horns were retracted, but her eyes were still glowing with worry.
"He's awake!" Isabelle shouted, looking over her shoulder.
"Leona! Lyra! He's awake!"
Damien tried to sit up. His body protested, his muscles screaming. He looked down at his hands.
