“So what is your trauma?”
Blaise snorted derisively at Falcyn’s growled question. “Lack of parental support. Failure to bond. Kerrigan knocking me into one too many walls for lipping off whenever he was in a foul mood, which was pretty much always. Fear of fluffy bunnies, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Fluffy bunnies?” Falcyn wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, but it was so out of place for this audacious, lunatic mandrake that he just felt compelled to hear his explanation, even against all common sense.
“Ever seen the movie Bambi? Those little bastards are some strange brew. And don’t get me started on Monty Python’s Holy Grail and that hare-y nightmare.” Blaise visibly shook. “It’s to the point I don’t even want to see that stuffed pink thing Nim carries.”
At the mention of the harmless slug demon, Falcyn rolled his eyes so hard back in his skull, it actually burned. “You’re so effing weird.”
“Oh yeah, ’cause you’re hogging all the normality. Have you ever bothered to look into that abyss, my friend? I promise the pot is calling the kettle twin.”
“Have you a point to this mission, other than to piss me off and insult me? In which case, mission accomplished, but your life is drawing perilously close to its end as a result.”
“Wow, that’s some serious hostility you got going there, buddy. Need to chillax.”
Falcyn arched a brow at the uncharacteristic word. Chillax? “Who have you been around that you’ve picked up this all new vocabulary?”
Blaise grinned. “Morgen’s new toy. He’s addicted to all sorts of peculiar things.… And not just porn. Which is why I’m here.”
“What? For porn? Sorry. Not a pimp. Don’t need a pimp. Don’t want a pimp.”
“Wasn’t planning to act as such. Nor did I know you were into guys.”
Falcyn grimaced. “Talking to you always gives me a brain tumor. Explain to me how it is that no one’s murdered you to date?”
“Not from lack of trying on their part, I assure you. Let me revisit the whole Kerrigan slamming me into walls. But I’m just that fast with my reflexes. And lucky for me, you’re an old dragon. Decrepit.”
“You really want to test that theory?”
“Not without backup. So to the point of my visit…”
More agitated than he wanted to be, Falcyn crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for Blaise to finish that sentence. “Have you lost your thought, your mind … or just your nerve?”
Cocking his head, Blaise narrowed his gaze as if he were listening intently to something. “They’re here.”
“They?”
“Morgen’s dogs. That’s what I was trying to tell you. She was given a hole, and while she can’t come through it, her Circle now can.”
“So? Why should I care? That’s your battle, brother. Not mine.”
And before Blaise could let out another word, the door behind him opened.
Falcyn’s gut drew tight at the sight and arrival of Narishka duFey Morgen’s right-hand bitch.
And the creature Falcyn hated most.
So much for this being Blaise’s battle alone. Falcyn’s blood flowed thick through his veins as he started for the tiny blond Adoni who’d robbed him of everything he’d ever hoped to love.
Holding her hand up, she caught him with her powers and tsked. “You know better, dragon. What were you thinking?”
“How much I want to feast on your entrails, fey-bitch!”
And still she didn’t flinch. Rather, she shook her head at him. “Now, now, is that any way to speak to the stepmother of your child?”
Those words only fired his anger more as they awoke a pain so profound inside him that not even all these centuries could quell it. “You mean the murderess of my son, don’t you?”
Blaise gaped. The birth of his son was something Falcyn had never mentioned to another living creature.
Other than Max.
And neither of them spoke of Maddor, as the mere mention of it made him most violent against his brother.
Narishka only knew because she’d helped her sister conceive and birth his son. And to what purpose? To become a slave for Morgen le Fey—thanks to Max and his interference. Because of his brother’s actions, the mandrakes were nowhere near as powerful a race as they should have been. Hence why they all lived in servitude to the fey whores of Avalon and Camelot.
Maddor, as their progenitor, had been the first to suffer—shouldering the bulk of Morgen’s blind rage because of Max’s actions. And there had been nothing Falcyn could do to stop her or help his son.
Nothing.
Not even on the day they’d finally killed Maddor because of Max’s curse. For that alone, Falcyn still wanted their hearts in his fists. Not a day went by that he didn’t burn in anger over the loss of his child.
And that was why Falcyn had loved and protected Blaise for all these centuries.
Because Blaise wasn’t really his brother.
He was his grandson. One he’d been forbidden to meet until long after Blaise had grown into his own. Which was why Falcyn had kept the knowledge of his birth from Blaise. Nothing save more pain could come from Blaise learning the truth.
He hadn’t been abandoned by his father. He’d been torn from them and left to die by the Adoni, who were even more cruel.
And it stung him enough for them both. There was no need in burdening Blaise with a reality he couldn’t change. Come hell itself, Falcyn would die before he allowed anyone to ever again harm Blaise.
“Bitch, please!” Falcyn used his powers to break her hold and slam her back against the wall hard enough to put a dent in the sheetrock.
Finally, panic and fear sparked in her eyes as she realized the true extent of his powers and her own weakness in comparison. She fought against his invisible grip. “Kill me and your son dies, too.”
“My son died a long time ago.”
Narishka shook her head. “Maddor still lives.”
Those three unexpected words saved her life. “What do you mean?”
Grimacing, she glared at Blaise. “Tell him! Maddor still rules over the mandrakes at Camelot.”
Falcyn felt the blood drain from his cheeks. No … she was lying.
She had to be.
“You play with me, Adoni whore, and so help me—”
“I would never!” Choking, she spat at Blaise. “Tell him, damn you!”
Blaise licked his lips slowly. His complexion paled as much as Falcyn’s. “Is Maddor really your son?”
Falcyn couldn’t bear to answer that question. Not while silent tears choked him. “Does he live?” His voice cracked on those words.
Blaise nodded. “Yeah, he lives. He’s a cold-blooded son of a bitch, though.”
Like father, like son.
With a bitter laugh, Falcyn closed the distance between him and Narishka. “She was a whore, actually. Treacherous from her first breath to her last.”
Narishka lifted her chin with a courage that would be admirable if not for the sheer stupidity of her defiance, given his hatred and blatant disregard for her life. “I told you not to kill my sister.”
Hissing, he moved to end her so that she could join Igraine in hell.
“Wait!” she screamed.
“For what?” The question was out before he could stop it. He didn’t even know why he bothered, since he had no desire to spare her life or to even hear another syllable from her lips that were more used to spilling lies than truth.
“You have something we need.”
So what? Was she effing kidding? He couldn’t care less about them or their needs.
He quirked a brow at that. “I own nothing.”
“Didn’t say you owned it. You protect it.”
He scowled even more, as there was nothing left in this life he protected.
Nothing other than Blaise and Illarion. And he’d never allow her to have either of them.
“Pardon?”
A dark, insidious light played in the depths of her eyes. “Let us negotiate, shall we?”
* * *
Urian scowled at Medea as they talked inside the small private room in Sanctuary that was reserved for whenever preternatural clientele became rowdy and needed a time-out away from human witnesses who might not react well to the reality of what they shared their world with. Barely more than a closet, their quarters were cramped, but it allowed them to not be overheard by any of the humans outside.
Or the Were-Hunters, who as a rule had very sensitive hearing.
And given the fact that his sister had just told him about a mysterious plague that was about to destroy her people, he was glad no one could overhear them.
“Why are you telling me this? I’m no longer a Daimon.”
Medea crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, but for all you know, this plague could infect you, too. Whatever it is that Apollo unleashed on us is taking an awful toll. I know you hate our father, but—”
“Stryker’s not my father!” he reminded her coldly.
“Biologically, true. However, he did raise you as his own. His wife birthed you.”
“After I was ripped from the stomach of my real mother by that bitch you serve … and shoved into her womb without anyone’s knowledge or consent!” And Medea reminding him of how the gods had screwed him over wasn’t warming him to her cause.
At all.
Honestly, he’d had enough of being their bastard stepchild they kicked whenever they became bored.
“That bitch is also the mother of your current boss and the beloved protector of your real father and mother, don’t forget!”
Urian hissed at her less-than-subtle reminder about Apollymi’s position in his world. “You have some nerve to come here and ask me to help Stryker or Apollymi, given what they’ve both taken from me.”
“I know that. Which tells you how desperate I am.” She swallowed hard. “They’re not the only ones who are sick, Uri. Davyn has it, too. He’ll die if you don’t help us.”
She saw the uncertainty that tormented him as she mentioned the one Daimon he still considered his family. While Urian might be angry at her parents and Apollymi, he would never turn his back on Davyn. Not after all the centuries they’d been more brothers than friends.
Not after all the intel Davyn had risked his life to bring to Urian.
The one truth about her brother—he was loyal above everything else.
Even his own pride and ego.
And they both loved Davyn and appreciated him for the rare Daimon he was.
“Please, Urian. I lost my husband and only child because my grandfather—the grandfather of your birth twin—was a bastard. Watched them both be slaughtered in front of my own eyes by the human vermin you protect. For no reason, other than they feared us when we’d done nothing to cause their suspicions. We were innocent and harmless, minding our own business when they attacked us. So don’t think for one minute you own some kind of market share on pain. Because trust me, brother, you’re a novice. You’ve no idea what I went through in my mortal life or this one. I’m sorry for what Stryker did to your Phoebe. I am, but I’ve lost too many to sit back and watch the rest die and not do something to at least try to help them. That’s not who I am.”
Urian froze as if her words finally reached through his pain to open his eyes to a truth about his sister that he’d never seen before. “That’s why you tortured Jared, isn’t it?”
Medea winced at his mention of the Sephiroth who’d been held captive by her mother and aunt. To this day, she was ashamed of some of what she’d done to him while he’d lived in their custody.
But not completely. In her mind, he more than deserved everything they had put him through. “He turned on his own. Led them to slaughter for the very gods who betrayed us while his soldiers put their faith and lives in his hands. And for what? His own gain. Nothing more. He knew exactly how treacherous the gods all were and it didn’t matter to him. Only his bargain did. He let his soldiers die under his command. So aye, I took my anger out on him when it became more than I could cope with. How could I not? How could anyone betray people who trusted him the way he did? Sit back and let his enemies tear apart his friends and family. Brutally. I’d go down fighting to the bitter end for a stranger. And I’m supposed to be the villain. The hypocrisy of what Jared did to his army sickens me every time I think of him. He sold them all out to save his own ass so that he would survive that war. There’s nothing I hate more in this world than a coward.”
“Except humans.”
A single tear slid down her cheek as she saw the face of her baby in her mind’s eye. He’d been so precious and beautiful with his curly blond hair and bright eyes. Dimpled cheeks and a laugh that had come from the angels themselves. So innocent and sweet. Medea had never truly lived until the day she’d held that bit of heaven in her arms.
And her heart had followed him into his grave.
“Praxis was five years old, Uri. Five. And he died in agony at their merciless hands, screaming for me to help him while they…” She choked on the words that she still couldn’t utter. Not even all these centuries later. The horror was still too fresh and raw in her heart.
No amount of time had rectified what they’d brutally taken from her.
Nay, not taken.
Shattered. She might have physically survived, but inside she was as dead as her husband and son. Only a husk of the woman she’d once been.
And never again the doe-eyed innocent who once thought this world a beautiful place.
So instead, she glared up at her brother. “Tell me, Urian, how am I even sane, given what they violently stole from me? No amount of time can dull a pain that sharp!”
He pulled her against him. “I’m so sorry, Dee.”
Her tears dissolved into rage, as they always did. Because she couldn’t handle the full weight of her sorrow. It was a worthless, horrid emotion that made her weak and vulnerable. Anger motivated her. Rage kept her in motion past that most wretched pain.
That was the only reason she was still standing. It was what had seen her through the horrors of her life and what allowed her to function. It fed her like a mother’s milk and kept her strong. It was what she embraced with both fists.
Her breathing ragged, she pushed him away from her. “I don’t need your pity. It’s worthless. You can keep it, especially if you’re not going to help me.”
Urian caught her arm as she started to leave. “Wait!” He wanted to deny her this request. In truth, he wanted Stryker to go down in flames and to laugh as he watched it happen. After all, the bastard had cut Urian’s throat in cold blood and murdered his precious Phoebe—the only woman in the world he’d ever love.
But Medea was right. He couldn’t allow the rest of what had once been his family and friends to die and do nothing. Unlike Jared, he couldn’t stand by and see his friends slaughtered unjustly.
Not if he could help it.
“There is one thing that might be able to save them.”
“What?”
He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to help them, but because he didn’t know what Stryker might do with the cure. In his hands, it could prove most lethal.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Somehow this was going to come back on him. He knew it. Such things always did, and they left him bleeding and cursing. Yet even so, he couldn’t allow Medea to be hurt any worse than she already had. She was right. She’d been through enough, and at the end of the day, they were family. Maybe not in the conventional sense, but he felt a kinship with her. And he had grown up thinking himself one of Stryker’s sons. Thinking of Stryker’s daughter as his own sister.
Every time he looked at Medea, he saw Dyana’s beloved face. Remembered their time as children and the day they’d renamed her Tannis because they could no longer bear to call their only sister the name of their aunt who’d allowed her own brother—the god Apollo—to curse them to die over something none of them had participated in.
They’d all been innocent victims of a fetid power game between the ancient gods. All of them had paid a high cost to continue living, just to spite those who would see them fall for no reason whatsoever.
For better or worse, Medea was every bit as much his sister as Tannis had been. And because he loved her, he refused to add to her pain.
“I don’t know if it’ll work or not.”
Medea chafed at his hedging. “Oh for goodness’ sake, just say it, already!”
“A dragonstone.”
Pulling back, she scowled at him. “A what?”
Urian hedged as he sought a way to explain it. But it wasn’t as easy as it should be. “For lack of a better term, it’s an enchanted rock the dragons have. Supposedly, it can cure anything. Even death. It even brought Max back after he was killed saving his wife and children. So I would assume it could cure this, too.”
“Where do you get one?”
That was the easy part.
And the hardest thing imaginable. “As luck would have it, there’s one here.”
Joy returned to her dark eyes. “Where?”
He visibly cringed at the last place either of them wanted to venture. Because asking for help there was all kinds of rampant stupid. “That would be the stickler, as it belongs to Falcyn.”
“That surly beast I met earlier?”
He nodded. “To my knowledge, that’s the last one in existence. The rest were all destroyed or have gone missing.”
Medea groaned out loud as her stomach shrank at the very thought of having to negotiate with Falcyn over something so rare. It flipping figured. She might as well stick her head in the mouth of a hungry lion and ask him not to bite.
Or her mother to shed blood when she was in one of her moods.
“Great. So how do I go about getting this thing?”
“Word of advice? Ask nicely.”
* * *
Falcyn stared at Narishka. “You want my dragonstone?” He laughed in her face. “Fuck off and die in agony, you worthless bitch.”
“Does your son mean so little to you, then?”
“About as much as you value your life.” He smirked pointedly.
Blaise stepped between them, aggravating Falcyn, as it prevented him from killing her. “Why do you need his stone?”
Narishka raked a cold glare over him. “This doesn’t concern you, maggot. Stay out of it.”
Falcyn crossed his arms over his chest as he cleared his throat. “Can I kill her now?” he asked Blaise in a bland tone that belied his fury.
“I’m about to give her to you, but aren’t you curious why she’s here?”
“Not enough to spare her life.”
Blaise laughed. “Wow. Remind me to never really piss you off.”
“I would, but you don’t listen.” As he moved to make good on his threat, the door opened to admit Urian and Medea into the room.
Falcyn drew up short at the sight of them. And at this point, he was rushing through the last of his patience for anyone. Even a woman with an ass that fine. “Here to help or to hinder? Declare yourself.”
Urian’s eyes widened before he answered. “Whichever choice ends with me on your good side.”
“Grab the bitch.”
But before anyone could move, a bright light pulsed inside the room, blinding everyone except Blaise, who couldn’t see anyway.
Falcyn cursed as pain radiated through his skull, leaving behind a flashing strobe that made him queasy as he tried to see past the swirling white dots that peppered his vision.
“Urian?”
“Blind as a bat!” he snapped in response to Falcyn’s call. “Dee?”
“Can’t see shit.” Medea held her hand up to shield her light-sensitive eyes.
“It’s demons in the room.” Blaise moved to cover them. “Gallu.”
Ah, that’s just great.
“Who invited the assholes to our party?” Falcyn snarled.
They were one of the few breeds that could infect a victim and turn them into mindless slaves.
Or killing machines. Neither of which appealed to Falcyn. While he didn’t mind senseless violence for the sake of it, he wanted the ultimate decision for who and what he killed to be his alone, and not the behest of some evil overlord. No one would ever hold dominion over him.
No one.
Something grabbed Falcyn.
He moved to punch the fool.
“Don’t you dare,” Blaise growled in his ear. “Or I’m leaving you to them.”
In another quick blur, Falcyn felt himself falling. He reached out and started to transform, then stopped himself, since the transformation could kill Blaise, or him, or both, depending on what it was Blaise was up to. Because this suddenly felt like interdimensional travel. And transforming during the middle of that was never a good idea.
“Blaise? What are you doing?”
“Hang on! Everyone stay calm!”
Yeah, right. Calm wasn’t his natural state of being.
Pissed off?
Check.
“Then why do you sound panicked and why am I still blind?”
No sooner had Falcyn finished that sentence than he slammed hard against a mossy cushion. And something soft and curvaceous landed on top of him with a loud “huff.” Worse than that, it elbowed him right in the stomach.
And would have kneed his groin had he not twisted and moved with lightning speed.
“Hey, hey, love! You only touch the no-zone if you intend to make it happy.”
Grimacing, Medea gave him a look that said he was some unwelcome goo that had attached itself to the bottom of her bare foot on her way out of the bathroom. “There’s not enough beer in the universe for me to touch your no-zone, dragonfly. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Says the Daimon crawling all over it.”
“Jumping off it, you mean, before I catch something I’m sure antibiotics won’t cure.”
He scoffed at her insult. “Not what it feels like from where I’m laying, and you’re still on top of—umph!” He growled as she elbowed the air out of his lungs.
With a fierce scowl, he rubbed the abused area and pushed himself to his feet so that he could look around at something other than her shapely ass. He’d expected to find himself either in the bar or Peltier House—the residence the bears owned that was attached to their bar.
This was neither.
Irritated, he faced the cause of this particular disaster. “Blaise, what did you do?”
They were out in a meadow. A dark, dismal, creepy-ass meadow, the likes of which human kids used to scare each other. Or B-movie directors favored for the backdrops of their cheesy sets.
Yeah, he could definitely see some axe-wielding lunatic coming at them from the brush. ’Course, the mood he was in, that lunatic might be him before much longer.
Blaise turned around slowly in a way that said he was using his dragon-sight to feel the aether. “Well, this wasn’t what I had planned.”
“What?” Urian’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You weren’t wanting a trip to Halloween Town? I’m so disappointed, Blaise. Was hoping to get my Jack Skellington underwear signed.”
Falcyn snorted at the sudden image he had of Urian in his head, posturing in Jack Skellington briefs like some Calvin Klein model. Actually, he could see the freak in that. Which was the most disturbing part about all of this. ’Cause really, he’d much rather be wasting that brain capacity on picturing Medea naked than imagining Urian in his twisted Disney underwear fetish.
Pushing the images out of his mind before he went as blind as Blaise, Falcyn scratched at his whiskered cheek. “So how’d we get here?”
“Not sure. I was aiming for the parlor of Peltier House.” Blaise screwed his face up. “Epic fail. Not even sure where we are.”
Urian let out a long, tired breath as he surveyed the twisted landscape. “I think I know. But you’re not going to like it. I sure as hell don’t.”
Medea pursed her lips. “Try us.”
“Myrkheim.”
Falcyn grimaced at how right Urian was, as an ulcer started in his stomach.
Blaise made an expression of exaggerated happiness. “Oh goodie! The borderlands where heathens go to rot! Just where I wanted to build my vacation home! Where’s a lease? Sign my scaly ass up!”
Medea rolled her eyes. “What’s Myrkheim?”
Falcyn laughed bitterly at her innocent question. Which made sense, all things considered. “Guess the Daimons don’t spend a lot of time here, as it’s not really part of your mythology. It’s a nether realm. A holding ground, if you will, between the land of light and dark where the fey can practice their magick.”
“Who’s feyfolk?”
Legitimate question, he supposed, as there was a lot of fey in the world to go around, and he hadn’t specified the pantheon. Falcyn sighed. “At one time, everyone’s. But nowadays, it’s mostly reserved for Morgen’s rejects. And some other IBS-suffering bastards.”
“Yeah, okay … So what’s the—” Before she could finish her sentence, a bolt of light shot between them, narrowly missing her.
In fact, it only missed her because Falcyn deflected it. “Stray magick. You have to keep your head up for it. If it hits you, there’s no telling what it might do. Could vaporize you. Turn you into a toad. Or just ruin your chances for children.”
Medea’s eyes widened as she watched it explode and morph a tree not far from them into a chicken that screeched, then dove under the ground to burrow like a frightened rabbit. “That happen a lot?”
Falcyn nodded. “’Round here? Good bit.”
“Great. Anything else I should watch out for?”
“Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Everything.”
Blinking, she met Urian’s gaze. “Joke?”
“Falcyn has no measurable sense of humor. At least none that we’ve identified to date.”
Blaise braided his long white hair and secured it with a leather tie he’d unwound from his wrist. “Well, Max said that Falcyn wasn’t always the pain in the ass we know him as. But I can only speak about the last few hundred years. And he hasn’t changed as long as I’ve known him.”
“Not helping, Blaise,” Urian said drily.
He spread his arms wide to indicate their surroundings. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not real good at that. Tend to fuck up all things whenever I try to help.”
“And Merlin chose you for a Grail knight. What the hell was she thinking?”
Blaise hissed. “We don’t talk about that out loud, Falcyn! Sheez! What? You trying to get me killed?”
Falcyn shot a blast of fire at the sky. “Still trying to figure out how we got here … and why. ’Cause let’s face it, we didn’t get sent here for anything good.”
“Was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.” Blaise cleared his throat. “Way to harsh my zen, dude.”
Falcyn rolled his eyes at Blaise. “You need to stop hanging out with Savitar. I hate that bastard.”
“You hate everyone,” Blaise reminded him.
“That surfboard-wielding bastard I hate most of all.”
Blaise arched an inquisitive brow. “More than Max?”
Falcyn growled. “Are we going to argue inconsequentials or look for a way home? ’Cause I just tried my powers and they didn’t do shit for getting us out of here.”
Cringing, Blaise rubbed nervously at his neck. “Mine either, and I was hoping to keep you distracted so that you wouldn’t beat my ass over this situation.”
Falcyn glanced to Urian. “What about you, Princess Pea? You got anything?”
“Besides a throbbing migraine? No. My teleportation isn’t cooperating either.”
They all looked at Medea.
“Really? If mine was working do you think I’d be here, listening to the lot of you? Promise, I’d have vanished long ago.”
Blaise sighed. “I think I saw this movie once. It didn’t go well for the people, as they turned on each other and it involved chainsaws … and a whole lot of blood.”
“But was there silence? That’s the real question.”
Urian snorted at Falcyn’s irritable comment.
Worse?
There was sudden silence. It echoed around them with that eerie kind of stillness that set every nerve ending on edge. The kind that radiated with malevolence because it was a portent.
The men drew together to stand with their backs to each other so that they could face and fight whatever threat was coming for them.
Medea wasn’t so quick to trust. While they were allies, they weren’t hers. And trust didn’t come easy to her—it hadn’t in a long, long time.
Actually, she wasn’t sure if it’d ever been part of her vocabulary. So she stood as she’d done the whole of her life.
Alone.
K-bars drawn. It was, after all, what she knew best. And she waited for the imminent storm that would do its damnedest to tear her to shreds. Just as it always did.
Falcyn froze as he caught sight of Medea and her warrior’s stance. She was a thing of exquisite beauty and he wasn’t describing her physical appearance. Rather it was that raw determination in her dark eyes. The steel in her spine as she stood ready to take on whatever threat was coming for her with shrewd confidence.
Damn.
That kind of grit reached out and touched him on a level unexpected. Bonded them. Because only someone who’d been through the hell he’d known could look like that.
And before he reconsidered his actions, he moved to stand with her.
She scowled at him. “What are you doing?”
“Covering your flank.”
“I’ve got jeans for that.”
He bit back a wry grin. “Yeah, you do. And a fine ass they cup. I’m here to make sure you keep it attached where it is and unbloodied.”
An unidentifiable shadow passed behind her eyes, but whatever it was softened her features and hit him like a blow. More than that, it caused his cock to jerk at the worst possible time. And he didn’t know why, when he needed his blood in his brain so that he could think through how best to defeat whatever was planning to take them out.
Suddenly, a bright light flashed near them. One that momentarily blinded him with its intensity.
He pulled back to confront the mist that solidified into a tall, lanky male with brown hair and red eyes.
Raking a sneer over the demon dressed in black-on-black designer snobbery, Falcyn glanced to Urian, who seemed to recognize the Fabio wannabe. “So, Slim, who is this designer asshole?”