Urian paused as he caught sight of Apollymi sniffing at the air around him. She even smelled his hair and cloak. “Is something wrong, akra?”

She sniffed twice more at his shoulders. “I swear I smell Greek!”

Perturbed by the way she continued to sniff and paw him as if his body were the odor that offended her, he scowled. “There are a lot of olive vines my solren placed about for the ceremony.”

Apollymi gave him a most peeved glare. “I know the difference between a plant and the greasy smell of one of their ilk. It reeks of a god. And this is the repellent odor of …” Her voice trailed off as Davyn approached them.

With Urian’s mother.

Delighted beyond belief, he gasped at the sight of her. “Mata!”

Smiling, she rushed to hug him and kiss his cheeks. “Oh! Look how beautiful you are!”

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think I’d miss your wedding, did you?”

Apollymi scoffed and pressed her hand to her nose.

Urian ignored her as he realized that it was her way of saying that his mother must be the Greek she thought she’d been smelling.

He glanced at the goddess over his mother’s head to catch her swirling gaze and rolled his eyes at her meanness.

Xedrix choked at Urian’s audacity but quickly caught himself as the goddess turned her haughty gaze toward her favorite blue demon. While she might tolerate insolence from Urian, she’d never take it from her Charonte. Xedrix, she might very well pull his wings off and mount them to the wall.

Urian tucked his mother’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come, Mata. Let me introduce you to my Thia.”

Always perceptive and wary of the number of Daimons who now called Kalosis home, she followed and stayed closely by his side. “I’ve missed you, Urian.”

Urian tightened his hand over her fingers. “I’ve missed you too.”

She pulled him to a stop. “Please … I have to know. Did I do something to upset you? Is there a reason why you’ve stayed away for so long?”

“I know about …” He choked on the words that burned bitter in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to mention her human lover no matter how happy the man might make her. It galled him too much to think about it.

His mother’s eyes bulged as she realized what had him upset. “How do you know about Memnus?”

He ground his teeth as he realized that it was the man he’d met the last time he’d seen her. That was even more galling. “I came to see you one night and overheard the two of you.”

The color faded from her cheeks. “Urian—”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “It’s all right, Mata. I understand. You’re entitled to have someone who cares for you, and I harbor no ill will toward either of you.” He offered her a sincere smile. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy.”

Cupping his jaw, she pulled his head down and pressed her cheek to his. “S’agapo para poli moro mou.”

Those words brought tears to his eyes. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed his mother. What it felt like to be wrapped in the warmth of arms that didn’t judge him or expect anything from him at all. This was the only thing missing from his relationship with Xyn. He’d give anything to have her hold him like this and warm him inside and out.

“Baba Urian! Can I go play with Abiron and Kylas?”

He laughed as he pulled back from his mother’s warm embrace to see his own son. “Mata … meet Geras, my new little one.” He stepped back so that she could see Xanthia’s golden-haired cherub. His short monochiton was already stained from play. No doubt his mother would have a conniption when she saw how dirty he was. But having been that age not so long ago, Urian well understood the boy’s rambunctiousness. As well as the fact that his fibula wouldn’t stay on his shoulder.

Kneeling, Urian repinned it a bit tighter before Xanthia saw it and fussed at Geras the way his mother used to do with him and his brothers. “Of course you may play with your cousins. Just don’t get into trouble or let them lead you too close to the Charonte. They tend to eat little Apollites who venture too close to their domain.”

Eyes wide in fear, Geras glanced toward Xedrix and Sabine. The orange-and-yellow-swirled Charonte female looked over as if she’d heard his words. Her eyes flashed.

Geras gasped and ran off.

With a laugh, his mother shook her head. “Fatherhood looks good on you. But then you were always patient with your nieces and nephews.”

Though she’d meant it as a compliment, it only saddened and wounded him deep in his heart. In a perfect world, he’d have loved a house full of children. To watch them grow and play.

But not in this world. Not with their curse hanging over their heads.

He and Paris both agreed on that. They refused to do what their other siblings had selfishly done and force their children to face their death sentence. He was all too aware of how close that deadline loomed. Of how precious every night between now and then was.

And how precarious every breath afterward would be. He vowed that he would relish whatever time he had.

Even if it meant being married to a woman he didn’t really love for the sake of convenience. After all, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting.

“Is he her only child?”

“Nay. She has a daughter.” Urian jerked his chin toward Nephele, who was standing off in a small circle of friends. Her purple peplos had been borrowed from Tannis, yet it was extremely fetching on the girl. Too fetching for Urian’s comfort, as he wanted to chase away all the young boys Nephele’s beauty attracted. While she might not be his natural daughter, he was no less protective of her and he considered her as much his daughter as if he’d sired her. “Her name is Nephele.”

“If she looks anything like her mother, then your Xanthia must be a great beauty indeed.”

“Thank you.”

They turned at the sound of Xanthia’s voice to find her behind them.

Urian inclined his head respectfully. “Mata … meet my bride.”

Gripping one another’s forearms, they gracefully kissed each cheek in turn, and then Xanthia curtsied to the human mother she’d cursed Urian for having. He watched them closely, ready to intervene at any second if Xanthia said anything to hurt his mother’s feelings.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, kyria. Urian has had such wonderful things to say about you. I feel as if we’ve already met.”

“You’re too kind, Xanthia. And I’m thrilled to see my boy so well settled, and with such a great beauty no less. I’m sure the goddess will bless you both with even more children.”

“I hope so. Nothing would thrill me more.” Xanthia’s eyes widened. “Please excuse me.… Geras! Don’t you dare!” She rushed off after Geras, who was trying to light a fire from his posterior.

Urian shook his head at the boy’s antics.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” His mother popped him playfully on his bare arm. “I seem to recall a certain pair of twins doing the same thing at that age.”

“Aye, but we were better at it. We actually succeeded.”

“And almost set fire to your solren’s study.”

“And he in turn set fire to our asses,” Paris said with a jovial laugh as he joined them. “Greetings, Mata. How are you?”

Smiling, she cupped his chin and kissed him. “Wonderful, now that I’ve seen my boys. And where’s your better half?”

“Ah! I always knew you preferred Davyn to me, and now I have proof.” His golden-blond curls dancing, he sobered as the merriment went out of his eyes. “I told him to stay home, if that’s all right. He’s still mourning the loss of his sister and her family.”

Urian winced. “Understood. The last thing I want is to cause him more pain.”

“Good. He feared you might think his absence was meant as a disrespect or slight.”

Urian was aghast. “Never. I know his heart better than that. I’d never lay such ill intent upon him.”

That relaxed his twin instantly. “Such evil’s not in him, either. It’s why I’m with him over anyone else. While others scheme and plot, he’s loyal to a fault.”

No one knew that better than Urian, except for probably Paris.

Their mother straightened Paris’s cloak. “Then I will make sure and visit with him before I leave. I can’t go home without seeing all my boys and letting them know I love them.”

Paris smiled. “I’ve missed you, Mata.”

“And I you.” She glanced over his shoulder to where one of the Daimons was eyeing her.

Urian glared at the bastard, daring him to even think about coming near them.

“I’ve got him.” Paris left them to go have words with the man who was new to their world and who had no idea that Hellen was off his menu.

Forever.

Even so, she moved a little closer to Urian. “There are a lot more here than there were before.”

“Aye. More come here every day to seek refuge from the human world.”

“Like your soon-to-be bride.”

He nodded.

“Yet you do not love her.”

Urian froze at those words.

His mother slid a gimlet stare toward him. “Deny it if I’m wrong.”

The problem was, she’d seen a truth he didn’t like admitting out loud. A truth he did his best to conceal from everyone.

Even himself.

But she was his mother and she knew his heart better than anyone other than Xyn, who had also commented on a fact he couldn’t hide from her either.

His mother’s face fell instantly as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, baby … why are you doing this if you don’t love her?”

“She feeds me, Mata. No one else will. I have to have blood to live.”

Swallowing hard, she squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry, Urian. You deserve to have a fiery passion. The kind that makes you mindless and—”

“Nay, Mata,” he said, cutting her off before someone overheard her words and carried them to Xanthia. “I don’t want that. Ever. Our lives are too short. I want control of myself. We have to have that in order to survive.”

She scoffed. “My pragmatist. You’re too young to be so old. So jaded. What has killed the boy inside you?”

His gaze went to where his father sat alone on his cold, black throne made of the bones of Misos’s enemies, and old memories stirred inside him. “That boy died the night I saw my father go Daimon after his own father tried to end his life, and I realized that there is no mercy in this world for any of us. We are all damned from the cradle to the grave. Life isn’t for the meek. It’s for those too stubborn to give in.”

She sucked her breath in sharply. “What have they done to you?”

Simple. He’d been slapped on the ass the moment he’d arrived into this world, covered in someone else’s blood, and life had been steadily kicking his ass ever since. Without stopping or hesitating. Honestly, he was punch-drunk from it all.

It seemed as if every time he thought he could stand up and breathe, someone or something else came along with a stunning blow that knocked him to his knees. He could never catch a break.

But he didn’t want her to worry. “Nothing, Mata. I merely gave in to the demon inside me sooner than the others. Instead of fighting him, I embraced him as a necessary part of me. Now we snuggle up under the covers as great bedfellows. After all, we are Daimons, aren’t we?”

Her eyes saddened over his words. “You’re part human, Uri, and you’re not a Daimon yet.”

But he couldn’t afford to be human. Not now. Not ever. That would only get him killed. Just as it had done Davyn’s family.

The meek only inherited earth six feet beneath their feet.

And he was about to have his own family to look after.

Time for childhood was over. This world didn’t allow for compassion or mercy. It required vigilance and a merciless sword arm.

After tonight, he would be a husband and a father himself. He had much more than just himself to think about now. His gaze went to Nephele and Geras.

To Xanthia.

Much more.

“Urian? You’re scaring me.” No one could miss the terror in his mother’s kind voice.

“Don’t be afraid, Mata. I’m the very thing you raised me to be.”

She sank her hand into his white-blond hair and forced him to meet her gaze. “Never lose sight of what I taught you, Urian. Honor. Integrity. Loyalty. Mercy.”

Aye, but only for his own family.

No one else.

After all, he was his father’s son, too. And like Stryker, his mercy had a finite limitation. If I don’t feed on it or fuck it, I don’t give a shit. His father’s code was a simple one to grasp.

This world was brutal to its core and it cared nothing for them. Therefore, they cared nothing for it. Their only goal was to survive. Whatever it took.

Over, under, around, or through. Those who stood behind you, you protected. Those who stood at your side were worthy allies, and anyone who stood in front of you was a target to be destroyed.

It was a simple code. And it was one that kept them alive.

From this night forward, he would be Urian Kleopas, and they would all rue the night they’d facetiously given him that epithet.