“They don’t answer to you.”
“Bon.” Cautiously Levet moved from behind the chest. He didn’t want to become a charred briquette, but then again he was tired of cowering. He was now a bona fide hero. Wasn’t he? Straightening his spine, he tilted his chin to meet his mother’s glare. “Then you will stand as judge.”
There was a low hiss as his mother snapped her wings to their full width. An impressive sight meant to intimidate.
“This is a trick.”
“No trick,” Levet denied. “You are doyenne. It is within your powers to pass judgment.”
“I did,” she growled. “You were banished.”
“I was banished without a fair hearing.”
“Because you fled like a spineless Guttar demon.”
Levet waved his hands at the absurd accusation. “You were trying to kill me.”
His mother curled back her lips to fully expose her tusks. “And now I shall finish what I began.”
“Non.”
Without giving himself time to think, Levet held up his hands and released a blast of magic.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his skill . . . non. That was not true.
He did doubt his skill.
For all his bluster, he could never be certain what his magic would do.
One day it might be nothing more than an embarrassing fizzle.
The next it would explode out of him with the force of a nuclear blast.
Tonight, however, it did exactly what he desired.
Shimmering strands of magic flew from the tips of his claws, slamming into his mother with enough force to pin her to the wall.
It was . . . a miracle.
Clearly as astonished as Levet that his spell was working, Berthe struggled against the delicate filaments that were holding her captive.
“What have you done?” she screeched.
Levet took a bouncing step forward, regarding the spiderweb of magic with a smile.
“I tried to tell you that I have grown into a warrior with batty skills. Hmm . . . or is it mad skills?”
The powerful gargoyle tried to breathe fire, only to discover the bonds holding her also suppressed her magic.
Yeah. Go, Levet.
“Release me,” Berthe snarled.
“Not until you’ve given me my hearing.”
The gray eyes smoldered with the promise of death. “You will pay for this.”
“Really?” Levet breathed an exaggerated sigh, feeling all cocky with his mother incapacitated. Hey, who knew how long it would last? He had to take pleasure where he could find it. “Gargoyles are tediously repetitive in their threats. You really should consider hiring a vampire to write you new material. They are the experts in terrifying their enemies.”
“You would, of course, admire your new masters,” Berthe spit out. “To think my own son has become the flunky of the leeches. It’s enough to break a mother’s heart.”
“A flunky? I am servant to no demon.” Levet puffed out his chest. “Indeed, I am revered as a legend of heroic proportions.”
“Your proportions are an embarrassment,” his mother mocked. “Just as you have always been.”
He strutted forward, refusing to acknowledge the words hit a perpetual tender nerve.
He was no longer the old Levet who allowed himself to be judged by the size of his body. He was a giant among demons, regardless of his heights.
He lifted his hands. “We shall see.”
“What are you doing?” Unease twisted her ugly features. “Stay back.”
“Frightened of your pathetic, spineless son, Maman?”
“I am weary of this game.”
He gave a flutter of his wings, proud when they captured the light to glitter with brilliant shimmers of crimson and gold.
“Then put an end to it.”
She pressed against the wall, her eyes wide as Levet halted directly in front of her.
Why?
Was she truly afraid of his dubious magic?
That seemed . . . unlikely.
It had to be something else.
But what?
His churning thoughts were brought to a sharp end as his mother glared down from her towering height.
“Stop this, Levet.”
He froze, his stomach knotting in pain. “Mon dieu.”
“What?”
“That is the first time I ever heard my name on your lips.”
She belched, attempting to hide her concern behind the more familiar disdain.
“You aren’t going to snivel, are you? I would rather you kill me than be forced to listen to you blubber.”
Levet shook his head, thinking of the vampire clan that had adopted the Dark Lord’s offspring without hesitation. They had fought to the death to protect the babies and would do so again.
And the gods knew that Salvatore, the King of Weres, was foaming at the mouth with excitement as the delivery day for his litter drew ever nearer.
Of course, Kiviet demons ate all but the strongest of their offspring at birth, so it could always be worse.
“Tell me, Maman, do you love any of your children?”
“Love is for weaklings,” she sneered. “Or humans.”
It was precisely what Levet had expected. And yet...
He swallowed a resigned sigh.
“Then why procreate at all?”