But something wasn’t right. Something cosmically was out of order. Every Daimon and demigod sense he possessed knew it.
Closing his eyes, he swore he could see the atoms of the universe realigning. Hear the aether whispering. This isn’t good. The winds of change were coming and they were bringing with them the scythe of upheaval.
Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
October 23, 2017
“Falcyn!” Urian barked as he caught sight of the massive Were-Hunter bastard in Sanctuary coming way too close to his sister.
He hated that bastard for many, many reasons. Not the least of which was having removed Xyn from Kalosis all those centuries before.
Damn him!
Worse? He knew that look. And no man or beast gave his sister that look without getting an ass-beating from him.
Falcyn tsked at Urian. “Do you really think to make me heel at your command, lapdog?”
Unperturbed by that insult and wanting to drink dragon blood, Urian narrowed his eyes while he rapidly closed the distance between them. He kept his attention keenly focused on Falcyn, watching his every twitch.
He didn’t trust the Drakos bastard at all. This was one of Xyn’s brothers, which meant that Urian knew exactly how treacherous Falcyn could be.
Stepping between them, Urian gave Medea a bit of breathing room. “I would caution you to remember you’re in a Were-Hunter sanctuary.”
Falcyn snorted. “As if I give two shits for Savitar’s laws.” He raked a bitter stare over Urian. “Or you, for that matter. And even less for your boss. So don’t even think of dragging Acheron’s name into this as protection from my wrath. I dare him to say a single word to me … on any matter.”
Urian scowled at his words and bravado given the fact that Acheron was the final Fate of all. To defy him while knowing his real place in the universe was a special level of stupid and bravery that most lacked. “Is there nothing you fear?”
Falcyn’s gaze went past Urian’s shoulder to something in the crowd.
“Aye, but sadly she’s not here.”
Urian turned his head at the sound of the deep voice behind him. Blaise du Fey. There was a bastard he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Another of Xyn’s dubious kin.
But at least he was a little better natured than Falcyn. With hair as pale as Urian’s and eyes a peculiar lavender shade, Blaise was a fierce and reliable warrior.
And like Xyn, his ears held a bit of a point to them. Something that always hit Urian hard in the gut whenever he saw Blaise or any of the Adoni as it reminded him of the way he used to nibble and toy affectionately with Xyn’s. Those ears had always been a source of fascination for him.
Stop, Uri! You make me self-conscious! I feel enough like a freak because of them.
Don’t say that. I adore your ears. They’re as beautiful as the rest of you. And the fact that they’re not like everyone else’s makes them as special as you are. You should never cover them. Rather flaunt them to the world. Let them see the unique beauty that is you.
God, how he missed her. And instead of having her precious kindness, he was stuck with her two asshole brothers to deal with.
Awesome.
Falcyn tsked at him. “Now, Blaise, why would you go and bring Xyn into this? Especially given what a sore topic that is?”
Blaise let loose a charming grin. “Felt the need to rankle my big brother. Besides, everyone else fears you so. You need me to even you out.” Blaise kept his hand raised and out so that he could feel his way through them. Because of his albinism, he was blind in his human body. “And if you’re through scaring the natives, I’ve got something I need to speak to you about.”
Falcyn sneered. “Rather spend time scaring the natives than listening to your petulant whine.”
“Ah, now, you’re going to hurt my feelings.”
“You don’t have any feelings.”
“Not true. I had a lot of them, until you, Kerrigan, and Illarion shriveled them into oblivion. But I think I managed to salvage one or two. Please, try not to kill those last two off. I might need them one day.”
Urian shook his head at Medea, who was so lucky that she’d been raised as an only child. He envied her that.
Falcyn made a rude noise of dismissal. “Those are called hunger pangs.”
Blaise laughed. “Hungry for a kind word, you mean.”
“Well, you won’t be getting it here.” Falcyn gestured toward the stairs as if his brother could see his movements. “So off with you.”
Blaise sighed heavily. “’Fraid not. Must intrude. Can’t wait.”
Urian pulled Medea away from the fighting dragons. “Well, then. We’ll leave you to your argument. Come, big sis. Let’s get out of here before Godzilla and Mothra go at it and we’re caught in the crossfire.”
She screwed her face up at him. “Before who and what?”
Urian groaned under his breath. How could he forget that she knew next to nothing about pop culture? It was actually painful how few of his quotes she understood. “One day we’ve got to do an all-day movie marathon to catch you up on my references.” And with that, he pulled her toward the stairs.
“What are they?” she asked him as he led her upstairs to the less crowded area of the bar.
“Blaise is a mandrake. Falcyn … hell if I know. He’s one of the dragon breeds, but not a Were-Hunter.” Even though Urian usually called him that just to piss him off because it was fun to listen to the irritable bowel symptom noises Falcyn made in protest.
“If they’re brothers, he’d be a mandrake, too. Right?”
One would think. But he’d learned centuries ago from Xyn that it didn’t work that way. “I don’t think they’re really related. The dragons have an even more peculiar idea of what constitutes family than we do.”
“But if he’s a dragon and he’s not a mandrake or Were-Hunter, how can he be human? Aren’t they the only two kinds of pure-blooded dragons who can take human form?”
Urian paused to look from her to the two dragons in the crowd below. “That, Medea, is the question we’ve all asked and no one will answer. All we know is that he’s a bloodthirsty beast who’s best avoided.”
*
Urian scowled at Medea as they talked inside the small private room in Sanctuary that was reserved for whenever the 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.” He hadn’t been one in years.
Medea crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, but for all you know, this plague that Apollo’s sent 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. Thank the gods for that favor.
“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!”