Urian hissed at her less-than-subtle reminder about Apollymi’s position in his world. And the fact that he’d once loved her like a second mother most of his life. But he felt doubly betrayed by her for not telling him the truth, when she’d known it all those centuries. He was so angry at Apollymi for what she’d done that he had yet to even speak to her again after finding out the truth.
When he looked back and thought about all the years—no, centuries—he could have had with his real father … he wanted to kill her for it. How could she have done it?
“You have some nerve to come here and ask me to help Stryker or Apollymi given what they’ve both taken from me.”
It was cruel beyond cruel, even for them.
“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.”
That news staggered him. Davyn was the one person he couldn’t bear the thought of losing. He’d kill himself first.
“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.”
It wasn’t who he was either, and she was wrong about her pain. He’d lost more children than she had. He knew exactly the pain of her loss. While he might not have birthed them, they were his children all the same.
A single tear slid down her cheek as her eyes turned haunted. “Praxis was five years old, Uri. Five. And he died in agony at the merciless hands of those human bastards, screaming for me to help him while they…” She choked on her words. “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!”
Urian knew her pain. Firsthand. And he hated that anyone had to go through it. He pulled her against him. “I’m so sorry, Dee.”
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.
But Medea was right. He couldn’t allow the rest of what had once been his family and friends to die and do nothing.
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 been. 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 all the same. And he had grown up thinking himself as one of Stryker’s sons. Thinking of Stryker’s daughter as his own sister.
Every time he looked at Medea, he saw Tannis’s beloved face. Remembered their time as children. 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.” The one thing Xyn had told him about so very long ago. They were incredibly powerful and could curse just about anything.
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.”
“Where do you get one?”
That was the easy part.
And the hardest thing imaginable, as there were so few left. “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. If only Xyn were still alive. She’d have shared hers in a heartbeat. “That would be the stickler, as it belongs to Falcyn.” The bastard he hated almost as much as Apollo.
“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. “Great. So how do I go about getting this thing?”
“Word of advice? Ask nicely.”
*
Urian and Medea entered the room where they’d been told Falcyn had gone to see Blaise.
Problem was, they weren’t alone. And the fey Adoni with them didn’t seem happy. Indeed, this appeared about the same as walking into the middle of a bank robbery.
With all the robbers wrapped in C-4.
Falcyn drew up short at the sight of them. “Here to help or to hinder? Declare yourself.”
Urian didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Whichever choice ends with me on your good side.”
“Grab the bitch.”
That better not be his sister Falcyn was talking about.
But before anyone could move, a bright light pulsed inside the room, blinding everyone except Blaise, who couldn’t see anyway.
Falcyn cursed. “Urian?”
Hissing from the pain, Urian held his hand up in a useless effort to try to see someone past the large white blob. “Blind as a bat!” he snapped in response to Falcyn’s call. “Dee?”
“Can’t see shit.”
“It’s demons in the room.” Blaise moved to cover them. “Gallu.”
Ah, that’s just great. At least they weren’t Charonte.
“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 Urian.
He only killed on command or when threatened. As the old Daimon saying went—you protect those who stand behind you. Respect those who stand by your side. And defeat or kill whoever stands against you.
Suddenly, something grabbed them and they were falling.
“Blaise? What are you doing?” Falcyn snarled.
“Hang on! Everyone stay calm!”
Falcyn scoffed. “Then why do you sound panicked and why am I still blind?”
Urian hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. A few feet away, Falcyn and Medea landed in an entwined heap.
“Hey, hey, love! You only touch the no-zone if you intend to make it happy.”
Medea grimaced. “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.”
Urian laughed. One thing he loved about his sister—she had a mean sense of humor.
Falcyn scoffed at her insult. “Not what it feels like from where I’m lying 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. “Blaise, what did you do?”
Another thing Urian agreed with. They appeared to be out in middle-of-nowhere Alaska, Nebraska, or some remote end-of-the-world apocalyptic location.