Max gasped.
Medea hissed at how good her dragon tasted. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she wished they were alone. A good fight always got her blood up, and that combined with his scent was all she needed to want to nibble on him all night long.
Sadly, he swept his tongue against hers, then stepped away to face his brother. Yet she didn’t miss the fact that he wedged himself between her and them.
She kept her hand on his muscular back as she realized that the only thing he really had in common with his brother was the fact that they were both exceptionally handsome. However, Max was as fair as Falcyn was dark. Max’s blond hair framed chiseled features and a pair of silvery gold eyes.
Yeah, he was nothing like Falcyn.
At least not until he cocked his brow into an expression that was identical to the one Falcyn used whenever he was irritated. Now she saw the similarities.
As Max glanced at his wife, she had a new epiphany about the dragon.
Holy shit.
Literally. No wonder the two dragons were so different. It all made sense now.
“Max is part Arel.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.
All three of them turned to gape at her.
“What makes you think that?” Falcyn asked.
She gestured at the beast. Aside from the fact that he looked like one … “He reeks of their stench. Just as I know you’re part demon—and something a lot more treacherous. You can’t mistake it. He bleeds their blood. It oozes from him. Everything about him betrays his breeding.”
A tic started in Max’s jaw. “We don’t speak of my father. Ever.” He narrowed his gaze on Falcyn. “Just as we don’t speak of his.”
Maybe not, but at least she finally understood why Max had done what he had where Maddor was concerned. Stupid Arel bastards. All of them. They were nothing but sanctimonious prigs.
Worse? They would never put their blood first. It wasn’t in them.
Rolling her eyes, she tugged at Falcyn’s shirt. “We have to get Maddor out of Camelot.”
“I know. But first let’s see to your parents.”
Max sputtered. “You intend to help the Daimons? Are you out of your mind? They’re Daimons!”
Falcyn shrugged. “My stone. My rules.”
“They’re Daimons,” Max repeated.
Falcyn leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “And you’re the one who personally caused all the Were-Hunter races to be damned by the Greek gods to an eternal war against each other, Dragonbane. So do not lecture me on right and wrong. Especially not where they’re concerned. I do what I want, your rules be damned.” And with that, he took Medea’s hand and flashed her from Sanctuary to Kalosis.
Something Medea thought was a good idea until they manifested in her father’s great hall in the center of the Daimon kingdom.
No sooner did they appear in front of Stryker’s empty bone throne than a loud, thunderous roar went up. Never had she heard such a clamor. And definitely not here. This was where everyone came when they first journeyed to Kalosis. It was set up so that her father could monitor them.
It’d been that way as far back as anyone knew.
Apollymi always sat in the center of her stone garden, where she kept watch over the world of man by way of her black pool that mirrored the world of man.
Today though, everything changed.
The moment she and Falcyn materialized before her father’s seat, Apollymi was there in her full goddess majesty. Her white-blond hair whipped around her thin body. Her long black gown was plastered against her as the silent winds whipped through the hall and sent every Daimon there scattering for cover. Her swirling silver eyes turned bloodred as her wrath contorted her beautiful face into the visage of ultimate rage.
“How dare you!” she growled.
Falcyn didn’t so much as flinch. Rather, he faced the ancient goddess without fear or anger. “I’ve come with good intention and in peace, Braith. There is no ill for you in my heart.” He held his hands up with his palms facing him to show her that they were empty.
Still, she didn’t back down. “How can I trust you?”
“How can I trust you, dearest aunt? But if I’d wanted to hurt you, I’d have struck you in the heart … where you’re the weakest. And I wouldn’t have done it here in your stronghold. But out in the world where you have no reach.”
That succeeded in calming her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t fear you, Bra. Honestly, life is a burden I can do without. But I’m not my father, and I would never do to you what he did to me. I came here only to help.”
The wind finally died down.
Her eyes returned to their familiar swirling silver as her hair settled back to her shoulders. By its own accord, her hair coiled into an impeccable and intricate braided chignon around her face. “It’s hard to trust a former enemy.”
Falcyn arched a brow at that. “I was never your enemy.” That had been his parents. Never him.
She met Medea’s gaze. “You brought him here?”
“I did.”
“Then I hold you responsible for his actions. You’d best pray that he behaves.”
Falcyn scoffed at her bitter tone. “Same old Braith. I see time hasn’t mellowed you any.”
“How could it? When all I have is bitterness to keep me company?”
“Then we have much in common, don’t we?” He inclined his head to Medea. “Where are your parents?”
“In bed, I would assume.”
“Take me to them.”
Without a word, she led him down a long, dark hallway.
Apollymi followed after them, as if she didn’t trust him in her domain, at all. It’d be funny if it didn’t piss him off.
Falcyn glanced at her over his shoulder. “Afraid I’m going to abscond with something?”
“You might. Never could trust a dragon. Last time one of you was here, he pissed my rugs and cracked the ceiling.”
“I’ll try to contain myself.”
“Please do so, as I have no desire to redecorate with anything other than your entrails.”
Falcyn growled as Medea opened the door to a bedroom and he saw the large tester bed where a woman who bore a striking resemblance to her lay in sickened misery. The moment the door opened a man shot to his feet to confront them.
Then he hit the floor where he, too, writhed from his own illness.
“Papa!” Medea rushed to his side to check on him.
With a fierce groan, he forced himself up so that he could face Falcyn. Though he didn’t pose much of a threat in that condition. Worst thing he could do was vomit on him.
“Relax, Stryker. I’m here to assist.” Falcyn moved toward Zephyra, who was so weak she could barely open her eyes. No wonder Medea had been terrified. He doubted they’d have made it another day in this condition.
She’d been right. Apollo had sent one hell of an illness for them.
As it was, Stryker was forced to sit back on the bed.
With Medea’s help.
“How long have you been gone?” His voice was weak.
“A day.”
Stryker swallowed. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
“Then you shouldn’t have returned. You should have stayed where the illness couldn’t reach you.”