“Oh, yeah. They’ve been having a time with him,” Rhibyn said bitterly. “Grim is a twisted beast. Livia even more so.”
“He needs to return to the other side with Aeron and Kaziel.”
“Easier said than done. That one is officially dead. You know the rules about removing the dead from Azmodea.”
Jaden laughed bitterly. “Oh, sweetie, bringing the dead things back are what make me so coveted.” Lowering his head, he summoned the Verlyn that lay dormant inside him. He tapped the primal Source powers that had once ruled him.
The powers he hated most.
They were what had allowed him to harm his own children. For whenever they ruled him, nothing else mattered. He had no heart or soul. No compassion.
Like Death, he couldn’t be reasoned with or ran from. He was a creature of cold, callous rationale. The greater good was all that mattered.
In this form, he would sacrifice anything for the world.
Even his own children.
Cold comfort to know that his sons didn’t really hate Jaden. It was the Verlyn who curled their lips and filled their hearts with contempt.
Because when all was said and done, he was the Verlyn. And all those despicable things the Verlyn did, were by his hand, too.
And when he wrenched the door from the hinges, the demons inside scurried like rats from a sinking ship.
Aeron, however, even though he was bleeding and bruised and barely able to hold up his head, didn’t flinch at his approach. Rather the ancient god met his gaze as an equal.
“You don’t scare or impress me. Take your theatrics and go. I’ve no use for you.”
Jaden tsked. “Since you’re what I’ve come for, I can’t be doing that.”
Aeron was stunned silent as the primordial, ancient being reached for him. As an older god himself, he’d heard many tales of the primary ones, but he’d never met one before.
He was not disappointed.
Seven feet tall and extremely well-muscled, Verlyn was said to be the firstborn of them all. The oldest, most powerful. Deadliest.
Dressed in a long, black coat with a high-standing collar that was trimmed in silver … silver that appeared to be stained by blood, the ancient god had shaved his head smooth to show off a wealth of dark, tawny skin. Symbols were tattooed down the center of his skull, culminating into a sharp point right between his eyes. His right eye was ringed with black and from the bottom of it was another set of symbols that went down his cheek to his chin.
The only color on his body was a splash of a bright green shirt he wore beneath the black coat. A vibrant green that matched the same color as his one single eye. While the other was a deep, dark brown.
A deeply unnerving and unexpected contrast.
With a terrifying ease, the god ripped off his manacles to free him.
Aeron started to fight, until he saw that Kaziel was with him. “Kaz?”
Aye. We’ve come to take you home.
“We?”
Rhibyn stepped out of the shadows. Aeron was even more stunned by his presence here. “I don’t understand.”
Verlyn laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “My sons have bought your freedom. Remember what you owe them and treat them accordingly.”
“Your sons?”
“Daraxerxes and Malphas.”
Aeron choked on the last two names he’d ever expected to hear from the mouth of this powerful, primal god. Honestly, a part of him had thought Nick would have to be one of the sons. That would have made much more sense.
But them?
Why hadn’t Caleb or Xev ever mentioned the fact their father was Verlyn?
Now those were some bragging rights.
Quickly, Verlyn led him from his cell.
In the dark hallway, he paused to look back at Rhibyn. “Where’s this Zavid?”
“In the arena.”
Verlyn cursed. “Of course he is.” He clenched his teeth before he spoke again. “We’ll have to move fast while Noir is incapacitated and Azura distracted by her errand. That at least works in our favor. But the minute they’re not, you’ll have to run for it. Zavid or no Zavid. Understood?”
They nodded.
With that, he led them toward the arena. It was where Noir sent the souls of those he cared least about to be entertainment for the others. All manner of violence was practiced here. Gladiatorial blood sports being the most common.
Aeron had no idea which poor soul might be the hellhound they sought. Not until he heard the chanting that came from the current fight where a dark-haired man wearing only a pair of ragged jeans was battling a demon. The man was ferocious and fought with the heart of a Fomorian.
He lifted the demon up, tossed him over his shoulder, and came down with a vicious pile driver so jarring, Aeron winced in sympathetic pain.
Even though they had yet to meet, he knew instinctively that this was the one Nick had saved.
Glancing at his companions, he jerked his chin toward that fierce combatant and spoke to them for confirmation. “Zavid?”
They nodded.
Oh, goodie. He was going to be a fun one to wrangle.
“So how do we do this?”