The Forbearers split up, three attacking the demon, the others targeting Mirceo.
The largest of that trio lunged for Mirceo, swinging his sword. Ducking under the whistling blade, Mirceo used his speed to maneuver around the other two.
He punched one in the back, cracking the male’s spine and catching his weapon before it hit the ground. Severing the Forbearer’s head, he faced off against the remaining pair. One brashly charged, telegraphing his moves; Mirceo coldly cut him down. Sword raised against the last of his trio, he chanced a glance at Caspion.
Blood sprayed half of the demon’s face as he tore his second victim’s head off. Caspion seized that vampire’s sword, then used the decapitated body to block the last of those three Forbearers.
The demon’s eyes were obsidian black, his muscles bulging, his sinews like whipcords.
My gods, look at him. Mirceo stared in awe. He’s as magnificent as I am.
Caspion showed even more confidence and daring than before—and a thousand times more ferocity. Because these enemies threatened his mate?
The idea gave Mirceo a delicious rush of adrenaline— “Look out!” Caspion yelled.
Mirceo traced, eluding a sword strike, then swung for his attacker’s neck. Wet warmth spattered his chin as a head went flying and the body collapsed to the ground. Mirceo’s opponents were finished, but the demon had one left.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Caspion pivot sideways as if to throw something. With a bloodcurdling roar, he flung his sword, sending it tumbling end-over-end in the air.
Right at me.
The weapon zoomed past Mirceo’s head, slicing a lock of his hair. He twisted around.
Thunk. The blade had sunk into the eye of another Forbearer who’d just materialized behind Mirceo, weapon raised for a blow. The swordsman must have remained hidden, awaiting his moment.
Mirceo swung for the male’s neck, and the headless body dropped. Fuck me, that was close.
He glanced over at Caspion. Without a sword—the demon had sacrificed it to protect Mirceo—Caspion used his horns to impale the last Forbearer.
Then the demon descended upon the male in a blur of fangs and claws. When Caspion finally pulled back, the decapitated corpse collapsed at his feet. Almost as an afterthought, Caspion tossed aside the severed head he was holding.
The demon scented the air for any other hidden dangers. Satisfied, he turned to Mirceo and swiped his sleeve over his mouth, smearing blood and sweat.
Mirceo’s gut clenched with wanting.
Heaving breaths, they stared at each other. Mirceo cast about for something to say. I desire you beyond reason, demon. No, too heavy. Say something cavalier. “Bravo, sweetheart.” He discarded his appropriated sword. “More deaths to add to your tally, making you even stronger.”
Caspion was before him in an instant, his hand wrapped around Mirceo’s throat. The demon lifted him by the neck high in the air. “You think I need more strength? I slew more foes in Poly than you ever will in your life, leechling.”
Mirceo gasped, “Fair point.”
Caspion wasn’t done. “In the future, you dispatch your godsdamned enemies immediately. Understand me? You don’t play with them. On second thought, you trace away to begin with.”
Aww, he was worried about me. Mirceo couldn’t breathe; his lips still curved into a grin.
“Why do I bother explaining things to you?” Caspion hurled him away, but Mirceo traced to right himself and landed on his feet.
When the demon snagged a flask from his coat pocket, Mirceo recognized the scent of demon brew. Not the cheap stuff either. Had Caspion truly amassed wealth over these centuries?
Pity. Mirceo had loved spoiling the demon. Rubbing his neck, he rasped, “In the past, you never expected me to trace away then, even told me I was an uncanny fighter.” Mina wasn’t the only talented swordsperson in the family. All Dacians were skilled with weaponry, but Mirceo had become an expert just to keep up with her. “So what’s changed? Perhaps you were worried about your mate?”
“You are not my mate!” Another slug from his flask.
“How do you explain your concern? I might not be as strong as you are, demon, but I am a Dacian; I can handle myself.”
“Then why did I have to yell for you to watch your back? What if I hadn’t been here to warn you?”
“It was your fault I got distracted.” Mirceo’s gaze roamed over him. “I was entranced by my male. Your fighting style is different than it used to be.”
“Happened over time. What of it?”
“You were also more aggressive—because your instincts were screaming for you to protect me.”
_______
Damn him for being right. Fear for Mirceo had rocked him. When that hidden Forbearer had appeared behind him . . .
“But you’ll grow accustomed to those instincts with time, and we’ll continue being a phenomenal team.” Mirceo gestured at the carnage. “Look around us, demon. We could have a good run at this.”
“At what?”
“Life together. And all that.” Eyes lively, he said, “Let’s spend the rest of eternity fighting and fucking.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might want more from life than that? I’ve long yearned for offspring. If I accept you as mine, I’ll be relinquishing that hope forever.”
Mirceo blinked at him.
“Self-centered leech! You never even considered that aspect?”
“I’m thirty; I consider very little in general.” At Cas’s disgusted look, Mirceo rolled his eyes. “Some of us aren’t abruptly five centuries older.”
“You know I want a family of my own. I talked of it often enough. A line to come after me? Ringing a bell? This was only weeks ago for you!”
“I just thought you’d . . . get over that idea. Together we’d find other interests.”
“Amazing. Other bloody interests? Fucking and fighting?”
With a mulish look, the vampire said, “Maybe.”
“You consider no one besides yourself! How did I ever become friends with you? You’re nothing but a selfish player with no thoughts of the future. . . .” He trailed off as Mirceo spat repeatedly. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I accidentally tasted another’s blood. It’s foul!”
Cas gave a mocking laugh. “You’re getting spoiled on mine. Which will hurt you all the more when I deprive you of it.”
Mirceo scrubbed a palm over his mouth. “You would withhold it—when depriving me of lifeblood deprives you of pleasure?”
Cas had no argument for that; ceding blood was . . . ecstasy. The healing puncture wounds in his neck felt empty—as if his skin ached to be pierced once more. To be filled. “If I’d never experienced bloodtaking, then I wouldn’t know about its effect. But you forced your bite on me!”