Rune had nothing but sympathy for Sian. He loathed change, had been altered so many times during his life, he refused to be ever again. “How long do you have?”
Sian didn’t respond to that, his focus on a racy scene below—a demoness with three males inside her. “Gods, I will miss the attentions of desirable females. They flock to me now. Anon, they will gaze upon me with horror.”
There was only one cure for a demon like him, and it was so implausible, Rune had little hope for his friend. “Will you resemble Goürlav?” Sian’s twin had been a giant with green skin and slitted yellow eyes, considered repulsive by most.
Curt shake of his head. “Already I sense different changes. I’ll be my own brand of monster.” He drank again. “I asked around about my brother, couldn’t understand why he would enter a contest for a kingdom. He already had the demonarchy of Pandemonia.”
The source world of all demons. “Then why’d he do it?”
“Also up for grabs was a queen, a sorceress who’d volunteered to be won.” Sian met Rune’s gaze. “Don’t you see? He craved a willing wife and could see no other way to get one.” Sian took a long swig from his flask, then stared down at it. “The spectators of that contest considered him a monster, when all he wanted was a companion. Soon, I’ll be the one who’s hideous and yearning. How amused she would be about this.”
“The fey girl? With different colored eyes.”
Sian glanced up. “We have so few mysteries among all of us.”
“Was she your mate?”
“I never attempted her, so I can’t know for certain,” he answered. “But I had a strong sense she was mine.”
“You once said she was treacherous.”
“As duplicitous as she was lovely.” Sian rubbed his head, a gesture he often did—a telling one. A full-blood hell demon like him should sport sleek black horns, but his had been shorn when he was too young to regenerate them. Even after so long, he felt their absence. Like phantom limbs.
A predatory and defensive feature, horns were also sexual organs, sensitive to the touch. Amputation would be a nightmare.
“I would give anything for vengeance.” Sian turned up his flask, draining it, then swiped his sleeve over his mouth. “Let’s think not on the past. I’ve come to call you to battle.”
Even better than a covey visit! “Against?”
“The Ice Demonarchy. They’ve been making sacrifices to old deities, attempting to wake them.”
Idiots. They had no idea what they were doing. The Møriør ran into this sometimes, were old enough to have personally encountered most of those gods before they’d slept. The ice demons played with powers more evil than the Møriør could dream of being.
Was Nïx steering that faction as part of her Vertas army? If so, she was steering them straight into an apocalypse. Yet she would blame the Møriør and Orion?
Few knew a fundamental truth about the Møriør: The Bringers of Doom didn’t cause the apocalypse; they heralded it.
Sian pocketed his empty flask and stood. “I traveled to that realm ages ago. I know our meeting place.”
“Then let’s be off.” Rune grabbed one of his brawny shoulders, and the King of Hells transported them to the frozen reaches of the ice demons, landing atop a snow-covered shelf.
Chill winds gusted. A waxing moon illuminated lines of warriors below them, stretching all the way to the horizon.
Darach, Blace, and Allixta were already on the ledge, along with the witch’s familiar. Curses’ whiskers were frozen white.
Darach appeared on the verge of turning, his eyes as blue as the glaciers all around them.
Blace looked as impassive as ever. One would never know he prepared to enter the fray.
Rune glanced from Blace to Darach. Had either coveted a female to distraction? Wondered if she might be his mate?
Had either been used by someone he’d desired?
“Oh, it’s the baneblood,” Allixta said as she fought to keep her hat on against the winds. “The assassin who can’t take out a single Val . . .” She trailed off when Rune rested an arrow against his lips, eyes narrowed with threat.
Silence, witch, or die this night. He might be crazed enough to do it.
Though her palms glowed with defensive magicks, she turned away from his challenge. Smart girl.
Blace told them, “We don’t know who’s listening in these rocky crags. Speak silently.” They often communicated telepathically in the presence of others. —The Valkyrie has eluded you, Rune?—
—For only so long, vampire. I have this well in hand.—
Blace raised a brow. —Then why are you in such turmoil?—
Did the vampire recognize that so well in others because he rarely felt it?
—If I am, it’ll be short lived.— Rune would celebrate this victory with an entire covey of nymphs.
Blace drew his sword, then turned to Sian. —You don’t have any hesitation about killing your own kind?— Was the vampire getting soft in his old age?
Sian readied his war ax. —The Møriør are my own kind.—
Exactly Rune’s thoughts! Sian knew where his loyalty lay. Why had Rune allowed Josephine to live after she’d taken his blood?
Because she makes me weak. He’d risked his standing among the Møriør for a female who didn’t even want him.
His alliance meant everything. Rune focused his gaze at the battalions of demon warriors below. Every one of those males was bent on defeating Rune’s brethren. On stealing victory from their grasp.