His anger didn’t recede at my compliment.
I might need to get him into a better mood, otherwise, he might assign me to sleep in a crappy room.
“Oh c’mon, Loki,” I said. “Get over it. It was a misunderstanding that I hit you. You don’t even have a black eye, even though I used my knuckles to smack your face.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t remind me of that,” he hissed. “I don’t bruise easily. I have to admit that you’ve got some strength in your punch. Use it wisely next time instead of swinging at someone in misplaced anger.”
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s eat.”
I jogged toward the dining table, my focus on the dishes and the drinks instead of the dukes, though I had both of them in my field of sight. My gait was easy, casual, yet my hand stayed close to the hilt of my dagger.
I was golden as long as I had a blade.
The dukes looked ready for some blood, as was I.
But they wouldn’t attack me first without Loki’s order. I, however, didn’t need to play by their rules or anyone else’s.
One of them moved, nearly slamming into my face.
I expected demon stench to assault my nostrils, but it didn’t. It seemed a hybrid didn’t smell like a pure demon. Maybe their human part offered them some redeeming qualities.
“No one sits at our table except the prince and his dukes,” a vicious voice boomed in my ear. “No one shares our food.”
I didn’t care that this dude hadn’t swung a fist yet. I didn’t care if this was another test. I’d suffer no arrogant fools.
This Celeste was going to wreck hell in Hell.
In an instant, my dagger was in my hand, slicing toward him, only to meet a Viking sword that he’d brought up in a hurry.
Damn, he was fast too.
The blades crashed, the impact forcing both of us to step a pace back. I regarded my opponent. He looked like a Chinese hotshot with fine skin and three dark horns.
Maybe he wasn’t Chinese. Maybe he had Japanese blood or some other Asian heritage. But he was half-demon, half-human for sure, like the other duke, who remained at the table and watched us fight with keen interest.
The other duke didn’t have horns. He looked half-Latino with a powerful, angular jaw.
The aggressive Asian demon duke and I lunged at each other in a blur. Hack, duck, slash, swing, sidestep, then attack again. I was tired and hungry, but I didn’t give him an inch.
Vaguely I heard Loki call, “Don’t kill each other. Not yet.”
When we separated again, blood dripped from my right shoulder and left thigh, but there was a gash on the duke’s neck.
I raised my dagger across my chest, ready to charge again as I regarded his horns—my next target.
He was two heads taller than me, but I could leap high. It could be done, though it wouldn’t be as easy for me as it had been for my death demigod when he’d severed a demon’s horn on that Manhattan street.
A violent wind pulled me backward, and Loki stepped between his duke and me.
“Enough,” the prince said.
“The wench tried to behead me!” the Asian half-demon yowled.
“I plan to slice off your lovely horn and use it as my toothpick, halfling,” I said.
The Latino half-demon from the table roared to laughter.
I shook the demon blood from my blade before I returned my gaze to his horns.