So, like his brother before him, Mal came here as
his father’s representative.
He’d drawn the short straw by way of birth order,
and because he’d expressed a modicum of interest in
the family business a time or two. That’d been enough
to seal his fate.
Mal paused, an uneasy feeling stirring in his gut. A
sound behind him made him turn. Disbelief surged. His
brothers knew better. They wouldn’t—
They would. The black void before him undulated
and pulsed until it disgorged a form of haze and smoke
that slowly coalesced into…Dagan.
Shit.
It was tough enough to convince Osiris to let one son
of Sutekh breach his domain. With reason. Sutekh had
once carved Osiris into little pieces and fed his dick to
a fish. His wife, Aset, hadn’t been too happy about that.
She’d pined for him and searched for him and eventually reanimated him for a single night of bliss before
he was forced into the Underworld, denied the
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Topworld because…well, because he was dead. Or so
the story went. Couldn’t blame old Osiris for holding
a grudge. Or Aset, as far as Mal was concerned, but it
wasn’t as if he’d make that observation out loud.
“What are you doing here?” Mal asked, not even
trying to temper the frustration that leaked into his
words. “You looking to fire up trouble?”
“Not so much.” Dagan folded his arms across his
chest, legs planted shoulder-width apart. “I’m staying.
