From inside the newly-created hole, smoke rose up. The earth fell away from itself, the flicker of a flame inside and then pitch darkness below. This wasn’t how gateways to the infernal typically worked, they were never two-way. But the telltale signs of noxscura were not flooding over the fissure to suggest it actually led to the infernal plane. As impossible as it seemed, it looked instead as if a direct portal to somewhere else on earth itself had just opened.
“…don’t you dare move, I’ll be right—Bloodthorne?”
Damien heard his name spoken with that mixture of elation and disgust unique to only one being in existence. The darkness inside the hole shifted, and a head of brilliantly white hair appeared over the edge of the ground followed by two dark eyes that narrowed on him.
The man pulled himself up from the hole in one, swift movement, body long and lithe and dressed as if he had not just climbed through dirt and fire. He was barely dressed at all, in fact, with only a short, satin robe to cover him, thankfully tied tight enough about the waist with a silky sash. His mouth fell open with a wide smile, and when he spoke, the words dripped from it with a delighted revulsion, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite demon spawn.”
The name ripped out of Damien like a curse: “Shadowhart.”
“How in the Abyss are—hey! My portal! You destroyed it!” Xander Shadowhart’s shift from excited pleasantries to astonished rage brought a grin to Damien’s lips. “Do you have any idea how long that took to make?”
“If anyone could possibly understand—”
“Yes, of course, it would be you! I can’t imagine anyone else could undo my most theoretical work yet anyway.” Xander kicked with a bare foot at one of the bits of wood that had once been a possessed gateway, then he crossed his arms and put back on that smarmy grin. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“What are you wearing?”
Xander glanced down at himself, the silky fabric in a deep violet sliding over his tanned skin to reveal more of his lightly muscled, bare chest beneath. “You like it? It’s not mine, but I think she’ll let me keep it if I ask. Or if I just tell her it’s mine now.”
“It’s not armor.”
“Oh, who wears armor to bed, Damien? It covers up some of the best bits.”
“Bed?” Damien glanced at the hole again then to Xander, standing there as if he had not planned any of this at all. “That goes directly to the Wastes? To your tower? How did you—”
“Ah, ah, I don’t give away tricks for free, and especially not before proper introductions.” Xander strode past him, extending a hand, and Damien remembered quite suddenly he was not alone in the garden.
Damien cut Xander off with his body. Behind him, Amma shifted and stiffened, sensing the danger, and Xander put up both hands but didn’t back away. Daring for a man half naked.
“From afar then,” he said, and clasping his hands behind him, Xander gave the slightest of bows, coming that much closer to them both, head bent, eyes averted, too trusting. “Xander Sephiran Shadowhart, at your disservice.”
“That’s your name?” Amma ventured quietly, half obscured by Damien’s arm.
Xander rose back up to his full height, just the same as Damien’s, pointed chin jutting out. “The myth incarnate.”
And then Amma, the brilliant creature she was, actually laughed. Damien could have kissed her.
The corners of Xander’s mouth plunged, voice falling flat. “What?”
“It’s just…a lot of name, that’s all.”
“Oh, and his is so much better? Maleficus sounds like some kind of angry fern, and Bloodthorne has absolutely no subtlety to it.”
“They are both sort of ridiculous,” Amma giggled out.
Damien’s own grin deflated a bit, and as if he fed right off of it, Xander regained his composure, licking his lips. “And what do they call you, kitten?” There was a venom behind that pet name, the kind only Xander could inject, both absolutely meaning it and hating that he did so.
“I’m just Amma.”
“Amma,” he repeated, rolling the name around his mouth like he were tasting her, gaze traveling down her body. It wasn’t terribly different than how he looked at almost everybody, but it made Damien’s blood run a bit hotter, spells itching to be released from his veins. But Damien waited—if anyone could sense Bloodthorne’s Talisman of Enthrallment, it would be Xander.
His dark eyes tracked back up Amma a second time, thin, white brows arching with intrigue, lips pursed in deep thought, but there wasn’t the kind of recognition on his face that the talisman warranted. And, just like the thin material of his robe, Xander wasn’t very good at shielding his excitement. Amma was human, not even arcane, and she was clearly with Damien, in some capacity. That’s all Xander could glean, the talisman completely hidden, and it was bloody brilliant, if begging for some kind of explanation.
“And you’ve got an imp with you as well?” Xander’s eyes flicked to Damien’s feet where Kaz had come to sit still in his canine disguise, something another blood mage could easily see through. “Bloodthorne, whatareyou up to?”
Damien relaxed as Xander finally took a step back. “None of your business.”
“Well, you’ve sort of made it my business by wrecking my trial, not to mention the very good time I was having watching my girls cause a bit of chaos.” He paced a few steps, lifting long fingers to drum on his chin. “But I know you’re not gallivanting around the heart of Eiren for something as petty as thwarting me. I thought you were just in the mines of Phandar not long ago, and when did we even see each other last? You’ve been so busy you haven’t given me the opportunity to kill you in almost a year. Whatever you’re doing, it must be grievous.”
