She hesitated, unnerved by the normally indifferent Harbinger. “I was looking for Calla.”
He blinked and his old self returned with the curl of his lip. “Ah. That would be … ill-advised. Best return to your chambers.”
“I will not.” Alora walked past him, but he cut her off.
She narrowed her eyes. “I am your queen, Deimos. And you will not challenge me or treat me like a captive. So either escort me to Calla ormove.”
Her words reverberated through the hall, carrying the weight of her command even though her heart fluttered wildly beneath his cold stare.
Then Deimos glanced at the faintly glowing markings on her hands, and she arched a brow in challenge.
What magic was that?
Nexus meowed, swatting at Deimos’s twitching tail. He hissed at it softly in warning. His sharp claws clicked together as he seemed to weigh a choice in his head, then he turned away, slipping into the shadowed hall.
His voice drifted back to her. “This way…queen.”
Alora exhaled quietly, the tension loosening from her shoulders as she followed. “I half expected you to leave me.”
“I would prefer it,” he admitted, “but my sire would not be pleased. And I’m rather fond of my head.”
She blinked, wondering if Rune would truly punish Deimos to that extent. They walked in uneasy quiet, the only sounds the soft patter of her feet and the occasional whisper of wind through unseen tunnels. Deimos moved soundlessly.
“What was that thing?” she finally asked.
“Hallowkin,” he answered shortly. “Of the Sloth Court.”
“Was it going to eat me?”
“The Hallowkin feast on nightmares, not flesh. You were not in danger.”
Alora raised her brows. That explained why Nexus hadn’t reacted. “Then why did you kill it?”
The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “For defying my sire.”
A shiver crawled down her spine. She glanced at his satchel, where dark glass jars glinted faintly. “Why keep the heart?”
He withdrew one, holding it up to the torchlight. Inside, beetles gleamed like jewels, pinned to bark. “I’m rarely allowed to collect anything else.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I lived among the Sloth faction, my Lady wanted me destroyed for being too… curious,” Deimos said with a strange smile. “I dissected many living things, but none proved as fascinating as demons. A delicate process, as our kind tend to turn to ash upon death.”
The quiet stretched.
Alora’s stomach turned as sick understanding dawned.
“I observed my subjects from the shadows first, noting their habits and weaknesses. Then I began my work.” His red eyes gleamed as if recalling it. “It took time to learn exactly where to cut so they would remain alive long enough. Until I was commanded to stop.” He smirked at his long claws plated with Nightstone. “I suppose it unnerved them.”
Alora swallowed back the bile in her throat as she studied Deimos in the flickering torchlight. When he wasn’t scowling, he had a boyish cast, lean and graceful. Messy hair that turned blue in certain light, falling around small, almost childlike horns. Nothing about him screamed danger, yet perhaps that was the point.
Some predators appeared harmless until it was too late.
She took a subtle step back. The ends of his lips curved faintly.
“But Rune spared you,” Alora said carefully, “and chose to give you a position as one of his Harbingers?”
“I am useful to him,” Deimos replied simply. “My skills make me an excellent spy. I understand patterns. Anatomy. Behavior. And he understands me.” Deimos turned the jar gently, studying the curve of the beetle’s carapace. “Sire allowed to live as long as I follow two rules: I may only dissect insects. Should I attempt tostudy anything else, he will remove from me whatever I remove from them.”
