“It means that if we don't find a way to cure the illness, Danu will die.”
Kyrian went silent for a few heartbeats, then said, “I suppose that's more important than spending the day with me.”
“Youare more important to me than Danu.” I took his hand. “But you're not in danger.”
“I'll take that.” He grinned. “I'm assuming that you might be gone awhile. You want me to tell Mal and Cyprian for you?”
“No, I'll call them.”
“Why don't you do that while I make breakfast? You're at least staying for breakfast, right?”
“Yes, Everan won't even be waking up for a few hours yet; I have time to eat.”
“Good, because I'm making a quiche.” Kyrian grinned.
“I'm a little scared.”
“Very funny.” He helped me up and nudged me toward the living room. “My ICD is on the coffee table. It's the one Mal gave me.”
“Thank you, darling.” I grabbed my purse off a rack near the door and headed into the living room to make my calls.
A rectangular, black device, about the size of my cellphone, sat atop a pile of cookbooks on the coffee table. I picked it up and pressed the button that would contact Malik. Kyrian's Intergalactic Communication Device, or ICD for short, could make phone calls across galaxies. Although they weren't limited by distance, you could only use them to contact paired devices—six at most. This was pretty standard as far as handheld, alien, communication devices went. Kyrian's other ICD, his Triari unit, functioned and looked very similar to the Bleiten one Malik had given him but it could only connect with other Triari units. Thus, I had to use this particular device to call Malik.
Malik didn't take the news half as well as Kyrian.
“You are not going back there, Mvarra,” he growled through the ICD, his deep, dangerous voice causing the speaker to crackle.
“Excuse me?” I almost laughed at his Bleiten overbearing tone. “I most definitely am; my family needs me.”
“You just told me—no, forget this. I'm not arguing with you over ICD; I'm coming down.” Malik hung up.
I sighed deeply, then called out, “I hope you're making enough for more than us.”
“Malik's on his way?” Kyrian asked without an ounce of surprise.
“You got it.” I fished my cellphone out of my purse and called Cyprian.
I was in the middle of explaining the situation to Cyprian when Malik's heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs. Malik was a big guy, even for a Bleiten, and my stairs creaked in protest to his angry tread. He strode into the living room as if onto a battlefield, mouth already opening to verbally attack. I held up a hand to ward off his words and finished my conversation with Cyprian—who was far more reasonable than my mvarro. Mal didn't like this at all and stood before me—a hulking monument of tense muscles and crossed arms—glowering at me with his deep amethyst eyes. At least he wasn't in his battleform—horns and wings would have put his furious demeanor over the top and probably would have resulted in broken furniture as well. As it was, his Bleiten-sharp features, angled brow bone, sin-black hair, and bared fangs were pushing it.
When I said that Everan was possessive, I failed to mention that he's not even a fraction as possessive as Malik. Bleiten men, as a whole, took domination to a whole new level. When they mated their women, they marked them by biting the back of their necks and injecting venom into them. This venom forms a mark like a raised scar and establishes a psychic link between the mated couple, allowing the female to feel the male's emotions—but not the other way around. I assumed they had evolved this way because it was imperative for a Bleiten woman to know when her man was losing his shit. The mark also worked in a way similar to that of my marriage bond with Everan and allowed Malik to locate me and give me some of his strength. This was mainly to protect the mated female but also to show other males that she was taken. Which I suppose protected those other males.
I put my hand over the phone and said, “Sit down, darling, you're not intimidating me with all of that glowering. It just turns me on.”
Malik grimaced and growled but sat down in the armchair on my left.
Cyprian had overheard despite my efforts and laughed boisterously. “Is our Bleiten Prince throwing a demon fit?”
“You could say that,” I drawled. “So, you're okay with this?”
“I trust you to take care of yourself, Se Esaria. Go and save Danu... again.”
Yes, most of my men had nicknames for me, though Mal's was merely the Bleiten word for wife, or mate rather. Cyprian's was my favorite, though I'd never admit it; admitting it would give his already impressive ego a boost while simultaneously making the other men feel bad. Se Esaria was Faulin for “my eternal flower” and also a play on my name. But more than that, I loved the way Cyprian said it—with an almost purring tone. Plus, the Faulin language has a cadence to it that makes every word sound sexy. Not so surprising since Faulin rely on seduction to survive. Although, my Faulin would never have to worry about that again; our fusion would fuel him.
“Thank you, darling,” I said to Cyprian. “I'll call you as soon as I return.”
“I love you, Amara.”
“I love you too, Se Ruar.” I hung up, set the phone down, and faced my demon prince. “I can twist back if I'm in danger.”
