She stopped squirming and waited until he set her back on her feet before she answered. With an indignant tug, she straightened her clothes. “Payment due you for what he did to you and Maddor.”
It took everything he had not to smile at his wild Apollite. Only Xyn had ever protected him in such a manner. And before he could stop himself, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Max gasped.
Medea hissed at how good her dragon tasted. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she wished they were alone. A good fight always got her blood up, and that combined with his scent was all she needed to want to nibble on him all night long.
Sadly, he swept his tongue against hers, then stepped away to face his brother. Yet she didn’t miss the fact that he wedged himself between her and them.
She kept her hand on his muscular back as she realized that the only thing he really had in common with his brother was the fact that they were both exceptionally handsome. However, Max was as fair as Falcyn was dark. Max’s blond hair framed chiseled features and a pair of silvery gold eyes.
Yeah, he was nothing like Falcyn.
At least not until he cocked his brow into an expression that was identical to the one Falcyn used whenever he was irritated. Now she saw the similarities.
As Max glanced at his wife, she had a new epiphany about the dragon.
Holy shit.
Literally. No wonder the two dragons were so different. It all made sense now.
“Max is part Arel.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.
All three of them turned to gape at her.
“What makes you think that?” Falcyn asked.
She gestured at the beast. Aside from the fact that he looked like one… “He reeks of their stench. Just as I know you’re part demon—and something a lot more treacherous. You can’t mistake it. He bleeds their blood. It oozes from him. Everything about him betrays his breeding.”
A tic started in Max’s jaw. “We don’t speak of my father. Ever.” He narrowed his gaze on Falcyn. “Just as we don’t speak ofhis.”
Maybe not, but at least she finally understood why Max had done what he had where Maddor was concerned. Stupid Arel bastards. All of them. They were nothing but sanctimonious prigs.
Worse? They wouldneverput their blood first. It wasn’t in them.
Rolling her eyes, she tugged at Falcyn’s shirt. “We have to get Maddor out of Camelot.”
“I know. But first let’s see to your parents.”
Max sputtered. “You intend to help the Daimons? Are you out of your mind? They’re Daimons!”
Falcyn shrugged. “My stone. My rules.”
“They’re Daimons,” Max repeated.
Falcyn leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “And you’re the one who personally caused all the Were-Hunter races to be damned by the Greek gods to an eternal war against each other, Dragonbane. So do not lecture me on right and wrong. Especially not where they’re concerned. I do what I want, your rules be damned.” And with that, he took Medea’s hand and flashed her from Sanctuary to Kalosis.
Something Medea thought was a good idea until they manifested in her father’s great hall in the center of the Daimon kingdom.
No sooner did they appear in front of Stryker’s empty bone throne than a loud, thunderous roar went up. Never had she heard such a clamor. And definitely nothere. This was where everyone came when they first journeyed to Kalosis. It was set up so that her father could monitor them.
It’d been that way as far back as anyone knew.
Apollymi always sat in the center of her stone garden, where she kept watch over the world of man by way of her black pool that mirrored the world of man.
Today though, everything changed.
The moment she and Falcyn materialized before her father’s seat, Apollymi was there in her full goddess majesty. Her white-blond hair whipped around her thin body. Her long black gown was plastered against her as the silent winds whipped through the hall and sent every Daimon there scattering for cover. Her swirling silver eyes turned bloodred as her wrath contorted her beautiful face into the visage of ultimate rage.
