Falcyn felt the blood drain from his cheeks. No… she was lying.
She had to be.
“You play with me, Adoni whore, and so help me—”
“I would never!” Choking, she spat at Blaise. “Tell him, damn you!”
Blaise licked his lips slowly. His complexion paled as much as Falcyn’s. “Is Maddor really your son?”
Falcyn couldn’t bear to answer that question. Not while silent tears choked him. “Does he live?” His voice cracked on those words.
Blaise nodded. “Yeah, he lives. He’s a cold-blooded son of a bitch, though.”
Like father, like son.
With a bitter laugh, Falcyn closed the distance between him and Narishka. “She was a whore, actually. Treacherous from her first breath to her last.”
Narishka lifted her chin with a courage that would be admirable if not for the sheer stupidity of her defiance, given his hatred and blatant disregard for her life. “I told you not to kill my sister.”
Hissing, he moved to end her so that she could join Igraine in hell.
“Wait!” she screamed.
“For what?” The question was out before he could stop it. He didn’t even know why he bothered, since he had no desire to spare her life or to even hear another syllable from her lips that were more used to spilling lies than truth.
“You have something we need.”
So what? Was she effing kidding? He couldn’t care less about them or their needs.
He quirked a brow at that. “I own nothing.”
“Didn’t say you owned it. Youprotectit.”
He scowled even more, as there was nothing left in this life he protected.
Nothing other than Blaise and Illarion. And he’dneverallow her to have either of them.
“Pardon?”
A dark, insidious light played in the depths of her eyes. “Let us negotiate, shall we?”
***
Urian scowled at Medea as they talked inside the small private room in Sanctuary that was reserved for whenever preternatural clientele became rowdy and needed a time-out away from human witnesses who might not react well to the reality of what they shared their world with. Barely more than a closet, their quarters were cramped, but it allowed them to not be overheard by any of the humans outside.
Or the Were-Hunters, who as a rule hadverysensitive hearing.
And given the fact that his sister had just told him about a mysterious plague that was about to destroy her people, he was glad no one could overhear them.
“Why are you telling me this? I’m no longer a Daimon.”
Medea crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, but for all you know, this plague could infect you, too. Whatever it is that Apollo unleashed on us is taking an awful toll. I know you hate our father, but—”
“Stryker’snotmy father!” he reminded her coldly.
“Biologically, true. However, he did raise you as his own. His wife birthed you.”
“After I was ripped from the stomach of my real mother by that bitch you serve… and shoved into her womb without anyone’s knowledge or consent!” And Medea reminding him of how the gods had screwed him over wasn’t warming him to her cause.
