So be it. Urian took the bottle. “We shall find a place to rebuild.”
“Are you insane?” his father snapped. “Of course you can stay here! I glared at you because I couldn’t believe you thought you had to ask me for something that was a given. You know that you’re always welcomed in my home.”
Oh. Now he felt even dumber than he had a moment ago. Shaking his head, Urian glanced back to Kisha. “Send for the others and we’ll see them settled.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” With another bow, she and the others rose and quickly left.
As soon as they were gone, his brothers and father stepped closer to examine his bottle.
“What is it?”
“Did they bring you blood?”
Urian smiled wistfully at their curiosity as he remembered the first time Sheba had served it to him. “Sort of.” He uncorked it. “It’s blood mead. They also have sanguine wine. And yes, even Apollites can drink this. You’ll like it. Trust me.” He took a drink directly from the bottle, then passed it over to them.
In the beginning, they were skittish, but once they tasted the wine, they had the same reaction he’d had the first time he’d tried it. Utter delight, followed by gluttony as no Apollite or Daimon had ever known such before. Normally whenever they tried to eat or drink anything other than each other’s blood, their bodies rejected it—courtesy of his grandfather Apollo.
Food and drink made them violently ill.
Not this. Somehow, Sheba’s brewers had found a way to mix the right proportions so that their bodies would accept the drink, just as if they’d never been cursed.
It was wonderful to finally have some form of variety to their diets.
All of a sudden, they heard a loud commotion outside, punctuated by angry shouting and a lot of threats of bodily harm to anyone who didn’t withdraw immediately. Fury darkened his father’s eyes, but Urian recognized the deep cadence of that unmistakable baritone. “Wait!”
Urian teleported outside in time to see the massive beast of a warrior about to take the heads off the three Daimons who were dumb enough to confront him because they assumed this belligerent newcomer was a trelos in their midst.
Not that Urian blamed them. Given his rage and demeanor, it would be a natural assumption.
But this was no trelos.
He was something a whole lot deadlier.
Almost seven feet tall, with golden-blond hair, he made a fierce sight. His muscled shoulders would be wide enough on their own, but covered with armor and war-matted furs, those shoulders promised a crushing blow to anyone who angered this beast of a man. And it was only part of the reason why he’d been termed the Widowmaker.
Well that, and the two massive double-headed axes strapped to his back that he was not only a master of using, but way too quick to make use of.
And usually for no other reason than he was mildly perturbed.
Curling his lips, the Widowmaker headed for the first Daimon who neared him.
“Ruyn!” Urian shouted. “Halt!”
He hesitated as if he still wanted a piece of the one who’d annoyed him, then turned slowly to face Urian. “Where’s my sister?”
Urian flinched at the pain-filled question and hated that he had to be the one to gut the man who loved his sister dearly. Choking on his guilt, he closed the distance between them. “I’m sorry.”
The agony that haunted those steel-blue eyes was searing. Of all the people in the world, Ruyn had loved Sheba more than anyone. She was all the family he had.
Throwing his head back, he let loose a thunderous, pain-filled roar.
One that caused several of their men to rush forward.
Urian held his hand up to stop them. Then he shook his head. “I should have sent word to you. Again, I’m so sorry.”
Before he could respond, they were joined by his father, who eyed Ruyn suspiciously. “Who is this?”
“Sheba’s half brother Ruyn.” Urian had barely spoken those words before Apollymi appeared in her full Destroyer form. Black on black, with her red eyes glowing. Hurricane-force winds swept through the whole of Kalosis, knocking most of them to the ground and sending bodies flying.
