Sympathetic grief brought tears to her eyes as she brushed the hair back from his face. “I’m so sorry.”
He kissed her hand. “It’s okay. We’re Daimons, right? Loss is what we’re born for.”
“So you’ve been alone all this time?”
“I still have Davyn,” he said with a smile. But it quickly faded. “We’ve got to get your brother’s egg. That’s Davyn’s only hope for a cure. I need you to talk sense into him, Xyn. Please?”
“A cure?”
Fury darkened his eyes as a tic started in his jaw. “Apollo sent a plague to wipe out the Daimons. Whatever it is, Davyn has it. I can’t lose him.”
“I won’t let you.” She kissed him. “Come. Let me go smack my brother around.”
When she started to get up, Urian stopped her. She glanced back with a frown. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not a Daimon anymore. Do you remember what you said?”
“I remember.”
“Good, because I plan to hold you to it.”
Smiling, Xyn watched as he conjured his clothes and then handed her some the likes of which she’d never seen.
“What is this?”
“Modern clothing.”
She wrinkled her nose at it. “Looks itchy.”
“It is itchy. You’ll get used to it. Besides, once we get this squared away, I intend to get you out of it as quickly as possible.”
She arched a brow at his tone. “There better be a ‘please’ in that.”
He snorted. “There will be as much begging in there as you require, I promise.” He poked his lip out to prove it.
Laughing, she stood up on her tiptoes to draw his lip in between her teeth. “That’s better.”
Xyn swallowed as Urian stepped away and led her from the room. They had much left to talk about. A lot had happened to her since the last time she’d seen him.
Funny how promises were so easy to give.
And incredibly hard to keep.
Sitting at asmall round table at the Café Du Monde in New Orleans, Dikastas looked up from his coffee and beignets as a shadow fell over him and blocked his view of the pedestrian mall, where he liked to watch the tourists while they shopped and strolled along the busy street.
It was even worse than what he’d initially imagined for the interruption—some poor panhandler begging for spare change or an annoying ass wanting directions.
A pouting Girl Scout peddling some overly sweet cookies.
Oh no, those nightmares would be far preferable to this pestilent beast who brought with him a sickening sensation that caused Dikastas’s jaw to fall slack. Indeed, he wouldn’t have been more shocked or stunned to find Apollymi herself standing there, glaring hatred at him.
He choked down his bite of the sugary confection and took a drink of coffee to clear his throat. “Apollo … to what do I owe this …” He searched for an appropriate word.
Honordefinitely didn’t fit.
Horror,not really.
Inconveniencewould be the most apropos, but since Dikastas was the Atlantean god of justice, moderation, and order, he had a bit more tact than to say that out loud as it would cause conflict and strife. So he left it open to the Greek god’s interpretation while he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then gestured at the small metal chair across from him.
