“My thanks, and I shall pray for yours.”
“Why? I’m not in any danger.”
He shook his head, but didn’t look at her. When he spoke, his tone was grave. “Methinks you are in far greater danger than you know.”
Belial knocked the crone away from him, his anger burning deep inside. Brittle leaves rustled beneath his feet as he walked a circle around the clearing, his thoughts churning over her disclosure. “How could you have been so foolish!”
Rising from the heap where she’d landed, Mildred wiped the blood from her lip and narrowed her eyes. “’Twill work, I assure you.”
“But why?” he insisted between clenched teeth, his hot, angry breath forming a cloud. “Why would you make the Saxon swoon for her when ’twill serve no purpose other than to turn Valteri away from here?”
“Nay, ’twill raise his jealousy!”
Belial seized her again and drew back his arm. Before he slapped her, he stopped himself. No need to abuse her further. The damage of her stupidity had been wrought. All he could do now was try and salvage as much as he could.
Why can I never have an intelligent accomplice? Just once!
He wiped his hand over his chin, trying desperately to think of something. But he was weary, too weary to think clearly.
Valteri refused to stay by Ariel’s side long enough to consummate their union, and so long as he chose to ride about the countryside, Ariel would remain chaste and pure.
Dammit! How he hated self-control.
“Just you wait,” the crone began again. “When Lord Valteri sees his beloved in the arms of another—”
“Arms of another?” Belial spat, his fury pitching in his demon’s belly. “Ariel will never allow such. And even should she, Valteri will no doubt leave. He’ll look upon the Saxon as a worthy replacement for himself.”
Belial sighed, forcing himself to calm so that he could focus his thoughts. “You’re so stupid!”
He needed a better class of minion.
And he needed one fast.
Thorn pulled up short as he entered his tent and found the last thing his shitty day needed.
A confab of Arelim waiting on him. They were the guardians of humanity. Those assigned with making sure the demons didn’t overrun or overstep and wreak even more havoc than normal on the unsuspecting weak.
And not just any Arelim. The head bastards of them.
Michael, Gabriel, and Sraosha. It was enough to make his ulcer have a baby, given that he usually only saw them when they were at the end of his sword, trying to kill him.
Even though they were supposed to be on the same team.
These days.
Back when he served his father, they were fatal enemies. Somehow the bastards had missed the memo that he’d switched sides and they were now supposed to be playing nice with each other.
Thorn inclined his head to them. “Assholes, to what do I owe this displeasure?”
Michael bristled before he grimaced at his companions. “Told you we were wasting our time.”
Gabriel held his hand up to silence him. Unlike the fair and ever perfect Michael, he was dark in skin tone and eyes. Even with no hair, he was still every bit as beautiful as one would expect from the winged guard. “We have a situation.”
“I figured as much since I didn’t think you were here to invite me for tea and biscuits. Not to mention the battlefield I just left where we are getting our asses handed to us by our enemies.” Thorn set his helm down on his chest and reached for his particular “mead” to pour himself a flagon. “I would offer you a drink, but I don’t think any of you have a stomach for my vintage.”
Sraosha curled his lip. “We don’t need a demon!” He moved to leave.
Gabriel grabbed his arm. “Today, we do.” He pierced both his companions with a hostile glare. “In case you missed our earlier discussion and as you just noted, Belial is kicking our asses. To track a demon of his level, we need a demon of his level. Our Necrodemians are worthless.”
