Haunted by the King of Death by Felicity Heaton Page B

Antoine would fight beside him.
    An unfair advantage.
    No bastard would fight on his side.
    He drew down a deep breath, held it and then released it slowly as he reminded himself that he hadn’t come here to fight. Gods, standing before his cousins made something painfully clear. Snow was right. He had changed.
    He viewed everyone as a threat now. A potential fight. A potential death. Was he that eager for the sweet oblivion of pain and his bloodlust that he would fight his own family?
    He cursed Isla’s name for what felt like the millionth time, blaming everything on her. She had been the one to change him. That smile and laugh Snow remembered wasn’t a figment of his warped imagination, a twisted memory that had never happened. They had existed once. He had been capable of good as well as bad.
    Isla had ripped out the heart that had housed those softer emotions though and replaced it with a damaged shadow of that organ, one that didn’t know how to do or feel such things.
    Snow’s steady gaze held him, demanding an answer.
    Grave would give him one.
    “A demon from the Devil’s domain attacked me during a battle between two other demon realms,” he said and Thorne perked up, turning his head slightly towards him, so Grave could see his left horn and the crimson eye that slid his way. It wasn’t unexpected. King Thorne had a realm to defend and protect, and had only recently won a war. It was natural for him to be concerned about wars in the other realms. Normally when one demon realm lost a war, they turned their anger on a different one. “He intervened and delivered a message to me.”
    Snow poked him in the right shoulder and Grave grimaced as it burned, clenching his teeth against the lingering pain.
    “More than a message,” his cousin said with a frown. “As if I wouldn’t notice you were injured.”
    Grave had hoped he wouldn’t, but he had underestimated his cousin. They had served together for four centuries, had been assigned to the same legion, and he should have known Snow would have uncovered all his tells in that time together, learning to detect when he was trying to hide things. Vulnerabilities. Perhaps he could make it work to his advantage.
    “The night we attacked that castle on the border, we did not kill every demon.” Grave rolled his shoulder, easing the tightness that had been building in it. His cousins knew of his injury now so there was no point in hiding it anymore. He pressed his left hand to it and rubbed it. “An infant survived.”
    Snow’s face darkened again. “A babe?”
    He nodded. “No longer a babe now though. He is strong, and he wants revenge, Snow… on those who led the charge… and their families.”
    Antoine bit out a curse. Snow’s glacial blue eyes began to blaze like fire. His brother noticed it and placed a hand on his left shoulder. Snow looked down at him, some of the red clearing from his irises but not enough to erase the murderous edge from them. Grave knew the thoughts pinging around his head, the hunger to hunt and destroy, all in the name of protecting his kin.
    Snow would help him, he knew it.
    “If this demon comes for Snow and our family, we will handle it.” Antoine’s deep voice echoed around the room with authority that dared anyone to challenge him.
    Grave took him up on it.
    “This demon—”
    A loud crash from above cut him off and had everyone turning towards the stairs against the far wall of the double-height room. Sable, Aurora and Thorne came to their feet. Antoine broke away from them and Snow let out a low growl that sounded more animal than vampire.
    Footsteps echoed down the staircase and then a male appeared in view, pursued by a brunette female with a young boy in her arms.
    Dogs.
    Grave curled a lip at the two werewolves and was about to ask what the hell Antoine and Snow were doing allowing such a couple to stay in their theatre when he caught the scent of the male.
    He smiled slowly.
    What was Kincaid’s pup doing