“Is that any way to speak to your beloved clan chief ?”
Uriel snorted. “I will agree that you’re my clan chief.”
Victor sipped his cognac, a somber expression settling on his lean face.
“We have been through interesting times, haven’t we, old friend?”
Uriel’s vague unease became downright apprehension. Despite his vast age, Victor wasn’t prone to maudlin musings.
So, what the hell was going on?
“Some more interesting than others,” he slowly admitted, setting aside the Waterford crystal glass.
He suspected that he didn’t want something so easily breakable in his hands when Victor finally got to the point of this little tete a tete.
Victor nodded. “True.”
“What’s on your mind, Victor?”
“I sense we’re approaching momentous days.”
Uriel might have laughed if he didn’t sense the same damned thing.
It had started small.
The growing unrest among the demon world. The recent flurry of sacrifices by the Dark Lord’s disciples to return him from his exile to this world. The rumors of the Weres regaining their ancient powers and the discovery of a new Oracle who would sit on the Commission (the powerful council who ruled the demon world).
But more disturbing than all of those combined were the nasties that were crawling out of the shadows at an alarming rate.