of possessing. You’ll be begging me to save you because you’re a big… lumbering… idiot.”
His horns flared further, twisted all the way around themselves to form dagger-like points by his temples. “Say that again. I dare you.”
He took a hard step towards her, all glowering darkness that radiated anger the demoness would be wise to heed.
But didn’t.
She tipped her chin up and stared Frey right in the eyes. “Big. Lumbering. Idiot.”
He snarled, flashing long fangs.
“All your kind of demons are so puny and dumb.” Syn toyed with her hair and teased her short black onyx horn for a split-second. “You probably don’t know the sharp end of the sword from the hilt!”
Frey chuckled. “Sharp end of a sword? The blade, since that is the sharpened part? Or did you mean the point? If you need a lesson in the anatomy of a sword, I am more than happy to give you an up close and painful look at my one.”
He held his right hand out above the rocky ground, his palm facing it.
Hartt arched an eyebrow as the rock split and the round pommel of a sword emerged from it, holding a large blue crystal. The bound black leather grip followed it, and then the cross-guard, a thick but ornately carved bar of silver that cut across the base of the blade. That blade was broad, slowly revealing itself as the weapon continued to rise from the ground, lifting up towards the demon’s hand.
A blade made for a demon.
Syn’s amber eyes gained a strange light as she stared at the sword, as the blade kept going. Three feet long. Four. When it reached close to five feet in length, Frey twisted his hand, skimmed it down the grip, and curled his fingers around it. He pulled the point of the sword free of the rock, set it back against it and stared at Syn, blue fire shining in his eyes.
The demoness edged forwards, her hands twitching at her sides, her eyes locked on the sword. She sounded dazed, or possibly bewitched or enamoured.
“So big—can I touch it?” she breathed, reached for it and caught herself. She scowled at everyone, her expression blackening as she found all of them staring at her. Her tone gained an edge as sharp as the blade Frey gripped. “So I have sword envy. It’s a thing!”
Her sparkly amber eyes leaped back to Frey.
“How’d you get such a fancy one anyway?” The pout in Syn’s voice drew a smile from Mackenzie, had his mate shaking her head.
“I am First King.” Those words were tinged with melancholy and regret, sorrow that only seemed to build as Frey lowered his eyes to the weapon he wielded, transforming into pain that looked as if it was tearing him apart.
“Frey.” Isla softly placed her hand on his forearm again.
He glanced at her as he released the sword and it sank back into the ground, drew a shaky breath and touched her cheek. “I need some air.”
She smiled tightly.
Frey lingered, shifted his hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, looked as if he wanted to say something more to her, and then his hand dropped from her face and he walked away from her, out into the frigid night.
“What’s his problem?” Syn muttered.
The temperature of the air dropped so low Hartt swore his blood was freezing.
Isla turned on the demoness, her blue eyes verging on white, her pale hair fluttering at the tips and beginning to rise into the icy air. “A demon like you killed his family—killed my family—my sister and my young nephew. Frey’s sister-in-law and his nephew. A demon like you placed him on a throne that should have belonged to his brother!”
A blast of cold air struck Syn and knocked her backwards. She braced her foot behind her, the flicker of regret in her eyes there and gone in a heartbeat as she bravely faced the phantom.
“Not like I did it,” Syn snapped.
Isla snarled, “Your breed are all the same.”
“His breed are all the fucking same!” Syn shot back, fire in her eyes now. “You don’t know my story, so don’t stand there and act like you do. You don’t know what his wretched kind have taken from me.”
The demoness breathed hard, looked close to hyperventilating as her eyes slowly widened and her hands shook at her sides as she stared the phantom down.
Isla looked as if she wanted to say something, but then she swept from the cave, the soles of her boots floating an