“Who’s feyfolk?”
Legitimate question, he supposed, as there was a lot of fey in the world to go around, and he hadn’t specified the pantheon. Falcyn sighed. “At one time, everyone’s. But nowadays, it’s mostly reserved for Morgen’s rejects. And some other IBS-suffering bastards.”
“Yeah, okay … So what’s the—” Before she could finish her sentence, a bolt of light shot between them, narrowly missing her.
In fact, it only missed her because Falcyn deflected it. “Stray magick. You have to keep your head up for it. If it hits you, there’s no telling what it might do. Could vaporize you. Turn you into a toad. Or just ruin your chances for children.”
Medea’s eyes widened as she watched it explode and morph a tree not far from them into a chicken that screeched, then dove under the ground to burrow like a frightened rabbit. “That happen a lot?”
Falcyn nodded. “’Round here? Good bit.”
“Great. Anything else I should watch out for?”
“Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Everything.”
Blinking, she met Urian’s gaze. “Joke?”
“Falcyn has no measurable sense of humor. At least none that we’ve identified to date.”
Blaise braided his long white hair and secured it with a leather tie he’d unwound from his wrist. “Well, Max said that Falcyn wasn’t always the pain in the ass we know him as. But I can only speak about the last few hundred years. And he hasn’t changed as long as I’ve known him.”
“Not helping, Blaise,” Urian said drily.
He spread his arms wide to indicate their surroundings. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not real good at that. Tend to fuck up all things whenever I try to help.”
“And Merlin chose you for a Grail knight. What the hell was she thinking?”
Blaise hissed. “We don’t talk about that out loud, Falcyn! Sheez! What? You trying to get me killed?”
Falcyn shot a blast of fire at the sky. “Still trying to figure out how we got here … and why. ’Cause let’s face it, we didn’t get sent here for anything good.”
“Was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.” Blaise cleared his throat. “Way to harsh my zen, dude.”
Falcyn rolled his eyes at Blaise. “You need to stop hanging out with Savitar. I hate that bastard.”
“You hate everyone,” Blaise reminded him.
“That surfboard-wielding bastard I hate most of all.”
Blaise arched an inquisitive brow. “More than Max?”
Falcyn growled. “Are we going to argue inconsequentials or look for a way home? ’Cause I just tried my powers and they didn’t do shit for getting us out of here.”
Cringing, Blaise rubbed nervously at his neck. “Mine either, and I was hoping to keep you distracted so that you wouldn’t beat my ass over this situation.”
Falcyn glanced to Urian. “What about you, Princess Pea? You got anything?”
“Besides a throbbing migraine? No. My teleportation isn’t cooperating either.”
They all looked at Medea.
“Really? If mine was working do you think I’d be here, listening to the lot of you? Promise, I’d have vanished long ago.”
Blaise sighed. “I think I saw this movie once. It didn’t go well for the people, as they turned on each other and it involved chainsaws … and a whole lot of blood.”
“But was there silence? That’s the real question.”
Urian snorted at Falcyn’s irritable comment.
Worse?
There was sudden silence. It echoed around them with that eerie kind of stillness that set every nerve ending on edge. The kind that radiated with malevolence because it was a portent.
The men drew together to stand with their backs to each other so that they could face and fight whatever threat was coming for them.
Medea wasn’t so quick to trust. While they were allies, they weren’t hers. And trust didn’t come easy to her—it hadn’t in a long, long time.
Actually, she wasn’t sure if it’d ever been part of her vocabulary. So she stood as she’d done the whole of her life.
Alone.
K-bars drawn. It was, after all, what she knew best. And she waited for the imminent storm that would do its damnedest to tear her to shreds. Just as it always did.
Falcyn froze as he caught sight of Medea and her warrior’s stance. She was a thing of exquisite beauty and he wasn’t describing her physical appearance. Rather it was that raw determination in her dark eyes. The steel in her spine as she stood ready to take on whatever threat was coming for her with shrewd confidence.
Damn.
That kind of grit reached out and touched him on a level unexpected. Bonded them. Because only someone who’d been through the hell he’d known could look like that.
And before he reconsidered his actions, he moved to stand with her.
She scowled at him. “What are you doing?”
“Covering your flank.”
“I’ve got jeans for that.”
He bit back a wry grin. “Yeah, you do. And a fine ass they cup. I’m here to make sure you keep it attached where it is and unbloodied.”
An unidentifiable shadow passed behind her eyes, but whatever it was softened her features and hit him like a blow. More than that, it caused his cock to jerk at the worst possible time. And he didn’t know why, when he needed his blood in his brain so that he could think through how best to defeat whatever was planning to take them out.
Suddenly, a bright light flashed near them. One that momentarily blinded him with its intensity.
He pulled back to confront the mist that solidified into a tall, lanky male with brown hair and red eyes.
Raking a sneer over the demon dressed in black-on-black designer snobbery, Falcyn glanced to Urian, who seemed to recognize the Fabio wannabe. “So, Slim, who is this designer asshole?”
3
The demon quirked a grin at Falcyn’s question. “That’s Mr. Asshole to you, Dragon.”
“Sure, punkin. Whatever floats your shit.”
Medea poked Falcyn on the shoulder before she rose up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “You might not want to antagonize him.”
“Says the woman who knows me not at all. Trust me. I’ve pissed down the throats of monsters that make this posh boy look even lamer than what he is. On my scared-o-meter, he doesn’t even move the needle.”
The demon smiled grudgingly. “Which is why you’ve held your dragonstone longer than any other dragon in history. Now be a good boy, hand it over.”
Falcyn snorted derisively as he raked a less-than-impressed stare over him. “Uh … hell to the no.”
A slow smile spread over the demon’s chiseled features, but didn’t quite reach his red eyes. “Give us the stone and I’ll tell you how to save your sister.”
Falcyn went still at those words. “My sister’s dead. And if you pull a Narishka on me, I swear, demon, I’ll eat your heart for lunch and burp it for dessert.”