As his brothers and Kynan closed in on him like rabid wolves, the first stirrings of apprehension that he might not make it out of this scrape alive rippled through him. He didn’t fear death; he feared dying before he could make sure Sin was safe.
The very real possibility that he was going to die right now brought a veil of lava-red cascading down over his vision. He breathed deeply, willing it to recede as he glared at his brothers. “Back the hell off—”
Idess spun him into the wall so he was eating plaster, her pelvis hugging his ass—in a great fit, he couldn’t help but notice, even through his growing anger. Her plump breasts rubbed on his back, and he popped an erection as the sexual side-effect of his rage took hold.
“It’s a little late for backing off,” she murmured against his ear, and his blood thickened with both fury and desire. “The only reason I haven’t killed you yet is that I want to know who wants Kynan dead. Plus, I thought I’d allow your brothers that honor.”
“Aren’t you the vicious one,” he growled. “That’s hot.” I’m going to kill these guys and then fuck you hard. The thought blasted into his brain, pumped in on the rage that was poisoning his system. He panted, desperate to come down from this, because he was only one insult, or one prick of pain away from no-return.
And then he could guarantee that males were going to die. The female…
Idess jammed her knee into a pressure point in his thigh and tripped his land mine. Lore exploded out of her grip, knocking her into Shade. They both went down. Kynan. Kill the human first—
Idess leaped to her feet, spitting commands in the universal demon language, Sheoulic.
Lore checked up hard as pain shot from his brain stem to his tailbone. His lungs vapor-locked and his muscles cemented in place. He was a dead man now.
His last semicoherent thought as his brain function shut down like a computer’s blue screen of death was that he should have negotiated with Detharu for ninety-nine kills instead of a hundred.
Idess doubled over as the full body migraine struck, squeezing her brain, her spinal fluid, and even the marrow in her bones. She hated using bore worms, but she liked to win, and she’d take the tradeoff any day.
Wincing, eyes slitted against the light that stabbed her nerve endings, she lifted her head—and gasped. Lore was standing there, surrounded by his baffled brothers, gaze vacant thanks to the worm’s influence. That was to be expected. What was unexpected—and a whole lot of trouble—was the fact that he was surrounded by a faint azure glow.
In the span of time it took for an angel to flap her wings, he’d become a Primori, important to the very fabric of the world. Which meant she couldn’t kill him. And worse, her arm burned anew as a circular symbol set into her wrist…
Impossible. No, no, no! Nausea swirled in her stomach, but from the agony wrenching her brain and bones or from the growing fear that the heraldi forming in her skin was bad news, she didn’t know.
But as the mark embedded firmly into her arm above the other two to form a triangle of circles, she couldn’t deny the new link that stretched like an invisible string from her to the new charge.
Lore was not just Primori; he was her Primori.
Oh, this was a sick joke.
His symbol began to throb harder, a screaming warning that Lore was in danger. She looked in time to see Kynan draw a pistol from his chest holster, murderous intent turning the blue in his eyes to glacial arctic ice. Weakly, because the bore worm was sapping her energy, she grasped Lore’s wrist and flashed him to her house.
She had to restrain him, and fast, before the worm caused permanent damage to him, and before her own pain became so overwhelming that she lost control over the creature.
Quickly, she led Lore to the bedroom and ordered him to strip off his gloves and jacket—and his leather chest harness that was loaded with weapons… and the wrist housing… and the ankle holster with the pistol, and the other ankle sheath with the blade… and the throwing stars in his pants pockets…
She eyed one weapon in particular as it fell to the floor, an exquisite, rare Gargantua-bone dagger. Those priceless beauties were practically indestructible, and once wetted with the blood of an intended victim, the dagger would virtually guide the wielder’s hand to unerringly accurate strikes against that victim. Wow—Lore was one well-equipped assassin.
When he lifted his shirt to remove a ceramic blade taped to his ribs, she sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of his muscular abs and hard-cut chest. Yes, very well-equipped. He was massive, a mountain of power she wanted to touch, if only to see if she’d feel the shock of it through her fingertips.