Love.
It was entirely by design for her to feel that attachment and entirely unacceptable for him. Only time would tell if hers would be a True Love, and thus capable of fulfilling the treaty. When he returned to his lair, he would have to discuss it with her. He would have to say the words, feign the feelings, let her believe that something had grown between them that could be eternal… or at least another five hundred years, if the spawning were successful.
It would all be a lie. Or worse, the truth—because then he would have to banish Arabella from his lair and never set sight on her again.
His choices were enough to make him want to lock himself in his bedroom with her and never leave. But that was a childish longing, and he was a man nearing the end of his days… either he would make this work with Arabella, or another in her place, or he would turn wyvern without fulfilling the treaty and break ten thousand years of peace.
At least he wouldn’t be human long enough to see it. Or likely even alive.
He should remind Leonidas to kill him should his wyvern form arrive early.
The air dipped cooler as he reached the coast. Seattle’s towers sparkled in the distance, reminding him of the human world he had been born to protect. It was literally his entire reason for existing, and the idea of failing in his sole purpose on earth… fuck. He swept that thought away by reaching his senses out to the city, enlivening the runes that rippled across his skin and calling forth his inner fae nature. He tasted the occupants, both human and shifter, searching for his brother’s scent in particular, as well as any demon who might chance to show its true nature. All seemed normal—the witches in their covens sparking blue magical fire, leaving a tangy after-sizzle in magic-space; the wolves going about their lives, many still masquerading as humans, but some flexing their magic openly among the human population; and the humans who were most vulnerable of all. They tasted sweet and bitter, some consumed with pettiness and hatred, but the vast majority living and loving as if nothing mattered but the treasured ones in the tight circle of their lives. Lucian’s job was to keep them in this blissfully unaware state, like children whose innocence he had sworn to protect—
A whiff of demon caught his attention. His predatory instincts zeroed in and had him banking to follow the trace. He dipped down to the concrete canyons of the city, weaving after it, reaching forward to track the source. It was vapor, barely showing its sulfurous scent above the cacophony of human-tinged smells, but there was something else… something that burned with electric-white fire…
Angel.
Lucian careened around the corner of an alleyway shrouded in shadows, and a blast of scents flooded him. The demon was on its knees, in the form of a man begging for his life, but Lucian could see the shadow of it writhing under his skin—its dark form leaked from the man’s body, snarling and snapping at the searing bright angeling poised above it. The female was in full battle cry, the brightness of her being lighting up the alley with the power of a sun. She raised her sword above her head, and it crackled with blue energy over the clear, heaven-forged metal. Her righteous scream pierced Lucian’s ears as she plunged the length of her angel blade into the demon’s body. His shriek rivaled hers, at a frequency only heard in magic space, but the man, the human half of him, screamed as well, the agony of separating from his essence, torn in half at the DNA level.
The human/demon hybrid slumped to the ground, vanquished. The blade slipped free of the body, a tarnish of black demon essence left upon it. The slayer raised her arms in triumph, another warrior cry pulsing from her wide-open mouth. Her white wings unfurled to their full height, her body pulsed with power, and her long white-blonde hair flared behind her in an unseen magical wind. The white wisps of fabric that passed for angel clothing clung to her rapturous curves, held by threads of gold and magic, baring most of her decidedly human flesh. Because she was definitely half-human under those angel wings if she was killing demons in a Seattle alley. And this particular hybrid angel/human was a slayer he knew all too well. The fact that she was here meant Leksander had to be nearby. Sure enough, as her righteous warrior-scream faded, his brother dropped on silver wings into the alley, landing softly on the dirty pavement by her side.
Fuck. What was he thinking, bringing her here?
“Erelah.” Lucian threw her angel name down the alleyway in challenge—and also to alert her to his presence, so she didn’t accidentally fling that angel blade his way. Angels were nothing if not erratic… especially in the full blush of a kill. “We might have wanted to question that one, you know.”