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“Your word.”
“We’re wasting time.”
“I’ll have your word, Sin, or you’re waiting here.”
He hadn’t called me by the nickname in days now. I hated how the word made my heart thump harder, even when we were mid-argument.
“I’ll run.”
I’d run, then I’d circle back, and save the stubborn ass.
He narrowed his eyes at me, but footsteps sounded. A group of rebels was marching this way. Either we strolled into the clearing on our own, or we’d be discovered anyway.
Demos shook his head, rolled his shoulders, and stalked toward the clearing.
Shouts sounded, and I sighed, following him. Instantly, we were surrounded.
Bodies pushed close, cutting off any escape routes we might have attempted. The rebels’ expressions ranged from fury to shock, while their weapons ranged from short daggers to broadswords.
Demos ignored the weapons leveled our way and pinned the leader with a hard stare. His amber eyes were wild, his hands fisted. Anyone who didn’t know him might have thought he was scared. But I knew he was holding himself back from tearing through these rebels before they knew what had happened, his instincts vehemently opposed to allowing both of us to become surrounded.
“You have something of ours,” Demos said.
Surprise flashed into the leader’s eyes, followed by dull fury. He had an interesting face. Not exactly handsome, but…compelling. All sharp angles, with a high forehead. The kind of face you remembered.
The rebels came closer, tightening their circle surrounding us. I wasn’t claustrophobic like Pris, but sweat dripped down my back just the same.
The leader swaggered toward us, his gaze stilling on Demos’s face.
“I assume you’re the hybrid prince. How fortunate that you’ve chosen to grace us with your presence.”
Demos angled his head. A man holding a large knife took a step closer to me, and I leveled my own crossbow at him. Another man approached from my left, getting close enough that I jolted.
Demos was suddenly there. He wrapped his left arm over the man’s knife hand and twisted. The knife dropped, the man fell to his knees, and a loud crack echoed across the clearing. The man screamed, and Demos stepped back, the knife in his hand. He returned his gaze to the leader, expression placid.
“Where is Tibris?”
Something I couldn’t place flickered across the leader’s face. “You came all this way, placing both of you in danger, for one man? A human?”
Demos’s face might have been carved from stone. “I came all this way for my brother.”
I was watching closely enough that this time, I caught the flicker of relief at Demos’s words.
What exactly was happening here?
The rebel leader narrowed his eyes at Demos. “You have no brothers.”
Demos bared his teeth in an expression that would never be mistaken for a smile. “The brother of my sister is my brother. I’ve claimed him as such.”
My chest squeezed. Demos didn’t say things he didn’t mean. And I knew him well enough by now to know that he would die for those he’d claimed as family.
When Prisca learned that Demos—who had resented Tibris from the moment he learned who Prisca was—had claimed him as his brother…
“Is he alive?” Demos demanded.
The leader nodded. “Yes.”
My shoulders slumped, the relief almost dizzying. “Is he hurt?” I asked.
