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The auras in the group were hostile. Their bad energy sent an instant rush of adrenaline through Darien’s veins. As he drew closer, he recognized a few of the faces in the group.
Jude Monson, Head of the Viper’s Nest—or Den, the terms often used interchangeably. Jessa Gilchrist, another Viper and Darien’s former fuckbuddy. Under the unflattering lights, her russet hair was more orange than red.
The others he recognized were Huntsmen, Lionel and Harley Savage among them.
A prickle of warning climbed up Darien’s spine. The Huntsmen didn’t mingle with Vipers. They’d never got along, their hatred for each other fueled by Jude’s close friendship with Darien.
It seemed something had changed. And Darien would be willing to bet it had to do with his claim on the Darkslaying throne.
Jude walked up to him, stepping right in his path. “Heard you chose Malakai to be your Right Hand.”
Darien stopped. “So what?”
The others were watching. Lionel drifted closer, a cruel smile curving his mouth, several of his men mirroring him. Lionel was puffing on a cigar, a glass of scotch in hand.
Jude scoffed. “I thought we were friends, Darien. And I thought you hated Delaney’s guts—”
“Things change.”
“I trusted you,” Jude growled. “I trusted you for years—”
“You still can,” Darien snapped. “I’m a pretty trustworthy person, Jude. You, on the other hand?” He gave a pointed look at the people inching closer. “I promote Malakai and you run off to make friends with Huntsmen? Which of us is the person who can’t be trusted now?”
Lionel came closer. “Leave him be, Jude,” he drawled, tone thick with humor. His eyes raked over Darien with the same cold judgement the man had given him back when he was a teenager. “He’ll get his.”
“If that’s a threat, I’d take it back.”
Lionel smiled. “More like a warning.” He winked.
Darien glanced at Jude. “I’d rethink this if I were you.” Lionel never made allies, and if he did you could be rest assured he’d throw you to the sharks as soon as he was done with you.
But Jude only gave a cold smirk. “I don’t need your advice.”
Lionel drawled, “How’s that delicious little human cunt, Darien?”
Darien saw Lionel’s words for the threat he’d meant them to be. As Randal’s former Right Hand, Lionel would’ve surely known a great deal about what happened with the Well replica.
And who was the key to using the real one. Which made Darien eternally grateful that Loren’s magic was gone—at least, as far as anyone but he and the Devils knew. It was the reason the imperator had come to her school shortly after Kalendae; the reason he had left her alone after making her promise not to speak of the events of that day to anyone.
Lionel’s eyes flicked to something behind Darien. Soon, others were looking too.
Darien sensed the Reaper before he spoke.
“I didn’t realize we were having a reunion,” Malakai said, taking up position at Darien’s right. While every smile in their group faded, Malakai’s grew. “How you doing, Lionel?”
“We were just talking about your promotion,” Lionel said. He drained his scotch and gave him a mocking smile. “Congratulations.”
“You almost sound sincere,” Malakai clipped. It was to Darien that Malakai said, “Let’s piss off.”
They started walking, weaving through the bodies of Vipers and Huntsmen, none of them moving to give them space. No one except Jessa, who looked like she had something to say but didn’t open her mouth. The look in her gaze suggested she was here because she felt she had to be, not because she wanted to be.
As Darien passed Lionel, he slowed, moving in close to the Huntsman. So close he could smell the scotch on his breath. “Talk about her again,” Darien said, his words lethally quiet, “I’ll make you bleed.”
—
The dark storm was misleading, the lack of light making it seem a lot later in the day than it actually was.
When Darien made it out of the club and into the parking lot, he called after Delaney, who was heading for his motorcycle, “Valen and Sylvan!” He knew the Reaper would know what he was talking about.
