He put his hand to the arrow piercing me through the leg. His hand glowed for a moment. The arrow vanished amid a painful flash making me clench my teeth. His hand on my leg felt intimate, even through the armor.

“You misunderstood what I meant before,” he said. “I said you’re still alive. You still have a body. Your connection to the Living World is faint, but it exists. You’re not dead, and you’re not a demon. You won’t die here tonight.”

“I’m a demon, though. I—”

He leaned close to me. His eyes were jewels. I found myself distracted from the pain, which faded into the background as unimportant.

“You’re not a demon. You’d have ripped out my throat by now.”

My throat felt rather dry. And his throat … well, his throat was quite beautiful, the velvet line of tendon from ear to collarbone possessing a carnal elegance. I raised a hand to his face. He didn’t move to stop me. I touched his lips, not quite trusting myself to do more. I didn’t know if my strength in this realm would sabotage me here too, where I had never done more nor less than hunt and slaughter demons.

“It’s not my fault you’re too pretty to kill,” I told him.

He smiled at my jest. Then he put his hand on the arrow through my chest, the one still spreading its brilliant light but not yet disintegrating me into nothingness. Perhaps he was right about my nature; the arrows had worked faster on Kasmodeus.

“This will hurt,” he warned me.

I placed my hand on his. “Not as much as not knowing your name.”

He laughed outright. “Ask me again the next time we meet.”

He dissolved the arrow. I remember screaming, but nothing more after.

15: WHERE THE HERD WANDERS

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since demons were freed to rampage through the Living World

When Janel stopped talking, Kihrin stood up and left the room.

He couldn’t help himself. Also, he knew losing his temper in front of Janel wouldn’t make a good first impression.

Or second impression, since they’d apparently met before.

Kihrin walked past the main group. What were they now? Military? Mercenaries? They seemed a little too well organized for bandits. They’d gone quiet, debating among themselves in low whispers. Star sat at the end of the bar, ignoring him or rather still in deep conversation with Dorna. At some point, Kihrin needed to find out what their connection was. Between Star and Dorna, they’d managed to kill a bottle of something that looked far stronger than cider.

Kihrin took a deep breath, slid into a seat at the long, high wood counter, and promised himself slitting throats wouldn’t help his current situation.

Besides, the person he wanted to kill wasn’t there.