Page 60 of Hell's Secret Omega

He calms himself. The trail still shines, meaning the niad hasn’t been dead for longer than a few hours. Cyrus has taken care of himself through years of the Court’s thorny dangers. Plus, the bond is quiet, save for the low-level itch of Cyrus’s bond-sickness. That doesn’t mean he’s out of danger. But Mezor needs to trust him.

He takes care of the sticky trail of slime, putting the torch to it and watching the flame crawl high across the roof of the caveand out the exit. Whoever sent it will expect it to return with valuable information. Though this one has been silenced, others will soon follow its tracks.

If Leuther has uncovered a nest of niads, it’s only a matter of time before the grotto is compromised.

The bond remains uncommunicative. He may need to enter the Court when night falls. Wrapped in shadows, he’d be invisible. It’s been three days since they last touched—the bond sickness will soon become urgent for Cyrus. But if they somehow miss crossing paths out there, Cyrus’s suffering will be painfully prolonged.

He must wait.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer. The grotto announces Cyrus’s return with a welcoming flare of light all throughout. Mezor’s own markings brighten in answer. He stands from the table where he’s been pretending to whittle more arrows, relief sweeping through him when he opens the door. Cyrus hurries across the grotto and slams into him, latching on.

“You’re late,” he says, muffled.

Mezor squeezes him. “You’re covered in ash.”

He strokes Cyrus’s hair, letting his thumb brush the base of one dusty horn. Cyrus shivers and rubs his face on Mezor’s chest, leaving ash there too. “I’ve been out. I took precautions to disguise myself.”

“Cyrus…” He puts the little demon at arm’s length. His heart twists. “The grotto has been compromised. We can’t stay here any longer.”

Cyrus searches his eyes. “What? But it’s your home.”

“Do you know what a niad is?”

Cyrus shakes his head.

“It’s the creature you killed. It’s a spy, not a very effective one, but dangerous nonetheless. A niad lays a hundred eggs, and its young can be trained from hatching to seek out a particularscent. They will search far and wide, and if they find it, they return to their place of origin and describe their path to their nest-mates.”

“So anyone can follow their path.” Understanding dawns on Cyrus’s face.

“They were used by angels to assassinate traitors before the cataclysm. General Leuther must have stumbled on an old clutch preserved in oil.”

Cyrus shudders. “It was horrible. I didn’t kill it—it fell into the pond and drowned. Then everything went dark.”

“It’s a foul creature. Bred to be that way through no fault of its own.” Mezor sighs. “One niad means there are many.”

“Claudius—of the Grey Company—told me Leuther is searching for the King.”

“You saw him.” Mezor suppresses a flash of possessiveness. He doesn’t trust the Grey Company one bit. But Cyrus does.

“He gave me news.”

Mezor frowns. From the view of a twisted mind, it has its own logic. “Leuther wants to challenge him, most likely. And kill him. Otherwise he’ll never have credibility among his own allies.”

“He wouldn’t stand a chance,” Cyrus snorts. He turns to the creek, stripping off his dusty clothes as he goes. “The Grey Company is still around, though. So those little spy insects aren’t that clever. They’ll leave after Leuther’s coronation, when he’s moving everyone from the Court to his new tower. I have to return before then.”

He dives into the water without a second look. Mezor grits his teeth. He wants to tell Cyrus it’s too dangerous—more than one high-ranked official still wants to make an example of him. But he’s not Cyrus’s jailor.

He sits cross-legged in the moss, watching Cyrus swim. It makes him proud to see the play of light across his new muscles through the water. Cyrus surfaces with a gasp only to plunge intothe chilly water again, his pleasure singing through the bond. It unfurls a bright tendril in his heart. Deep down he knows their time together is coming to an end.

“You’re always watching me.” Cyrus hangs his elbows on the shore some ways down. The current is light and playful around his pebbled nipples. “Even before, I felt your eyes on me. I used to hate it. Why would a such a powerful being—agod—like you have any reason to watch me?”

The confession that Cyrus noticed makes his blood rise thick and hot. “And now?”

Cyrus swipes the wet hair off his face. His eyes gleam. “Now I know why you did it, of course.”

He swims away without saying anything more, his silvery flank flashing to the surface as he dives›. The moss glimmers bright on the bank wherever he splashes, tracing the path of Mezor’s longing.

“One more night,”Cyrus says breathily, later, thighs loose against Mezor’s cheeks. He slumps, his soft sac pressing cutely against Mezor’s half-open mouth, heedless of his fangs. The delicious perfume of his slick fills Mezor’s nose.

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