“You know not what you speak of.” He really wished his mother's killer would go away or choke on his own tongue.
Damien was getting tired of hearing all of the nonsense that came out of the angelic looking demon who currently tried to get him to stop drinking.
He never drank – alcohol, that is. But, he was drinking now. Life was too messed up and since he was already going to hell, what difference could a small beer make? Or six, for that matter.
He'd been driving to Eden Manor from the docks, having managed, after no small amount of bribing, to get a boat that would take both him and his car back to England with no questions asked. There was no way that he was leaving his precious behind too. If he was going to die, then he would do it in style.
He went home the same way that he'd gotten to the island where he'd found and lost his heart. Then Dante faded into the passenger's seat of the Charger, making him almost swerve off the road in surprise and dragged him into a local bar.
Damien still couldn't believe how the nuisance had managed to find him like that. He'd asked him as much and the egotistical blond's answer had been, “I'm your brother, we share the same blood, I always know where you are.” Well, if that was true, then how come he hadn't killed him yet?
“Sure I do – Dante replied to his earlier hateful words – you think that you're being noble by assuming the role of martyr. But, did you ever stop to consider that you aren't doing your new friend a favor by leaving her alone? You do know what she is, don't you little brother?”
“Don't call me that, and whataya mean?” He slurred.
The cryptic question, added to the name that he had taken to call him angered Damien even more. He knew that he only did it to spite him and he hated that he was gullible enough to fall prey to his taunting every time.
“Would you look at that? Being the rebel is truly working wonders for you. You're even speaking like regular people now.” Dante joked.
“If you truly don't know, then that's an answer best left for another time. I'm still not completely sure myself.” Dante was speaking, but his words made no actual sense, Damien thought.
Until he said, “Either way, you should know that Lilith has placed a price on the witch's pretty little head.”
“She has nothing to do with her father's work.” Damien blurted defensively as he spilled almost half of his beer because he'd been waving the index finger of the hand that held the bottle in Dante's face as he spoke.
“You disappoint me, little brother.” He shook his head sadly and wiped some of the liquid that had landed on his chin. “This is so much bigger than a simple demon hunter.”
“Speak clearly, damn you!” He was about to lose his temper. If it was hard to control his rage when sober, it was ten times more difficult with lowered inhibitions.
“Lilith's seer showed her a vision. The girl will be the Brethren's undoing.” It couldn't get any clearer than that.
Unless he was too drunk and he'd been hallucinating the argument. Although, he doubted that, if given the chance, his inebriated mind would conjure up images of Dante of all people.
A pair of pale fingers snapped in front of his eyes.
“You're pathetic, pay attention.” The owner of the annoying snapping fingers told him. Damien wanted to slap away the horrible look of pity that he found on the older demon's face.
“You lie.” Kennedy wasn't anyone's undoing, except maybe his. He'd finally acknowledged it as he saw her retreating form reflected in his rearview mirror.
He knew it in his dark heart to be true. One way or another, he would find a way to be at her side again.
“I'm afraid that this is just the beginning for your dear Kennedy Riser. Unfortunately, the circle was in session when your wayward minion decided to make his appearance and I had no way of silencing him without awakening their suspicions. You understand our need for you to start kissing some serious ass. Don't you, little brother?" Dante pulled a very familiar athame out of his inner coat pocket and offered it to Damien.
It was the one that had been used to kill his mother. Every groove, every welt had been ingrained in his memory in that one instant that he'd looked at it the night that she was taken from him by the unscrupulous being that stood before him.
“It's not mine.” His father's eldest finished.
"What are you playing at, Dante?" Damien's voice as well as his hands trembled with barely contained rage.
He hoped that Kennedy could forgive him for breaking his promise. He didn't care if he got killed. He was going to try his damned best to rip the vermin's throat out.
The demon's next words made him stop.
“You want to bring down the Lillake Brethren.”
“So?” Damien challenged, still plotting murder. Dante looked straight into his eyes and spoke.