บท 231: The Roaming Called

SLEEP ELUDED ISRAFEL that night. He had a deep and very annoying nagging feeling that someone or some 'thing' sent by his Auntie would come to capture him again—was watching him as he laid down—or those he loved. So his iris remained like a puma's in the tent: yellowed, iridescent, alert.

He had destroyed one enemy, and ten more had risen in his place. A tyranny like a fucking Hydra.

It didn't matter that the death of Mephistopheles, the Usurper, King Thebault de Vríes should have put an end to the reign of the Fallen, brought down the Morningstar banners from the castle at Darkwake and the city's walls, and all the regions of the Empire where the masses of faerie folk had been reduced to wilding camps, out in the forest.

No. It didn't matter.

Not with Lilith still at the reins of Titans Landing.