With one eye on the arguing demon lords, Kostya sidled over to Constantine. “I will stay if you need me.”

“That says much about your character,” Constantine acknowledged. “But it is not necessary. Get your mate to safety.”

He did so without arguing.

“Do you think I did not know you were behind the overthrow that sent me to the Akasha?” Bael asked Asmodeus. His eyes, in this incarnation a dark blue, now turned solid black. A sense of dread, smothering and sticky, seemed to seep out of him and cover them all. “I knew what you had planned, of course. You played into my plan perfectly.”

“It was all my plan; I meant for it to happen this way,” Asmodeus said in a high-pitched, mimicking voice before switching back to his normal tone. “You always say that whenever something doesn’t go your way. You may try to save face with others, but it will not work here.”

Bael snarled an oath in Latin that Constantine knew well. He’d had experience of Bael losing his temper, and needed to clear the room before that happened. “Baltic, you must leave, as well.”

“Yes, brother,” Bael said, interrupting his bickering to shoot a look of loathing at Baltic. “Take my son with you when you run away. We wouldn’t want you to have to face the shame of having to bow down to your own brother, would we?”

“Shame?” Baltic uttered a sharp laugh wholly without mirth. “The First Dragon disowned you the moment you embraced the dark power. You were removed from dragonkin and made human. What you do here has no meaning to any of us.”

Bael’s lip curled. Asmodeus gave a little golf clap and made a shooing gesture toward his rival. “Begone. I have business to conduct.”

“Baltic,” Constantine said quietly, his eyes on the demon lords. “Leave. This is not your fight.”

“Nor is it yours.”

“Unfortunately, it is. He is still my sire, no matter how offensive that fact is.”

“And I tire of your pretentions,” Bael told Asmodeus, the two demon lords now facing each other. Constantine sensed the two men were about to lock horns, so to speak, and he had no desire to witness it, let alone have others there who could be harmed.

“Go,” he told Baltic.

“I see that I shall have to have you cast out of Abaddon a second time,” Asmodeus said, yawning a little. He gestured toward Bael, which caused his wrath demons to move forward in a semicircle.

Bael’s demons responded likewise.

Baltic hesitated, but after a searching look at Constantine, he took Ysolde’s arm and escorted her out past them. He paused to say simply, “Remember the lessons we learned at the knee of our wyvern,” before following the others out of the room.

“Are you sure we should leave?” Ysolde said as Baltic urged her through the door. “I could set up some spells that would help—”

“Bee…” Constantine spoke without turning his head.

“No. I’m staying.” Her hand gripped his with a force that drove the ring into his flesh. “We’re in this together.”

Bael and Asmodeus were now taunting each other with slurs and various oaths.

Constantine turned to Bee, taking her other hand in his. He looked at her face, the softly flushed cheeks marked with a scattering of freckles, her eyes filled with concern. He looked beyond the obvious, and saw the shining brightness of her soul, the joy that her being seemed to exude in an aura of warmth. The stubbornness he first thought was an irritation was now a sign of her strength, her loyalty, and her dedication to righting wrongs. “If you had been born when I was, you would have been a warrior,” he told her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she flicked a glance over his shoulder to where the demons and demon lords were squaring off. “Okay. Um. Maybe we should talk about the past another time? I think we’re about to have a situation here, and I’m fairly certain that any result will not be good.”

“No, it won’t,” he agreed. “Which is why I must ask you for your fealty.”

She frowned and gave a little confused shake of the head. “My fealty? Honestly, Constantine, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be—”

“Will you honor me and my sept above all overs?” he asked, urgency driving him forward.

“Your sept?” She gasped a little, her eyes now searching his. “You’re asking me to be your mate? I thought I made it clear—”

“You are my mate. I see that now. We were wrong in assuming you weren’t. But you must accept me now.”

“Why?” She was smart enough not to continue to protest, a fact that made him smile a little.

“Because as a wyvern’s mate, you will be immortal.”

Her gaze went briefly to the demons. She watched them for a moment, then gave him a brief nod. “All right. So long as we both understand that I’m doing this simply because I don’t particularly want to die right now, and when it’s all over with, we’re going to change back to normal mode.”

“That can be discussed later,” he agreed, although he had no intention of letting her go now that he knew that life would pale without her.

“Agreed.” She took a deep breath. “In that case, I accept you as my wyvern, and will honor you and your sept above all others.”

“As I will cherish and honor you beyond all who exist now, or will ever exist,” he declared, and claimed a quick kiss before pulling one hand up and blowing a little fire over her left wrist.

“Ow!” She jerked her hand back, her gaze moving between him and the demons, who had now all pulled out swords as Bael and Asmodeus began shouting taunts. She rubbed her wrist, frowning when a tan mark resolved itself. “You branded me?”

“It is the mark of a wyvern’s mate.” He took a deep breath, the one all-consuming worry now eased. At least now he had given Bee a good chance to survive whatever happened next.

“It looks like a sheep,” she said, giving it another quick glance.

He made a noncommittal gesture. “It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. We shall have to create our own sept, though. What do you think of indigo?”

“It’s my favorite of all the Roy G Bivs,” she replied.

“Excellent. We are in agreement. And now, let us deal with—”