***Content Warning: Just a reminder that our main character is a Incubus and this will undoubtedly raises consent issues. This is addressed later on in the novel and therefore I will not speak further on it.***

Deamon stares at the man in confusion. “If you don’t know…?, I mean…, if you…, I just thought…” Deamon groans in frustration. “Let’s start over. PLease? I’m Deamon. Queanya was my sister. Who are you, how’d you know Q, and why am I tied up?!”

Sister? She never mentioned that. “She was my wife.” 

The shock on Deamon’s face was palpable. He knew Queanya had been in love, but he didn’t think she would have gotten married. Though maybe, somehow, in the man’s mind it was kinder then “we were shacking.” Deamon decided that it didn’t matter enough to bring up. 

“She didn’t mention you,” the man said in a way that sounded almost like an accusation.

Deamon finally breaks eye contact, and looks into the night sky. When had it gotten so dark? “She thought I was dead.” There was a pensive look about him, “And before I could make my way back to her, she was.” Deamon thought this was a relatively simple answer. At least it was simpler than Voids and telepathy and things of that nature. 

The man sat mulling over the demon's words. He was not certain he believed all of them, but if they were siblings, at least their resemblance was explained. 

“You know, since we are basically family, you could–” Deamon begins but the other man interrupts him.

“No.” The response had been flat and absolute, giving no room for Deamon to wriggle. 

“You didn’t even give me your name.” Exasperation can be heard in Deamon’s voice.

The man only leans back and arches an eyebrow at him.

“Your name? Your boss's name? Something?” desperation seeps into Deamon’s voice.

The man considers the questions. His name would be harmless, it should mean nothing to him. Even if it did, maybe it would scare him into behaving a little. His employer on the other hand had mentioned that he could be sure how Deamon would respond if he knew where they were heading. He decides, “Tae.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tae.” Sarcasm was evident in his words.

He can not resist asking, “how do you know that it’s my name?”

Deamon laughed, full and throaty, and magic entered the air. 

A low invigorating energy pulses and stirs in Tae, threatening to arouse him. A knife wizzes by Deamon’s head and sticks in a tree. “Don’t you EVER do that again.”

Deamon laughs again, but this time there is no magic. He tries another tactic, “so you do know what I am, and yet, you married my sister?”

Tae now knew the trap he had nearly fallen into. So he remains silent and stirs his stew.