Domenyc ran his fingers through his hair to perfect his rumpled look and adjusted the amber silk shirt under his suit coat before stepping back out into the cool evening as he made his way down one of the many back-streets of Draega that he’d become so familiar with since he’d run into the friend he was going to see tonight.

It’d been fortuitous, and since then he’d made a point of staying appraised of the goings on of Hayll’s less above-board inhabitants, and occasionally offered his own special expertise: for a price. Unless the person asking was the Angel, darling of Draega’s underground. Then Domenyc made the time for no price at all. He genuinely liked and respected the man, which, while more common than with women, was still a rare occurrence. And, perhaps most importantly, he was aware of Domenyc’s “double life” of aliases and confidence tricks.

It wasn’t the kind of occupation that usually led him to be hired by other criminals (he most often worked alone for a reason), but there was the occasional job, in or out of Hayll, that required a deft tongue, sharp eyes, and a pretty face. And he was all those and more. The more mostly consisting of an excellent sense of discretion, and his own unique code of honor as to who he would or wouldn’t betray. Some refused to work with him because of that code, some sought him out because of it. Tonight, though, he would do the seeking out. He needed a distraction. A challenge that others could hold him to and witness that wouldn’t leave him alone at the end of the night with only his mirror to talk to.

The twilight sky was beautiful, the slice of it he caught before slipping into a more crowded doorway into a frequented side-street for less savory dealings. It wasn’t yet as active as it would be once the sun completely set, but enough people were about to complicate what he was trying to do. Probing the area, he felt for an echo at the depth of the Opal while he tried to pick up a hint of psychic scent that might lead him where he was going...

There are stories told of the Aeroloth family, whispered in dark corners in the dead of night, used as warnings and cautionary tales, to remind those who live in Hayll's underworld to never cross the one known only as the Angel.

The tales began with the criminal mastermind Kaine Aeroloth, the Angel's grandfather, a ruthless Red Warlord who had ruled the Underworld with an iron fist for centuries before his mysterious death. No one had been able to successfully pin the death on his ambitious and equally ruthless grandson Adonis, though not for lack of trying. Indeed, whenever he was asked about his grandfather's death, Adonis would merely smile and change the subject.

Adonis Aeroloth was everything his grandfather was and more. While Kaine Aeroloth was needlessly cruel and punished every little fault, Adonis was slightly more lenient with his minions…though the first time someone broke one of his rules, the punishment was swift and unmerciful. No one crossed him and lived to tell the tale.

It never occurred to Adonis to get out of the family business, not unless he was drunk off his ass. While his mother was a Priestess and had taught him to revere the Old Ways, he had no problems with twisting them to his own ends.

Every few decades, someone decided the Aeroloth family had been in control of Hayll's underworld for long enough and tried to wrestle control from him. The last time something like that had happened...let's just say it was the first time the Angel himself had taking care of business himself in a few centuries.

He was ruthless, he was undetectable. He was the Angel and he was proud of what he, and his family, had built. As long as he still lived, he would remain in control.

-----

There are very few people that Adonis Aeroloth would ever call friend. In his line of work, both legitimate and...not so much, it was hard to trust anyone. He had thought he could trust Hunter, but what a disappointment that had turned out to be. There was a very important reason all of the Angel’s highest underlings were from the long-lived races. Others died to quickly to be of any real use.

Adonis was lounging in the back a popular aristo restaurant with an attractive, though almost annoyingly simpering, witch, not really listening to her chatter, when he felt the change in the Darkness, heard the calling, spear to spear, someone plucking the Opal, searching for something. His face changed from bored to predatory in a flash and he was on his feet, making his excuses within seconds. Laying enough gold marks on the table to pay for both their meals, he hurried outside, eyes darting from side to side, hoping to catch sight of the one who had called to him.

He followed the calling, through the streets, towards a rather unsavory part of the city. Not that he minded. He was in his element, his other personality wrapped around him as tightly as a personal shield.

When he reached the entrance of a shady side street, he peered into the darkness, a feral grin twisting his lips up.

“Fortier,” he murmured. “How nice to see you in Draega again.”

Domenyc was just about to give up his search when he suddenly felt a familiar presence behind him, once again catching him off guard when his darker Jewels should have given him at least some advantage. An Aeroloth was always at least a step above the rest of the Blood when it came to dangerous and skilled. The Angel even more so than his predecessors. And that was part of what he admired about him. Part.

“Fortier,” murmured the shadow that had just coalesced nearby. “How nice to see you in Draega again.”

He could hear the grin in the words, and a sharp smile tinged with warm surprise flashed over his own face. The Warlord turned to offer his hand in greeting. “Aeroloth.” It had been interesting to meet someone else who maintained a bit different reputation among the naïve aristo crowd. A funny thing how their “real” names were the ones that were free of their less savory, and more common, dealings. He offered his hand for a companionable shake.

“It’s good to be here. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” He gestured vaguely to the sky to indicate the time of night, or at least, twilight, that they found themselves in. It hadn’t been all that long since he’d been here, in these side-streets, where he didn’t have to hide behind one of his many masks. Still, it felt like it had been far too long. Especially considering this was where he found The Angel.

“So, what kind of fun have I missed while I’ve been causing trouble elsewhere?” Domeync asked, taking in the changes in the other man, and silently wondering how much he himself had changed, while hoping neither of them had altered too much.