The Lamb and the Gray Battle

October 30, 2022

Aoibh transformed back into her human form and sat down at the Washington County Jail in Marietta, Ohio. This was a unisex facility that only handled demon lovers and other anti-PC crimes. Not more than a few seconds later, Diyiren landed beside her. The bracelet was now the Tang Dynasty-style crown.

"You don't have to be here," she said, strutting through the parking lot.

A century ago, this place would have quaked with alarms, blaring sirens to alert guards that demon bloods had breached the place, but those things took a lot of upkeep, and no demon bloods had been detected since 1869.

Diyiren kept pace with her, his robes and sleeves swinging, his authority radiating around him. "I promised my son," he said. Then, "Our son."

Aoibh pursed her lips, but she admitted, "You're a good father."

"I'm a good husband too." He took the wedding band from his neck, offered it to her. "I proved that last night."

"You proved your virility," Aoibh said, rubbed her fingers on his chin, but ignored the proffered ring. "Five times."

Diyiren slid his claw over the skin of her arm, lightly as not to cut the flesh. "I've been celibate for five hundred and seventy and six years." He rubbed his tongue along her jawline. "Do you want me to tell you how many days?"

Aoibh shook off the sudden arousal, continued her pace into the jail complex. The guard at the door had a computer before him.

"Name."

"I'm not on your list. I'm here to see Otis," she said.

Before she could even consider what his last name was, she realized she didn't know the last names of any of the Banned Music Committee members. She wasn't even sure what Brantley's last name was.

The guard had dark eyes and nothing resembling a sense of humor. He droned out, "We require an appointment."

The guard switched to King Ao Guang. A moment of shock washed over him, then he drew his gun and unloaded six cast iron bullets into him. The robes splattered red and smoke fumed from the wounds. Diyiren's brow puckered, then he clawed into the holes, dropped each bullet to the ground.

Aoibh grabbed the guard by the throat. "That was rude."

Diyiren covered his smirk. And she called him a monster.

"This is a tickle," he said. "I'll be fine."

Aoibh switched to him, almost told him she wasn't worried about him, but then, that would have been rude.

Aoibh startled that her rose gold claws dug into the guard's neck. She set him on the ground, willed the claws to seal themselves away. Diyiren put one hand to her back.

"You are Banrion Aoibh. You are your own master."

Diyiren's heartbeat was calm and his voice level. As if they'd never been there, the tears disappeared. To the guard, Aoibh mewed, "That was an inappropriate reaction. You're probably tired, overworked. Hungry? I didn't bring snacks, I'm sorry. You should go home, get a bite to eat, sleep off this fit of temper."

She touched his forehead and the guard dropped the gun and stalked off. Aoibh skirted around the barrier and into the security shelter. And was faced with a panel of buttons. She didn't know the first thing about this computer system. The pair stared at the knobs. Aoibh besought Ren.

Diyiren said, "I pay people to handle these things."

Tears started at the rims of Aoibh's eyes. She cried too easily. Ren repressed the groan. The last thing he needed was a fight with his wife.