25 The Taste of Death

"So, it's you." Dáinn chuckled, his eyes cold. He thrust his body into the tree as he pulled his hand away.

"You want to die young? Is that it?" Silas wheezed, taking in deep breaths while massaging his neck, "I-I, cough, I wasn't doing anything."

Dáinn raised a brow, as if amused by his obvious lie, "Then what made you follow Cassiel?"

"I wasn't following him."

"DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING LIE, PEST!" Dáinn was growing impatient. He once again approached Silas' neck to squeeze the life out of him.

But Silas was quick to catch on. He hastily dodged the upcoming attack with a duck. Not liking it, Dáinn used his leg to land a blow on the cowering man. His kick pushed Silas back on the tree, making him crack a bone or two.

The beaten man coughed harshly forcing out blood in the process, "Why do you care, you want to make him yours? That Cassiel whore?"