““Throwing his head back, Devyl let loose a cry of bitter agony and grief. A cry born of utter loneliness as he drank from the demonic blood he’d spilled. Just once in his life he wanted to know what it felt like to be cherished. To be desired. To be touched by a tender hand. Not because he was a weapon or tool. Because he was loved. You’re still a futtocking idiot. And he was old enough to know better. Love was for women and children. He was a creature of vengeance and hatred. It was all he’d ever been, and all he’d ever be. Vine was right. Not even friendship came to the likes of him. I am the Devyl’s Bane.””