Tate adjusted the hood of his cloak, keeping his face relatively hidden, yet also open enough for him to watch his surroundings. It wasn’t that he was afraid of being recognized by any of these demons and devils that even now violated his personal space. It was the Fallen angels that congregated in the shrine ahead of him that were the object of his concern.
The knights, his father and mother, Lincoln and his mate, and he had breached the Kierre sanctuary moments ago, having weaved through the chaotic squall of monsters who hadn’t given them a second thought. They were too busy within their own pissing contests to realize they had let the Qui dat Pacem walk right through their front door.
Their ignorance was his gain.
Yet, he knew he couldn’t play the anonymity game with the Dèanadai
