“Demis,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes widening. “You’re a demis. A false god.” One side of Isbeth’s lips curled up, but it was the golden Rev who spoke. “Well, apparently, he is rather clever.” “At times,” she said with a shrug. Holy shit. I’d believed that the demis were as much a myth as the lamaea. “Is that what you’ve always been? A poor imitation of the real thing, hell-bent on destroying the lives of the desperate?” “That’s a rather offensive assumption. But, no. A demis is not born but made when a god commits the forbidden act of Ascending a mortal who was not Chosen.”
