Regan had added personal touches here and there, replacing some of Thanatos's ancient weapons and gory paintings on the walls with tapestries and pictures of the local landscape. The fire that burned practically year-round was going in the hearth, vampire servants bustled between the cavernous rooms, and the mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen. It had been months since Reaver had been here, and not much had changed. Logan was going to be a soggy, furry mess by the time his mother, Regan, got home. The hound, a puppy itself at around two hundred pounds, flopped onto its side and allowed Logan to tug on its fur and ears as the infant climbed on top of the beast. Thanatos poked his blond head out of the library doorway. "Thanatos," Reaver called out, "Cujo is slobbering on your son." Hellhounds hated angels, and the feeling was mutual. Reaver ignored the shaggy black beast that bared its teeth at him as he strode across the great room. In a castle belonging to one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, people didn't bat an eye. In any other building in the world, the sight of a hellhound lying on the floor with a baby in its mouth would send people screaming in horror or scrambling for weapons.
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