Wrapped up in more blankets than even a hibernating bear might burrow under, Davian heard the muffled noise of someone entering his room. He groaned, the lump of blankets shifting, a pillow sliding to the floor that was covered with Davian's clothes, his shoes, and his shredded textbooks. In fact, none of Davian's belongings were in their rightful place. The smell of burned wood and smoke was strong in the room and there was a black mark on the wall, singed through the paneling to the stone behind it.
A dark head appeared from the pile of blankets and Davian's dark puffy eyes filled with hope when he spotted Paxton, phone in hand. He scrambled out of the bed, knowing instinctively that Paxton was talking to his father - their father - and that meant news.
"He--" Davian stopped his rush to get out of bed. "Hostage? Who would-- FUCK!" Davian pieced it together with an almost audible clicking sound. "Who was it?" Davian snarled. "The Derettis? Fucking Neidlich! I fucking hate them! Why didn't the hunters fucking wipe them all out when they had the chance?! No-- Fuck, don't tell me it was the Marquis? If they even dare harm a golden hair on his head, I'm going to fucking burn Las Vegas to the fucking ground!"
Fire appeared in Davian's fists and as though the heat burned them away, the young demon's lazy glamours all faded. His ears were pointed, his teeth were sharp, clawed hands and feet were revealed, his eyes glowed yellow and his skin color had turned gray. If Davian had still been in possession of his wings and curved horns, it would've rounded out the purely demonic look of his true appearance, but instead all he had was his spindly lashing tail that cut through the air like a whip.