Greg’s smile was warm and completely alien on his face. His eyes weren’t hazel; they’d become a bright, sapphire blue.
“Greg?” Aiden knew it wasn’t Greg in there anymore. He’d asked because he couldn’t believe what was happening. He drew his own sword, tossing away the sword belt and backing up at the same time. He wanted to get away from the altar and the inevitable pain, but more than that, he didn’t want to fight his friend. Greg’s sword was a modern version of a kilij, which looked like an extremely curved sabre. He’d told Aiden he’d chosen it because those swords were part of his Romanian heritage, but mostly because it looked cool. He wasn’t especially good with it, which might’ve been to Aiden’s advantage if he was either actually fighting Greg or wanted to hurt him.
“Let him go, Tanner,” Aiden said.
Tanner looked at him earnestly with Greg’s face. “I will, I promise. I just need him for a little while.”