“You have a better suggestion?”
Raith waved away the question, his eyes flickering to black, the slit of crimson reflecting the nearby flames.
“And that’s the only reason you’d settled in this particular place?”
Brandel didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what his companion was implying.
“No. I’m still attempting to acquire the box so it can be destroyed.”
Raith arched a golden brow. “Destroyed?”
“Of course.” Brandel managed a stiff smile. “The Oracles have already discovered that I’m not what I pretended to be. We can’t afford for them to realize that we’re holding a Chatri captive.”
Raith leaned against the mantel, his gaze never wavering from Brandel’s guarded expression.
“So—”
“What?”
“This has nothing to do with wanting the box for yourself ?”
Brandel stiffened, inwardly cursing Raith’s persistence. “I said I intend to destroy it.”
“And I’m not convinced of your sincerity,” his companion drawled.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but for what purpose?” The air vibrated in reaction to Raith’s swelling anger. “To destroy the box or claim it?”
Brandel rose to his feet, pacing toward the heavy walnut desk.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You twice had the opportunity to get rid of the box and yet you failed miserably on each occasion.”
“The witch—”
“Yes?” Raith prompted.
“Is more.”
“More what?”
Brandel unconsciously frowned. It troubled him he couldn’t figure out how the female managed to disrupt his very essence. If it hadn’t been impossible, he would have suspected she was somehow gaining power from the box.
“I’m not certain, but there’s something strange about her,” he muttered.
The vibrations became more intense. “So that’s your excuse?” Raith demanded.
“She’s an unexpected variable.”
“You know what I think, Brandel?”
Brandel turned back to meet Raith’s narrowed glare. “What?”
“I think that you could have destroyed the box, but instead you tried to keep it for yourself.”
Brandel struggled to hold his human form. “Why would I do that?”
“For the magic,” Raith accused. “The power.”
Enough.
Raith clearly wasn’t going to be fooled. There was no point in continuing his charade.
“You believe you should be the only one with magic?” he instead accused.
Raith straightened from the mantel, his anger shattering the crystal vases that were lined along a top shelf.
“You have an entire world of fey to feast upon,” he hissed.
As if a mere fey could remotely compare to what Raith had been gorging on for the past few centuries.
“But none with the magic of a Chatri.”
Raith smiled without humor. “We all have a role to play.”
“Well, I am weary of my role.”
“Fine.” Raith stepped forward. “Then return home and I’ll send another to clean up your mess.”
Brandel refused to back down. He’d devoted centuries to putting his life on the line, always the one who was in danger while Raith remained in the shadows, drunk on Chatri magic.
No more.
He was close. So close. Nothing was going to stand in his way.
“No one will be replacing me.”
“Then do your duty.”
“I’m done with duty. I want what’s mine.”
Lifting a clenched hand he sent a concentrated burst of pulses directly toward the smirking Raith. The attack was Brandel’s specialty and designed to disrupt his opponent’s powers.
Caught off guard, Raith abruptly turned to mist and headed toward the nearby windows.
It wouldn’t buy much time.
He would just have to ensure it was enough.
Roke had reluctantly left Sally sleeping in the wide bed shortly before sunset.
He wanted nothing more than to remain curled around his precious mate, pretending the world outside their door didn’t exist.
But the unmistakable scent of Cyn arriving at the mansion had him sliding silently out of the bed and taking a swift shower before he was dressed in black jeans and matching tee with his usual moccasins that molded up his legs to his knees. He shrugged on his leather jacket as he headed down the stairs.
It wasn’t coincidence that brought the clan chief of Ireland to Chicago.
Roke would wager his left nut that Styx had commanded Cyn to search for a way to break his mating to Sally.
Stepping into the small study, he eyeballed the oversize ancient berserker who was seated in a leather chair as he flipped through a leather-bound book.
On this occasion Cyn was fully clothed, thank the gods, in a pair of faded jeans and a jade green silk shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. His hair was left free to fall halfway down his back except for the front strands that were, as always, woven into tight braids that framed his face.
He glanced up when Roke entered the room, smoothly setting aside the book.
“Hello, Roke. Did you miss me?”
Roke moved to the center of the room, folding his arms over his chest.
“What are you doing here?”
Cyn gave a lift of one broad shoulder. “I’m the leading expert on fey. And from what I’ve heard, you’re up to your ass in the creatures.”
Roke snorted. “If you’re such an expert, then why didn’t you know that my mate is a Chatri?”
Cyn’s lack of astonishment revealed that Styx had already shared the information of Sally’s bloodline.
“I have a theory,” Cyn informed him.
“I do too,” Roke said. “You were distracted by nymph tits.”
“They were very nice tits,” Cyn pointed out with a reminiscent smile. “But I wasn’t distracted.”
Roke rolled his eyes, but he inwardly had to admit that Cyn might prove helpful.
As he rightly claimed, he knew more about the fey than any other vampire.
“Tell me your theory.”
“Most mongrels—”
“Careful,” Roke interrupted, baring his fangs.
Cyn grimaced. “Half-breeds, if that makes you happier.”
Roke didn’t know if it made him happy, but it sure the hell was better than calling his mate a mongrel.
“Fine,” he muttered.
“They tend to come into their powers after they hit puberty.”
“Sally is past puberty.”
Cyn smiled, the jade eyes darkening with appreciation. “Yes, I noticed.”
Roke scowled, the temperature of the room dropping. “Don’t notice.”
Cyn chuckled, clearly appreciating yanking Roke’s chain before he was leaning forward, his expression serious.
“Most half-breeds have a combination of their parents’ DNA. One species might be more dominant, but they both exist. But when one of the species possess powers that are overwhelming when compared to the other they do more than just mix bloodlines. They scour away any genetic material until they leave behind a pureblood.”
“Like a Chatri and a human?”
“Yes.” Cyn rose to his feet, his massive body consuming far more than his fair share of the room. “I would guess that her blood has been slowly altering for years.”
Roke gave a shake of his head. He’d been mated to Sally barely a month, but in that time she’d gone from a human witch with a talent for black magic, to a demon who could not only compel a vampire clan chief to do her bidding, but could create a portal to haul three people across the country.
The gods only knew what she would be able to do a week from now.
“Not a bad theory, but her powers have been skyrocketing over the past days, not slowly altering.”
Cyn refused to be dissuaded. “It would’ve taken time for the Chatri blood to fully consume her human half. Especially since she was a powerful witch. But once it reached a critical mass”—he made a gesture of a bomb exploding—“the power would have blasted through her.”