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1047 Words
If I told you it was a matter of life or death, would you believe me?
Was it?
Yes.
In light of what she’d just seen, the strange transformation in Christian, his eyes and voice and posture, the vicious, animal hiss resounding in his chest, the conversation took on an entirely new meaning.
She found the Audi idling at the curb two blocks away, Corbin’s face white and strained through the windshield as he watched people flood the streets, running, stumbling, shouting. She slammed into the side of the car, clawed at the driver’s door handle. She tore it open.
“Christian!” Ember panted it, bent over, staring at a horrified Corbin. “He’s—three men—the alley two blocks over—”
She pointed, then froze in horror. Then she turned and ran away, as fast and as far as she could.
Because at her words, Corbin’s eyes began to change just as Christian’s had.
Caesar Cardinalis was a man used to getting his own way.
The son of a king, he was now a king himself, his brilliant, devious father having been killed by one of his own personal guard more than three years ago. Caesar had often fantasized about killing his father—p*******e had marred the perfection of his lineage on more than one occasion—but lacked the necessary courage to complete the task, not understanding while the old bastard was alive that he was, in fact, risking nothing at all.
Because Caesar was Gifted with something the Ikati had never seen, in all their glorious history: immortality.
Oh, they had the Gift of transformation—human to panther, panther to Vapor, some of them could even walk through solid walls—and they had other Gifts, too, powerful Gifts particular to each, like Suggestion and Invisibility and Foresight. Nature having the sense of humor she does, Caesar had none of those Gifts, so common to his people. He couldn’t even Shift to panther, their most elemental form, and so was considered by most—okay, all—of his kin a dedecus.
Disgrace.
He used to be considered a disgrace, that is. It wasn’t until he was betrayed by one of his closest council, just as his father had been, until he’d been killed and instantly resurrected, that he realized the full truth of what he’d been given. Then his star had risen like a sign in the East.
For those who have no fear of death, life becomes an extraordinary banquet.
Since he and his small cadre of trusted associates had arrived in Barcelona months ago, Caesar had used the beautiful city the way a child uses a playground. Nothing was off-limits, nothing was left untried or untasted, especially the voluptuous, sloe-eyed Flamenco dancers he so loved.
They screamed so enchantingly.
He was enjoying the shrill, choking screams of one of the lovely dancers—stripped bare, chained to the wall, bloody, bruised, and fabulous—just as Nico burst into the room.
“Sire! We’re under attack! They know we’re here! You’re in grave danger!”
Caesar turned away from the girl and gave the panting, sweating Nico a sour once-over. He lowered the cat-o’-nine-tails to his side and sighed. The man was always so dramatic.
“My dear Nico,” he drawled, “I’m incredibly busy at the moment, as you can surely see.” He gestured to the girl, now moaning and begging in broken Spanish for God to save her. A busty, voluptuous brunette, she writhed against the wall. The iron shackles around her wrists clanged so loudly that the Bach concerto playing softly in the background was momentarily drowned out. “Whatever this danger is, I’m sure it can wait until I’m finished.”
Because in reality, there was no danger to him. What should he be afraid of? A bullet? A knife? An army of a thousand screaming warriors? No, none of that would make any difference at all. Caesar would go on forever just as he was now, shot or stabbed or attacked by a mob, or torn limb from limb in the streets.
He’d tested it himself. He really couldn’t die. Or if he could, he’d failed to find the way.
“But—but sire, we were attacked in the street—there was a stranger—he Shifted—”
“Shifted?”
This got Caesar’s attention. The intelligence fed to him by his spies indicated the strict, archaic Law the five Ikati colonies hidden around the world operated under was still very much in effect. Especially now. Even though the Queen who led them had allowed them more freedoms of late—including women on their formerly all-male Assemblies, allowing all of them to choose their own mates—the rules that had kept them secret from humanity for thousands of years still stood, iron-clad and unbendable.
For the rest of them, that is. Not for Caesar’s little band of rebels. And not for the fed up, disgruntled deserters from the other colonies who were flooding to him day after day after day.
“Tell me what happened,” he commanded, turning to Nico, abandoning for a moment the girl shackled to the wall.
Nico—tall and well-formed like all the Ikati, black-eyed like only the Ikati of the Roman colony were—ran a hand through his thick, disheveled dark hair. He huffed out a long, low breath. “Gian and Armond and I were in Gràcia—near the bordello you like—when we felt him, right there on the street. He’s amazingly powerful. I don’t think I’ve felt a male so powerful since your father…”
Nico trailed off, realizing his mistake when he caught sight of Caesar’s thinned lips, his narrowed eyes. He had the good sense to blanch. “Forgive me, sire—I—I meant no disrespect.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Caesar purred in a menacing tone. “You would never be so stupid, now would you, Nico?”
Nico went a shade paler than before. “No, sire,” he whispered, frozen still.
Momentarily mollified by this show of deference and fear, Caesar waved a hand, indicating Nico should continue with his story.
- Writer
