Page 8 of Silent Oaths
Wedon’t usually take part in the games duringLatibulumNoctis.Notout of fear or weakness, but because we see them for what they are: an illusion, a rigged spectacle designed to convince the participants they have a chance.Butthe truth is, the mark is always chosen before the night even begins.Noguest truly knows what happens after midnight.
Thistime, though, we’ll be playing our own game.
Inod, giving him nothing else.Lionel’slips press into a thin line, and he shakes his head as he walks away.Iwatch him retreat, and a bitter thought claws its way to the surface.
Ican’t wait until he’s fucking dead.
Fromacross the room,Theodorecatches my eye, lifting his glass in a silent invitation.Imake my way over to him.
Asalways,Theolooks perfectly composed, his tailored suit unruffled, his expression betraying only confidence.
“IfIdidn’t know any better,I’dthink you’re an alcoholic,”Ideadpan.
Hescoffs, swirling the liquor in his glass. “Enjoyinga fine drink is hardly grounds for concern,Julian.”
“Theway you consume thatgarbage?Yes, it is.”
Theosteps back, mock offense written all over his face. “Garbage?Sincewhen did you become a fucking scotch connoisseur?”
Ilet the corner of my mouth lift. “Calmdown,Theo.It’sjust a joke.”
“Youdon’t joke,” he retorts flatly, narrowing his eyes.
He’snot wrong.
Itake another sip of my drink, the bourbon warming me from the inside out. “Todayis a special day.”
Theo’slips curl into a grin—a dangerous, wolfish thing. “You’vegot that right.”Hepulls out his phone, his expression triumphant. “Accordingto the trackerIinstalled onIsabel’sphone,Valeriais on her way to pick her up now.”
Iblink, momentarily stunned. “Youput a tracker on her phone?”Idon’t know whyI’msurprised.Theois a master hacker and can pretty much do anything on a computer.
Theo’sgrin only widens. “Ofcourse.Ican even read her texts.Look.”Heholds the screen toward me, proud as ever.
WhenIlook,IseeIsabel’stext exchange withValeria.
Val:Comeout now.
Isa:Yes,Mommy.
Val:Haha.Twominutes.
“You’reobsessed,”Isay.
Theoshrugs, unapologetic. “Ijust know whatIwant.”
Andhe always gets what he wants.That’sthe thing aboutTheo—his determination is both admirable and terrifying.I’venever seen him so focused, so…personalabout a plan before.
Iglance around, searching forMaxwell.IfIsabelis close, we’ll need to greet her together.Ispot him at the far end of the room, surrounded by a group of women hanging on his every word.
Iroll my eyes and push off the wall, leavingTheoto his scheming.AsIapproachMax, his laughter carries over the conversation.
Thewomen surrounding him are giggling as he’s perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, one foot on the floor, the other resting on the arm of the chair in a careless sprawl.He’slaughing—loud, unrestrained, the kind that pulls people in, even if they don’t know what’s funny.
AsIget closer,Icatch the tail end of whatever ridiculous story he’s telling.
“… and that’s whenIrealizedI’dstolen the priest’s car,”Maxwellfinishes, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation.Thewomen erupt into laughter, leaning closer to him, their eyes sparkling with delight.
Oneof them, a brunette wearing too much lipstick, rests her hand on his arm. “Oh, you’reterrible!” she says, but her tone suggests she means the exact opposite.
