Page 45 of Edge of Oblivion (Night Prowler 2)
“The rendezvous point,” the King drawled, sardonic, lounging against the back of his throne with one leg crossed casually over the other. “Which means you split up.”
“The male escaped through the wall of the Vatican, sire—”
“Through the wall?” Dominus said, sharp. He sat forward, eyes glassy and hard like obsidian.
“You mean he evanesced, as we do?”
Celian took a measured breath, calculating. How to describe it? “I mean he moved through it.
He...melted. Into it. He’s impervious to bullets, too.”
The King’s black eyes did not blink. But they burned. By God, did they burn.
“Yes. I found that out myself. Very interesting. And inconvenient.” He paused for a moment, contemplative, then very softly said, “And the female?”
Celian was dreading that. The King had made no bones about his desire for that female.
“He took her with him through the wall.”
The King’s nostrils flared, but that was all. He still hadn’t blinked.
“We reengaged the male outside, but the female was gone. Aurelio and Lucien went after her, and we tried to lead the male in the opposite direction, but he didn’t follow. We circled back but lost his scent. And Aurelio and Lucien didn’t return at the agreed time.”
Celian knew it wasn’t his imagination that had the temperature in the room dropping by several degrees. Next to him, Lix shifted his weight from one foot to another.
“Unfortunate,” the King said, with an edge like a blade. “So very unfortunate. Especially since I made my instructions perfectly clear.”
A chilled breeze stirred around their shoulders as the first spike of pain throbbed through their skulls. Only Celian remained still against it, having been subjected to the King’s excruciating Gifts many times before. Their lord and master didn’t actually read other people’s minds so much as inhabit them, and when he wished, his anger inhabited them as well.
In this case, the King’s anger felt like a fanged viper slithering around inside his head, spitting poison into his brain.
The others began, subtly, to fidget. D rolled his shoulders; one of them cracked. Lix shifted his weight again, and Constantine flexed his hands open and closed.
“Facilis,” Celian murmured. Easy, boys. Take it easy.
A cat, one of hundreds that ran wild throughout the catacombs, appeared from behind the throne, where it had been sleeping on the stone floor. Pure black and sleek, it was a perfect miniature for their kind in their true animal form. Except for its eyes, which glowed vivid yellow in the candlelit room. The Bellatorum—born in darkness, raised in darkness, trained to fight and kill in darkness—had black eyes, to a one. The cat rubbed its face against a leg of the throne, then jumped in one graceful leap onto the King’s crossed legs.
He began to stroke it behind the ears. It purred and settled into his lap.
“We will wait until midnight to see if Aurelio and Lucien return with what is mine,” said the King softly. “And if they do not”—he turned his burning black eyes to Celian and his lips curved to a smile—“I shall require compensation.”
Celian’s skin crawled. He knew what compensation the King required. One thing and one thing only bought atonement from the King’s displeasure: pain.
Pain would be his tithe for failure.
“Yes, sire,” he said, his voice very low.
A growl rumbled through Constantine’s chest, and the King smiled even wider. “Ever the protector, Constantine. And yet how you displease me with this show of concern for your brother.
Your fealty lies with me first, does it not?”
Constantine raised his head and met the King’s cold, cold eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Because it will be you who will dispense Celian’s punishment if your other brothers do not return with the female.”
Celian felt Constantine stiffen and wanted to reach out and cuff him upside the head. Defiance could get him killed. He wasn’t worth it.
“As you desire, my lord,” said Constantine, slowly, anger darkening his face.
