Page 15 of Rapture's Edge (Night Prowler 3)
Eliana glared at him. Though her father had ensured she’d had the best education—arts and language tutors and mathematics and science instructors and even a Japanese gendai budo master paid handsomely for his visits and his silence—Silas and Caesar inevitably spoke to her as if she were mentally challenged. It was the unfortunate and infuriating collateral damage of living in a patriarchal society that had remained unchanged for thousands of years: women were second-class citizens. Or possibly third, behind the livestock.
With a clenched jaw, Eliana said, “I know what the word means, Silas.”
“Then we’re in agreement.” Caesar’s teeth shone brilliant white as he flashed a smile. “Good!”
No discussion, no agreement, just Caesar doing exactly what he wanted. As usual. Trying very hard to breathe calmly around the sudden pounding in her chest, she said, “And the location?”
Caesar’s answer was a waved hand. “I’ve hired the architectural firm to start the plans for the main compound and outlying buildings. We’re making inquiries into the availability of a tract of land large enough for what I envision. Room to grow is important; once the disgruntled members of the other colonies find out what we’re about, we’ll need it.” He chuckled. “I imagine there are a lot of them who are quite sick of hiding like rats in the basement.”
“And how exactly are the other colonies going to find out about us?” Eliana asked. “We’ve never talked specifically about how we’re going to get the word out to those who want to live openly with humans, as we want to, how we’re going to provide them safe transport from their own colonies, protect them from their Alphas who’ll definitely want to kill them for deserting—”
Another waved hand from Caesar. “Let the men worry about the details, Ana. You just keep on bringing home the bacon. Which reminds me,” he said, snapping his fingers together. “There’s a new Degas at the Louvre you should take a look at. It would be perfect for your little human pet.”
Gregor, he meant. That’s what he called him: human pet. It was better than what he called most other humans. To him, they would ever only be three things: pets, playthings, and breeders. It was where their ideologies diverged sharply. Eliana believed they should live alongside humans because the two species were equal, as were all the creatures of the earth, but Caesar thought they should live alongside humans so the Ikati could be worshipped as they were long ago in ancient Egypt.
They were once considered gods, and he had not forgotten it.
“The Louvre? That’s pushing it, don’t you think? It’s a little…high profile.”
Caesar’s answering smile was nearly a sneer. “It should be easy enough for you, Ana. Vapor, invisibi
lity…everything comes so easily for you. It’ll be a cinch.”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her, slow and mocking, and that look made her face flush with blood. Enough. I can’t take any more of our dysfunction today. She rose from the table and shoved back her chair. “I’ll look into it.”
Unfortunately, her voice didn’t come out quite as smoothly as she wanted, and she knew he was pleased she was upset when his smile grew larger.
“Tonight,” he said lightly. The look in his eyes was anything but light, and Eliana understood this wasn’t negotiable. “Get it done tonight. There’s another payment due to the lab.”
Their eyes held for a moment, until finally she nodded. He nodded back, satisfied, and turned his attention to Silas.
“We’ve got enough of the serum now to inject all the half-Bloods from the old colony. There’s no reason they wouldn’t jump at the chance to survive past the Transition and join us. Now we just have to get the word out to them. We’ll have to think of something…special.”
Dismissed. She’d just been dismissed. Without another word, humiliated and burning with hand-shaking, throat-squeezing, chest-crushing anger, Eliana turned and walked away.
Silas’s black, black eyes followed her until she swept out of sight beyond an ivy-draped corner, heading back inside the abbey.
His Gift was subtle, but—on those whom it worked—devastatingly effective.
Less powerful than the outright mind control of the Gift of Suggestion, the ability Silas had learned over long years to wield with the deadly precision a ninja wields a katana was more a whisper than a shout, a gentle nudge than a shove, the coy glance of a maiden that garnered the same result as the bolder, more lusty stare of a whore.
In other words, it was elegant.
He had no name for it and no use for one; it wasn’t as if he’d speak about it aloud, in any case. He wasn’t prone to that horrific new age compulsion so many humans were afflicted with: sharing. He was, however, prone to plotting. Prone to planning. Prone to a dark, satisfied chuckle when some outcome he’d orchestrated came to glorious, inevitable fruition.
Silas chuckled a great deal.
The one black spot in his otherwise great satisfaction with his Gift was its limitation. There were certain minds, certain hearts, too strong or closed or stubborn to be swayed. In Eliana’s case, he suspected it was all three, but she’d never been affected by the subtle pressure he sent her way, little nudges of intent sent out in invisible waves, gentle as a lover’s touch. No matter how he tried to influence her emotions, she would not be swayed.
Her brother, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.
Caesar, his eyes lingering on the place where Eliana had disappeared beyond the wall, said, “Still playing hard to get, is she?”
Impossible to get, more like. Silas was no fool; he knew she didn’t love him—would never love him. He knew also that she still pined for that knuckle-dragging warrior they’d left behind in Rome. But no matter. Love was for children and fools, and he was neither. Love didn’t play a part in his plan. Caesar, however, did.
He said in a quiet, dejected voice, “Is it that obvious she doesn’t want me?”
Caesar laughed, delighted. “Don’t worry, Silas. It doesn’t matter what she thinks she wants. She’ll be yours eventually.”
