Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(64)

“Sturm,” he said quietly.

I pulled my magic to myself and let it out, drenching the table in it.

A man walked up. He was about six feet tall, lean, and pale, with eyes the color of coffee grounds. His dark brown hair framed his face in soft waves, long enough to brush his neck. He’d shaved that morning, but now stubble peppered his jaw, and he didn’t seem to care. He had an attractive face, but not handsome. Where Augustine’s features had the perfection of beauty, and Rogan’s spoke of power, Sturm’s telegraphed focus. He was a man who would patiently plot and think of a strategy. His eyes said he’d be ruthless in its implementation. Watching him wasn’t really a choice, it was a compulsion. He tripped some instinctual alarm deep inside my brain that said, Danger, and my survival dictated I had to keep an eye on him to see what he’d do next.

“Rogan. Fancy meeting you here. What a lovely surprise,” Sturm said. His voice had a slight rasp. If wolves could assume human form, they would sound just like that. Come to think of it, he looked like a wolf too. A patient, vicious, smart wolf.

“Sturm,” Rogan said, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Sturm landed in the spare chair. I drank my wine and moved my magic, one thin strand at a time, to wrap around him.

“I thought you became a complete recluse,” Sturm said. “A hero damaged by war and withdrawn from us ordinary mortals. Yet here you are having a steak at Flanders’, in presentable clothes even, and your date is wearing the Tear of the Aegean around her neck. How wrong I was.”

The Tear of the Aegean?

“Assumptions can be dangerous things,” Rogan said.

“Indeed. A man can often assume that he is in the right, only to find himself unexpectedly on the wrong side of history.” Sturm smiled. “I’m glad to see you out and about, Rogan, enjoying the finer side of life. This is, after all, what being a Prime is all about. Comfort. Wealth. Power.”

“Duty,” Rogan said.

Sturm rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun. What do you think about all this, Ms. Baylor?”

“It’s nice. My pork chop was delicious. The wine is also excellent.”

Sturm bared his teeth in a sharp grin. “Your pork chop. That’s priceless. You’re delightful.”

“That’s right. Have you ever met Vincent Harcourt, Mr. Sturm?”

“Of course.”

I wrapped the strands of magic tighter around him. “Does he strike you as an erratic man? The kind who can ruin a carefully structured plan by failing to follow simple orders?”

Sturm laughed his lupine raspy laugh. “You haven’t even been certified as a Prime, Ms. Baylor, but you play the game so well. Doesn’t she, Rogan?”

Rogan didn’t answer. He took another small swallow of his wine.

“A man in our position has to play the game well, as Rogan will tell you, Ms. Baylor. Otherwise we risk losing everything. People who work for us. People we love. Before you know it, we find ourselves cowering in a tiny bunker while the tornados of fate roar overhead. But then sometimes the tradition of losing runs in the family. How is your nephew doing, Rogan?”

Rogan smiled. The window beside us cracked with a lovely musical crunch.

That smile meant murder. I reached out and put my hand on his wrist. “Please don’t.”

“Ah.” Sturm smiled again. “The civilizing influence of women. What would men do without it?”

I turned to him. “Some men are too thick to realize that when they push too far, other men may murder them without any thought of consequences. Such men would be wise to remember that consequences won’t matter to them, because they would be dead.”

Sturm glanced at the window. The hairline cracks framed extremely sharp glass shards. If the window shattered, the shards could slice him to ribbons, especially if they were precision-guided by a Prime telekinetic.

“I see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“No,” Rogan said. “Stay. Chat a bit more. Let’s catch up.”

“Sorry, but I do have to be going.” Sturm rose. “Think about what I said, Rogan. It’s not too late to walk on the right side.”

He walked away.

“What am I wearing, Rogan?” I asked.

His face looked pained. “A shiny rock.”

True. Fine. I pulled out my phone and typed “Tear of the Aegean” into the search window.

Tear of the Aegean, a diamond measuring 11.2 carats and rated as Fancy Intense Green Blue, was recently discovered in an ancient shipwreck off the coast of Argos. The Tear of the Aegean is only the third of all known diamonds to possess a blue-green hue, others being Ocean Paradise and Ocean Dream, making it one of the rarest diamonds in the world. (Blue-green color is common in artificially enhanced diamonds and achieved via various irradiation methods; however, it is exceedingly rare in nature.) The Tear of the Aegean was recently sold to a private collector for $16.8 million.



I choked on empty air.

“Do you want to stay for dessert?” he asked.

“No.”

Our waitress appeared, as if summoned.

“We’re ready to go,” Rogan told her. “Put the window on my bill.”

We walked out of Flanders’ and got into the car. Rogan drove through the night city.