Revealed (House of Night #11)(60)

Flushed with excitement, Neferet made her way invisibly to the field house. She entered through the rear door—the one nearest Artus’s quarters. Then she waited.

Neferet hadn’t had to wait long. As she already had learned, Artus was a vampyre of habit. When his fledgling didn’t appear at exactly thirty minutes past dawn, he opened the door to his quarters and gruffly called, “Salvatore! Boy! Where are you?”

“Salvatore is not here. No one is here except for me and you,” she’d said.

He was frowning when he emerged from his quarters, hair wet, chest bared, with only a towel wrapped loose and low around his slim hips. “Priestess, have you misplaced your Warrior?”

Neferet had lifted her chin and made her voice flint. “Warrior, have you misplaced your respect? I am a High Priestess. I expect to be greeted as such.”

Artus had lifted one dark brow, but he had complied, fisting his hand over his heart and bowing to her. “What can I do for you, Neferet?”

“Ah, you do know my name.”

“Everyone on San Clemente Island knows your name. What can I do for you, Neferet?” he’d repeated.

“I am here for a lesson,” she’d said.

“Your Warrior is a talented Sword Master. Why not take a lesson from him?”

Her full lips had curled up and her voice had purred, “Oh, but you misunderstand me. I am not here to take a lesson. I am here to give one.”

His dark eyes widened as she pulled a leather strap from the folds of her dress and lifted the dagger she had been hiding behind her. Then she tugged at the tie at her shoulder, and her gown slithered down her body. Naked, she walked to him, not speaking until she was within reaching distance. “Hold your hands before you and put your wrists together.”

“Neferet, what are—”

“I didn’t say you could speak! Do as I command!” When he just stood there, statue-like, she raised the dagger and touched it to his chest.

His intake of breath was sharp, but he didn’t move, didn’t look away from her.

Neferet had smiled, though she’d made her voice sharp, cruel. “Obey me!”

“Yes, High Priestess.” His voice had gone deep. He raised his hands, pressing his wrists together.

Neferet wrapped the leather strap around them, tightening it until she could see that it was uncomfortable. Artus’s breath was coming fast. Sweat began to bead across his ebony body.

“Good, but you didn’t obey me quickly enough. I must punish you, but only if you beg me to.”

Their eyes met. In his she saw shock and then understanding and desire. “Please, Neferet, punish me,” he begged.

She had been happy to comply.

In her den, Neferet’s body warmed in remembrance at how she had punished him. She had been mounting Artus, imagining herself as an ancient goddess mounting a sacrificial bull, when Alexander had found them. He’d cried out her name, sounding like a heartsick schoolboy. Utterly in the throes of ecstasy and pain, she’d whirled from Artus to face Alexander, and dropped the barriers she’d fashioned between them.

“See who I really am! See what I really think of you!”

Her emotions had battered Alexander. She remembered how colorless his face had been when he’d sobbed and fled the field house.

Almost as colorless as it had been when he’d been found the next day after he’d fallen on his sword, ending his miserable, boring life.

She had had to pretend public heartbreak, of course, though not for the first, nor last time in her life. She fabricated a story that portrayed Alexander as a disturbed young Warrior. She’d sobbed and said she had accepted his oath because she’d believed in her ability to heal him. Her concern for his unstable emotions was why she had been spending so much time at the field house—why she had insisted she lead the Warrior Prayers.

The High Council had responded with compassion, praising her for her attempt to heal one who had been so obviously broken. That hadn’t been a surprise. Neferet was adept at manipulating High Priestesses. Artus’s response to Alexander’s suicide had been a surprise.

She’d gone to him the next dawn, cloaking herself in darkness and sneaking into his chamber. He had utterly rejected her. His words had been respectful, but she had seen within him. He had been disgusted by her.

Neferet had cut through his subterfuge as cleanly as she had his skin.

“Tell anyone why Alexander really killed himself, and I will explain in detail to the High Council about your need for punishment. You know what they would do. That’s why you hide your desires with human prostitutes, paying for their silence. Should they discover you, the High Council would, correctly, believe your need affects you as a Warrior and dismiss you from your post.”

“You are utterly devoid of compassion.” Neferet never forgot the loathing in his voice.

“We each wear our masks, don’t we? Keep my secret and I will keep yours.”

Neferet had left San Clemente Island the next day, immediately after lighting Alexander’s pyre. The High Council had been understanding and compassionate. Of course she should return to her House of Night immediately. The loss of an Oath Bound Warrior was life altering for a High Priestess!

Artus had remained silent.

One year later Neferet heard how shocked the High Council had been when his body had been found floating in the Grand Canal. There had been no sign of violence on his body, only his many scars. Apparently, he had drowned himself. Neferet had smiled at the news.