The Council (Darkness #5)(14)

Stefan took a step away, a shot of adrenaline pulsing through his body. “Agreed.”

“Oh, and… Toa thought I should say this to you.”

Stefan listened quietly as Dominicous explained about covering the blood link, giving himself privacy. He had to do everything in his power not to dig his hands in his pockets like a sullen child. Dominicous saw it and smiled.

“I wouldn’t worry about her figuring it out before you did.” Dominicous stepped toward the door. “Toa says she pulls a great many things out of her ass in dire circumstances. You may have lost your family young, but you had some loyal friends helping you succeed, not to mention other members of the clan. She only had a houseful of disinterested guardians, merely doing their part to keep her off the streets. She feels that is a blessing, and it is I suppose, but it creates a certain person. Pressure and time can create something beautiful, or it can create something cruel. We are lucky she turned into the former.”

Stefan snorted, turning toward the hall. “Dominicous the poet.”

“I have many facets. And Stefan…”

Stefan paused.

“She doesn’t need to feel your pain. Nor the depth of your viciousness. She’s still human, after all. She’s not as versed as she thinks in the savagery of our kind. Plus, if she feels your pain she’ll set the place on fire to save you. Best cover that link when you meet your challengers.”

“Didn’t need to be said.” Stefan started off down the hall.

The soft click of the door sounded unnaturally loud in the empty corridor. He set a course for his room, feeling his anticipation rise. Waiting for the challenge he knew would come. And as he walked, he felt something. Soft whispers of current barely moved the air around him. A heaviness pushed in from the sides, the temperature a fraction warmer in certain places than the chilled air circulating the rest of the enclosed space. Prickles tickled up his back and around his arms.

Something watched him.

His eyes flicked right and left. He glanced behind and peered into a doorway as he passed. It was empty, which was not usual for the middle of the night. Even in a human hotel, a species that kept the opposite schedule, there would be one or two souls moving around at this time.

He slowed down, covering that link as Dominicous had explained and honed in. He didn’t get where he was, as young as he was, without feeling danger pressing in on him. And reacting.

He struck out to his right, glancing off of a warm, solid form. Without wasting any time or even knowing how many were there, he grabbed hold of an arm, then a neck. With a roar of might, he picked up the large being and hurled it. The feeling of movement had him turning with liquid joints, striking out once again at a solid form invisible to his eyes. He rammed someone against the wall and pounded into a body. His hands felt upwards quickly, not wanting to lose the advantage. He found the head, and bashed it against the wall in two hard thrusts. The slide of a body said that the form was out of commission.

He turned back to the hall, his hands out, ready to grapple. If they had swords, he was screwed. But they wouldn’t kill him. They needed to see that beyond a shadow of a doubt, he couldn’t be attached to a leash and used to control Sasha.

Silky movements rustled the air. Nearly silent footsteps moved away in the opposite direction, leaving whoever was on the ground. Blood stained the carpet next to him, leaking out of thin air.

The corridor emptied out. He could feel it.

He needed the spell to undo whatever these people were using as disguise. He had to be able to see.

He pushed ahead. He needed to find Sasha first, to make sure she was okay, and then Toa.

Not five minutes later, as he turned toward the center of the building, it was as if a veil had been lifted, the first signs of life since he’d gone into that room with Kallias surging around him. Well-dressed males and females, reveling in their arrogance, traipsed through the halls and meeting rooms, going about whatever business or games they had on their agenda. Humans often followed behind or bustled through on their own, running errands and living subserviently.

Sasha would not like that one bit. She’d probably form some kind of taskforce, even though it was, undoubtedly, the humans’ choice.

He walked through at a measured pace, drawing eyes. Gazes dipped, finding the blood spatter on his ironed, collared shirt. Languid smiles curled the lips of a few women. One even reached out to trail a red, manicured finger along his chest.

Suddenly, he knew exactly how Sasha felt being called a plaything. He went from the King of the Mountain to the attractive jester in the space of a few hundred miles. No f**kin’ way.

Another jolt of adrenaline rocked his frame. He couldn’t help his body flexing, his anger seething out around him. As if a shockwave boomed out, a wide-eyed bubble of spectators opened up around him. Males and females alike glanced up, and then shuffled out of the way. He was ready for battle, no matter the venue—a male couldn’t just fight his way to the top, he had to own his status as he did so. Stefan was no stranger to playing his role of leader.

He kept his measured pace up a flight of stairs, attracting eyes, and down a different corridor, this building nothing if not never-ending tunnels on every floor but the first. A hundred yards from his room, two males stepped into the hallway and stopped, facing him, side by side.

He couldn’t help it but grin.

“Nothing but a backwoods nobody,” the male on the right sneered.