King Tomb (Forever Evermore, #3)(17)

He growled again. “This was scheduled for our first night, so we are going to attend as if the events of last week never happened.” He jerked my arm, tugging me forward. “Think of this as a fresh start.”

My eyes widened on him as I let him pull me forward. “That’s it. You’ve officially lost your damn marbles.” I messed with my outfit, which consisted of hip-hugging black leather pants and a blue — like my eyes — tight cashmere sweater with a wide neck, hanging off one shoulder, and a long, hooded, black fur coat that almost swept the ground. “That comment was just about as crazy as you wanting me to wear a dress for this ridiculous dinner.” Of course, when he had actually suggested that earlier at the hotel, I had flicked him the middle finger and worn what I wanted.

Antonio glanced at me, surveying my attire, ignoring my commentary. “Although it’s not what I wanted you to wear, you do look beautiful.”

Pure sarcasm. “I’m thrilled you approve.” He was yanking on me awfully hard, moving at a fast clip. “Mind the merchandise, Antonio.” I jiggled my arm, but he didn’t release me.

In fact, he pulled me along faster, again muttering, “We’re late.”

Bindi, Felix, and Aros had gone with the Shifter who had taken our bags to where our tents were set up. This was a formal dinner for only Elders and the King and Queen, a meet and greet, which was just ludicrous now, but it didn’t appear I was getting out of it. Antonio had filled me in a little more on Elder Zeller since he was part of his four, telling me that the man knew Antonio had raised me, and so I had reread the file on him. He was a badass. There was no other way to describe it. The gene had obviously been passed on to his son — I had also reread the file on him after our encounter. Both equally vicious when they needed to be.

“Well, we might as well make our late appearance,” Antonio sighed at the tent’s entrance.

Entering the red tent, which I had already been in and knew it was spelled to be much larger inside to accommodate all of the Mysticals in this camp, we followed the Vampire who met us at the opened tent flap to the back of the room where King Zeller sat, and next to him his dad, Elder Zeller. Even from where he was sitting, I was reminded Elder Zeller was just as gigantic as his son, dressed in a black Armani suit. Last week, when I had been incoherent from blood loss, I hadn’t taken a lucid perusal of him. He was Native American with shorter red and black hair. His muscles straining his suit jacket, he was extremely handsome like all Mysticals, and his facial features were very similar to his son’s, and just as hard.

I saw him glance in our direction. Do a double-take. And he glanced at his watch.

Antonio sighed next to me, having seen this, but quickly schooled his features when Elder Zeller met his gaze with an arched black eyebrow, which was also identical to his son’s.

I was too busy getting my hatred under control to worry about our tardiness, when I saw King Zeller follow his father’s gaze to us, his face carefully blank. Christ, it was truly an amazing feat that I could feel such abhorrence for someone as handsome as him, my face just as blank as his to easily hide my loathing, and I imagined he was doing the same. From his sitting position, all I could see he wore was a hooded dark silver robe, unbuttoned and opened to reveal a billowy white silk shirt, the only two buttons at the top undone to reveal a portion of his smooth mocha chest, the material resting against his flesh like a whisper. Like my hair, which was back to its normal neon red color, his hair was back to its natural color, which was black and red, and spiked to perfection around his head, his green eyes sparkling under the golden glow of the Mage sparks.

Yep, the frost in my veins had a seething partner now that I’d seen him and remembered, while hatred, pure hatred, flared right alongside the frigid ice. Survival instincts — year-long, honed survival instincts — took root, saving my ass since I could not legally attack him. Instead of leaping across the room to slit his throat, which was only a switch of restraint away, my eyes were hard and cold, frost coating my heart, mind, and soul with — maybe — a bit of a heat in my thoughts reserved just for him.

Finished making our way through the many bulky, wooden picnic tables filled with Mysticals eyeing us, their conversation quieting to mere murmurs, Antonio and I stood across from King Zeller and Elder Zeller, both having stood along with the table’s other occupants; it was only then that I belatedly realized there were others sitting at the table. I blinked and glanced at them, seeing two faces I had met before, the memories between the black voids in my mind.

One was Elder Merrick, and I knew him because he had been my teacher for honing the use of my Shifter strength at King Cave, and was the Shifter of Antonio’s four. He looked no different than the last time I saw him: bold features, black hair, bronze skin, and navy eyes. The other, Elder Jacobs, the last of Antonio’s four and an air Elemental, also looked the same, his yellow hair short against his head, his dark ebony skin appearing almost polished, a fierce contrast to his hair, his body and features delicate. I hadn’t known they were going to be here, too, but it made sense for Elder Harcourt to have pulled them in, bringing together the four Rulers who had led the previous war, uniting their strength.

All four at the table stayed mute — staring.

Antonio cleared his throat and said, “Cahal, Merrick, Jacobs, it’s nice to see you again.” They nodded with greeting, and Antonio turned his body in my direction, lifting an arm, gesturing across the table. “Queen Ruckler, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the privilege to,” he glanced at me in warning, “formally introduce Elder Zeller,” his arm moved to the right, “and King Zeller.”