The Mortal Heart(12)

Something moved in the corner of the room, underneath the sheet covering a grand piano.

A black dog—which looked more wolf than dog—raised its head.

So my father found himself a Caster dog. Of course.

Macon almost laughed. Silas hated animals. But he loved to spy—the unrivaled perk of watching the world through two pairs of eyes—your own and a Caster animal’s.

“You can come out now, Father,” Macon called.

Delicate smoke rings from Silas’ Barbadian cigar entered the room before he did. “As if I’d bother to hide from you.” Dressed in an expensive check dress shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and perfectly tailored Italian slacks, his father looked more like a member of the Mafia than a Dark creature from a race of Supernaturals.

Silas flicked his ash on the floor next to the wolf-dog, and the beast growled.

“It’s funny to see you with a dog,” Macon said. “Since you always refused to let us have one growing up.”

Silas walked over to the stone fireplace. “Pets make children sentimental and weak. Comfort is for prey—and they pay people like me for it with their lives. I did you a favor.” He pointed at the animal across the room with the end of his cigar. “Lucifer is knocked up. If you want a puppy so bad, I’ll give you one.”

Macon shook his head. “Her name is Lucifer? A little on the nose for you, isn’t it?”

Silas shrugged. “Her namesake was misunderstood. Lucifer was just trying to make things better for his kind.”

“You aren’t actually defending the Devil, are you?” Macon held up his hand. “Wait. What am I saying? He’s probably your mentor.”

Silas walked the perimeter of the living room, opening drawers and pocketing anything that appeared the least bit interesting. “From what I hear, you’re the one in need of a mentor.”

Here it comes.

“Your brother told me you’ve been following around a Mortal girl at school,” Silas continued. “And here I thought Hunting was the stalker in the family.”

Macon flinched involuntarily.

“Are you going through the Transition? Is that it? I respect a man who chooses his meals carefully.” Silas smiled. “Especially the pretty ones.”

Macon kept his face unreadable.

Don’t react. Don’t give him that. Don’t let him see how close he’s struck.

He wasn’t about to admit the truth to his father—that he was the prey.

That he craved blood, even dreamed about it. But not Jane’s.

Never Jane’s.

She could stalk me, he thought. She has perfect control of me, at least for now. His father would never understand that, not even in an Incubus’ lifetime. He took a breath.

“She isn’t a meal, Silas,” Macon said carefully. “But she also isn’t someone you need to worry about.” He felt sick talking about Jane this way, but he had to convince his father that she wasn’t important.

Silas crossed the room, stopping only a foot away from Macon. “You don’t tell me what to worry about, boy. You have embarrassed me—and this family—for the last time.” He jabbed his finger against Macon’s chest. “Incubuses are at the top of the supernatural hierarchy—kings of the supernatural world. It would be shameful enough if you dragged a Caster home, but chasing a Mortal girl? You’d be better off with Lucifer.”

Macon didn’t mention that Silas had married not one but two Mortal women and fathered children with both of them. His racist manifesto—whether or not he adhered to it himself—had been handed down directly from Silas’ great-great-grandfather Abraham Ravenwood, who believed every word of it.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Macon lied. “Trust me.”

Silas shoved him against the wall. “I don’t trust you. Not a single bit. And if I wasn’t sure you were going to kill that piece of Mortal trash the minute the Transition hits, I would’ve killed her already.” Silas lit a fresh cigar and winked at Macon. “Then again, there’s still time.”

His father’s laughter was the last sound Macon heard when Silas Ravenwood dematerialized, leaving only the scent of his cigar lingering in the empty room.

Macon’s heart jumped in his chest. His father’s words weren’t a warning—they were a promise. Silas would make sure Lila Jane ended up dead one way or another. But what terrified Macon most was that Silas was confident Macon would end up killing her first.