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It probably made her a little messed up that she felt pretty damn tingly at hearing what a serious overreaction he’d have to her being gone, didn’t it?
Wynter placed a hand on his chest. “I’m surprised you feel the need to extract such a vow from me, considering I’m no one’s idea of a martyr, but I’ll make you one anyway. I promise I won’t follow her advice.”
“Good.” He pressed a rough kiss to her forehead and then righted himself. “Keep that promise.”
“Do you think she genuinely believes that obliging the Aeons would stop them from retaliating over Lailah’s death?”
Cain sighed. “I think she wants to believe it. War she could handle. Losing more territory? That she’d struggle to deal with. To you, Devil’s Cradle is vast. But that’s only because you’re not trapped here. It’s amazing how small and restrictive a place can feel when you’re unable to leave it.”
Wynter supposed it would be similar to the plight of someone who was housebound. No matter how big or comfortable their home was, it would still drive them nuts that they were unable to leave it. “You know, you should consider that—taking into account how pissed both Adam and Abel currently are—the vindictive shits might alter the size of the prison no matter what happens going forward. Assuming they can even do it, of course. But if not that, they might do something else that’s just as cruel. They’ll be feeling outmaneuvered right now, and I don’t think they’ll respond well to that.” She paused as she studied his expression. “You’ve already thought of that.”
“I’m of the opinion that they’ll want to reestablish their dominance over us by making a harsh statement, regardless of what we do, yes. The other Ancients agree it’s a probability, with the exception of Ishtar—she feels it’s best to cooperate with the Aeons; that they’ll leave us alone from then on if we do.”
“And so because she wasn’t able to convince the rest of you to see things her way, she took a shot at manipulating me,” Wynter surmised.
The reminder made Cain’s back teeth lock. He had expected Ishtar to act out in some way, considering that nothing was going as she wanted right now—it was what she did in such circumstances. Like a child who felt that their wants and needs were unmet choosing to lash out. But this was so much more than a petty notice me tantrum. In urging his consort to do something that would lead to her being hurt and then later executed, Ishtar had betrayed him.
Kali had warned him that someone might, but he hadn’t anticipated that She’d meant this. He hadn’t thought Ishtar would go this far. And that was his mistake.
It was one thing for her to be bitchy toward Wynter and play petty games. It was a whole other thing for Ishtar to encourage her to commit what was essentially a suicidal act. She might not like that he’d claimed Wynter, she might not even understand it or see any value in a mortal witch, but Ishtar should have respected that he saw value in Wynter. The Ancient should have respected that, whether she liked it or not, Wynter was his choice of consort and therefore not to be fucked with.
As Ishtar hadn’t physically hurt her, she’d believe that made her actions “okay.” They weren’t fucking okay. Not at all.
His creature was furious. Pictures of what could happen to their witch at the Aeons’ hands danced around its brain, keeping its rage alive. Not even Wynter’s promise had done much to calm it.
Cain cricked his neck. “I’ll deal with her.”
Sharp quicksilver eyes took him in, glimmering with impatience. “You do know she’ll be prepared for it, right? She knew I’d likely tell you what she said. She’ll be expecting you to barge into her Keep and verbally rip her to shreds. She might even be looking forward to it—she likes having your attention.”
He let out a weary sigh. “Yes, I know.” It grated on him.
One would think that, given how many people populated Devil’s Cradle, Ishtar would consider herself spoilt for choice when it came to selecting people who could pay her the devotion she craved. But since she believed that Ancients were far superior to other beings, it was the attentiveness of fellow Ancients that she most wanted. Much like a human might enjoy the company of a pet but still prefer and place more value in the attention of a fellow human. And, unlucky for Cain, it was his attention that Ishtar primarily sought.
“So maybe you should consider handling it in a way she won’t expect. You don’t have to threaten or physically hurt a person to get your point across. And Ishtar has many, many weak spots—most of which are connected to her ego. Give that a stab by all means, but let that be enough.”
Targeting the woman’s ego wouldn’t be such a bad idea at all. He’d done it several times in the past, and it was always effective. But how could that possibly be “enough” when she’d thought to convince Wynter to put herself at risk?
“At least let it be enough for now,” his witch amended. “You need to do what’s smart. Wiping her off the face of the Earth would be fun, but not smart.”
Cain pulled in a deep breath and, knowing she was right, agreed, “I’ll let it be enough for now.” He was highly tempted to subject Ishtar to a temporary stay in his dungeon, but he needed each of the Ancients to be at top strength in the event of a surprise attack.
Wynter rubbed her hands, looking a little gleeful. “So just what are you gonna do to that ego of hers? I need details.”
He felt his lips quirk, even in spite of his mood. His witch had a knack for making him smile no matter how pissed he was. “I’m not quite sure yet. I’ll give it some thought. Later.”
“Not right now?”
“No, because I have more interesting plans for us. They involve stripping, showering, coming hard, and then sleeping. You in?”
She slipped off the bed. “Dude, I can’t believe you felt the need to ask me. There should have been no doubt.”
*
Wynter called out Xavier’s name as she skipped down the stairs. Muffled voices came from the kitchen. She walked into the room. Paused. Frowned. No one was there.
An open book lay on the counter. Anabel’s cauldron bubbled. Boxes of Delilah’s bespelled cosmetics had been stacked on the table. Xavier’s tarot cards were scattered on the floor.
More muffled voices came. She followed the sounds and headed into the living room. Her brow furrowed. It was empty. Flames crackled in the fireplace. There were used cups on the coffee table.
