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“Listen carefully, you pissant shifter. You have no idea the power you’re dealing with. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill anyone you care about. Slowly. Bring. Me. My. Sword.”
“Finders keepers and all that.” When he glanced at Indy, she was nodding in agreement. Once more he reminded her to keep working on his arousal.
Cerberus continued his rant, his voice so loud, Roark popped the phone away from his ear.
“He’s upset now,” said Indy.
“Who the hell is that?” shouted Cerberus.
She fought off a playful Roark to pull the cell from him. “Indigo, the faithful sidekick.”
Roark snatched the phone back. “Can you take the hostility down a notch, big guy? Indy’s unaccustomed to such language. She’s a sheltered, shy thing.”
She punched his arm. Hard. “Ouch, witch. Gotta go now, Cerb. Keep in touch.”
Roark disconnected, removing the battery from his phone, crushing it in his fist. “I didn’t expect him to take the news so well, did you?”
“You shouldn’t poke a crazy warlock. What are you going to do with the weapon now?”
“I told you. I’ll do right by the sword. In fact, after you ravage me for being such a good guy, I have a short trip to make.”
“Where would that be?”
Roark didn’t answer. He waited for more probing. Doubts. But she gave him an accepting shrug, leaned backward onto her elbows, and arched enough to provide her breasts as a buffet.
He lowered his head, nibbling on a ripe nipple. His eyes met hers, his tongue giving a long lick before he spoke. “Indy, be cautious of my heart. It’s a black one. I’ve been a selfish bastard most of my existence. A killer.”
She grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him close, her lips a breath away. “You’ll change.”
Will I?
****
Cerberus scrambled out of bed, his body trembling, barely containing the negative energy shooting through him. He had searched centuries for Blood’s Kiss. Now it was in the hands of a traitor. With a downward slash of his arm, the warlock released his rage into the ground. Wood floors split apart, chairs flew across the room, and walls shuddered.
Lort tightened his shoulders, balancing his feet wide as the planks beneath him buckled. Momentary fear flickered in his crimson-ringed eyes. “Lord, your power.”
With his fingers splayed and pointed outward, Cerberus exhaled, unleashing his anger. Arisen Dawn guards in the hallway screamed. The air reeked of their coppery spilled blood. “My rage needs victims.” His hands vibrated, sending waves of destruction throughout the garrison.
Cerberus would achieve his destiny without the sword. He was powerful enough to overcome any obstacles. The loss of the blade was only a pothole on his road to greatness.
Boden rushed through the door, hand over hand along the lurching wall.
Cerberus shuddered, dropped his fists to his side, and stretched his neck from side to side. “That’s better. A momentary slip.” He sighed. “Sometimes my anger must play out.”
When the room settled, Cerberus snagged pants, a T-shirt, and boots from his closet. With socks from his drawer, he strolled to the couch where he sat. Once dressed, he looped his arm across the back cushions, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Boden, cease finding a way to increase our numbers going through the portals.”
The male turned ashen, swallowing hard, his hands trembling.
Cerberus chuckled. “Relax. You are still of use to me. Rather, it is time to eliminate the portals and the Whorl. My energy is reaching its crescendo. It’s hardening in my bones, saturating my blood.”
Boden’s color returned though his attention remained fixed on Cerberus.
The warlock snapped his fingers, producing a file folder. He passed it to Boden, who opened it, flipping through the pages.
Once the director of the Ministry of Compliance glanced at the instructions, Cerberus continued. “The time nears when you will bring to the temple one activated descendant from each of the eleven bloodlines I have indicated in the file. Beforehand, the servants will prepare them by bathing them in special oils. I want them clothed in the white garments and accouterments I have indicated.”
“Why only eleven of the original coven’s line, lord? We need thirteen.” Lort, the vampire general, squeezed his brows tight.
