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Cerberus raised his head, his chin jutting forward. “I am of two. Niviane and the Cambion.”
Lort nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
“Be certain Karen Ames is among the chosen.” Though his first taking of the weak female had not activated her powers, in subsequent occasions he had spelled her to believe she desired him. She turned as had others.
“She is unwell.” Lort stiffened his spine.
“I am aware, but even in her diminished mental state, I find her charming. A sound mind is unnecessary to do my bidding. Do not bring the redhead. She is too eager to please. It makes the experience less fulfilling.”
A knock summoned Lort to the door. When he rushed out, Boden spoke. “What more do you need of me, lord?”
“All is in the file. Read it carefully. Do not deviate. If you have questions, ask.” Cerberus held out a hand, cast a spell, and produced a dagger. “I want this handy for the ceremony. Light a fire, using the exact woods named. Arrange the temple along with the supplies as dictated.” He pointed toward the fireplace in his bedroom. “Use the gold chalice on the mantle to catch the blood to bind our spells. Though unnecessary for the ceremony, I wish incense. The scents I have commanded. They are pleasing. Only you and Lort are to observe the rite.”
“Are we certain the coven descendants are able to complete their tasks as commanded? Will you not need others present to supervise them?”
A dark cloud obscured Cerberus’s vision. “Do you doubt my ability to control a mere eleven weak mages?” His loud voice bounced from wall to wall.
Boden quivered again, the man’s cowardliness an irritant. “Of course not, lord. My concern is always for your safety.”
Cerberus cleared his throat, his anger under control. “Of course it is. I thank you. My white robe is to be laid on my bed. My boots polished. Before the ceremony, I am to bathe in oils. My hair will be plaited as instructed. All these tasks will be carried out with precision. Is this understood, Boden?”
“Yes. As you have directed.”
The door slammed open with Lort’s return. “Karen Ames has killed herself.”
Cerberus bolted past the general, long strides taking him to the hall, outside, and into another building. In the Blood Coven descendant’s chamber, he clenched his fists, throwing back his head, howling his fury, his power more difficult to leash with each moment. Around him, Arisen Dawn soldiers scattered, escaping the cyclones stirred by his temper.
Karen lay on the floor, her skin a sickly blue, her eyes open. Lifeless. Cerberus thundered his disapproval. “What happened?”
Lort snarled, his fangs punching from his gums. “No weapon. She must have used her recently gained power against herself. It appears she strangled herself with magic.”
Cerberus kicked her body. Again. Again. Until her bloody corpse lay in a corner. But still he kicked. How dare this weak female resist him. Surely, she was not so powerful.
“Toss her remains into the courtyard for all to see. Bring another from her line to the temple at the right time.” When he pointed at his boots covered in the female’s gore, Boden whipped a hanky out of his suit jacket pocket, fell to his knees, and wiped them.
The ceremony would go on without the shattered Karen, but his victory would not taste as sweet. He had looked forward to staring into the broken eyes of the first female he had taken in ages, to stealing more than her mind, to raping her power along with her body. Within a few days, he would demonstrate his supremacy to a world waiting for leadership. No one would escape him even in death.
“Hurry.” He motioned for Boden to complete his task on his bloody boots.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Who the fuck?” Rein swung open the door to his and Brae’s apartment at the Covenkirk stronghold. Their prime spot at the end of the second-floor hallway was away from most noise. The sweetener to the deal was nobody heard their racket. Brae could be noisy.
Empty. Who the fuck rings a bell and runs? What is this? Middle school?
He dragged his gaze to the floor where a long cardboard box sat. Crouching, he read the label. Rein. Okay. Right person. But he hadn’t ordered anything. “Brae,” he called out. “Are you expecting a delivery?”
His mate ambled in from the bedroom, wearing nothing more than skimpy lace panties with a matching bra. Rein’s shaft twitched on cue, tits or ass being great motivators.
“Nope. What is it?”
Snapping the door shut, he carried the delivery inside, placing it on the coffee table. Brae disappeared into their room again, mumbling something about brushing her teeth before bed. She was tired. So was he. Though less so since he saw his mate in her skimpies.
The box was a good five-feet long and at least ten pounds. Rein curled his fingers, willing claws to slide from his nail beds. He slit the package open. Inside lay an ornate sword in a leather scabbard. But it was the hilt which captured his attention. Deep crimson stones decorated the ancient handle.
Rein eased it from its sheath to test its heft. On the pommel and guard were crimson gems, worn by time like rocks in a fast-flowing stream. The blade was about forty inches of gleaming double-edged iron. Forged by a master. He fisted the grip. Perfect. He sensed a warrior’s palm had wielded this sword.
The weight was ideal. He worked it through its paces. A few figure eights. A few slices. A few thrusts. Excellent balance.
