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The visiting assassin pressed the cup to his lips and sipped. “Ah, yes. Refreshing. An enjoyable break from my own toils.”
The two warriors sat quiet for some time, silence crawling across the room like fog, enveloping them in its peace.
Finally, Michael twisted toward Ohngel. “Why do you seek my company?”
Ohngel glanced above the hearth where Michael’s ornate but deadly sword usually hung. The spot was bare.
The host followed the path of his visitor’s gaze. “Missing.”
Ohngel sighed. “Careless of you.”
“It would seem.” Michael sipped from his goblet, staring into its contents. “It is heady.”
“The flavor of the mead or your loss of blade?”
He laughed, his eyes unsmiling. “Both, but I was speaking of the brew. Proceed with caution, Feard assassin.”
“Always.”
“Do you plan to get caught up in the OneCreator’s court politics?” Michael swallowed a drink of mead.
After a few moments, Ohngel shrugged. “I am unsure. Still weighing my options. Besides, I do not know if my argument is with the court and its silly games or with destiny.”
Michael lowered his goblet to the table between them. With eyes as penetrating as his wings were bright, he studied the visitor. “In that direction there be pitfalls, snakes, and true death.”
“Why warn me?”
“I have come to appreciate your company, to consider you a friend. As one of the Feard, you have tasks. If you choose to ignore those and challenge destiny, prepare well. The bitch hides in darkness, but she is a sly warrior. When you think you have beaten her, she slips from the shadows, blade drawn and deadly. Few can outsmart her. To do so requires hubris, a delicate hand, and a will of steel.”
“You speak conundrums like a sage.”
“Did you know once I was considered a scholar-philosopher? Too boring, however. Being the OneCreator’s Bearer of Death is more fitting, more fulfilling. My sword arm was always stronger than my mind.”
The hint of a smile teased Ohngel’s lips. “Many fall prey to such a lie. Not I.”
“Again, I ask you to tread with care.”
“My path will be light; my steps lighter.”
“Now who speaks in conundrums. Careful, you may be accused of becoming a prophet, undoing centuries of profligacy.”
“Unlikely. Fucking and fighting suit me better than words and wisdom.”
“You speak to the wrong male. To this warrior, such a description makes you interesting though untamed.” Michael leaned back into the pillows, balanced on his elbows.
Ohngel tipped his goblet, swallowed, and took his leave of the white-winged warrior, one of the six who could deliver true death to immortals. The OneCreator. Michael. Himself. His three brethren of the Feard.
Harley closed the book. “That’s it.”
“Ohngel is such a war whore,” said Indigo, “but the lack of porn in this selection is disappointing.”
The book club nodded in unison.
****
Roark stayed behind after the meet to talk to Kole who, once the room cleared, pressed for info. “Why does Rein have the sword you and Indigo retrieved? The one Cerberus wants. The one you were supposed to give to me.”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
