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“Any other examples?”
“Plenty.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “Here’s another. At the end of each term, I brought my students together for a friendly challenge.”
“What happened?”
“My past trainees always enjoyed the final quest. Until the year Dolph participated. I called it the Mage Scavenger Hunt. Each student had six individual tasks to complete at six different locations. Dolph won. I was not surprised. Each pupil, however, returned with a horror tale to share. A young warlock’s hand was severed. Though a healer reattached it, it was a traumatic experience for the male. Another student’s spell misfired. Her task had been to trap a wilding in a deep pit. When she recited the incantation, she landed in the hole herself. Upon her return, her hands were bloody, her nails broken from clawing her way out, and her spirit crushed. Each pupil, except Dolph, had faced a grave situation resulting in injury or terror. The accidents begged credulity.”
“Yeah. The young sociopath was damn lucky.”
“Though his mother Echidna accused me of creating an unsafe learning environment, her smile said Dolph’s performance pleased her.”
“How would you rate Dolph’s skill?”
“With a 9.0 on the Richter Scale being an earthquake of near total destruction? Maybe a 15. Most mages excel in two or three skills. Not Dolph. He was exemplary in every task I set for him. I have seen no one like him before. Or since. His greatest strength, though, was in spell creation. Not replication. Creation. An exceedingly rare talent among my breed. Even at such a young age, he surpassed ancients. I can only guess he has grown more proficient. If he has, his magic is unbeatable.”
“What about Rein?” asked Galena. “He tops the charts at warlock crap.”
“For all our sakes, I hope what you say is true. Rein was never my pupil. He had a vampire Awakening. Of course, he is legendary for excelling not only as a vampire but also as an incubus and warlock. Everyone has heard of his abilities. Your Firebrand, however, keeps his powers wrapped up tight whereas Dolph shows his off to the world. I would have to see the two mages side-by-side to judge. As a warrior, Rein probably has at least a sliver of conscience. Dolph has none. You realize what that means?”
“Yeah. Dolph will do anything to win, including destroy-the-universe kind of shit.” Once, Rein walked a troublesome path. No longer. Now, she worried the warlock calling himself Cerberus could only be brought down by someone equally strong, equally destructive, and equally amoral. Galena sprang from her chair, eager to share intel with Kole. “Get your stuff together, including your cat. I have a call to make.”
Felix uncurled, arched his back, and snarled, showing off his white pointy teeth. Yeah. The stronghold was gonna love the feline. His aggression would fit right in.
****
Through the cell bars, Roark studied the injured though stubborn Miller Nash. The Englishman was on the floor doing pushups. He passed fifty.
Not bad.
But the Arisen Dawn shifter wasn’t here to measure dicks. Would the prisoner accept Cerberus’s deal or not? Roark came for an answer. He had told Indigo he would switch sides for a price. He didn’t need to bargain, though, because Lord Grim Reaper, aka Cerberus, made an offer to Miller. It included himself as babysitter, sword-seeker, and witch killer. If the Englishman agreed, things were looking up. Roark could have a finger in both camps.
A carefree smirk on his face, he unlocked the heavy metal door, a dart gun hidden behind his hip. “Nash, my man, how are you?”
The human propelled himself off the floor, wincing as he brushed dusty hands on his pant leg. “Great, asshole. How’s it hanging?”
“Couldn’t be better. The question is, are you jumping on the crazy boat or do I go it alone? Major shit is in store for the Grim Reaper warlock. Be smart. Join the cause.”
“I don’t know why everyone keeps overrating my intelligence. Still. Unlimited wealth, power, cool digs appeal to me. So I’m in until a better offer comes along.”
“Great. Just one more thing.” Roark raised the gun and shot Miller Nash in the chest.
The Englishman stared at the dart. “What the fuck? You sonofabitch.”
The shifter tapped out a count. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five… And there he goes.”
The human crumpled to the floor, the tranquilizer effective. “Hey, guys, give me some help here.” He called on two demons to carry Miller into a lab where they slammed him onto a sterile table. The doc got busy with an implant.
After the procedure, Roark returned the unconscious prisoner to the cell. Idling away his time with a tune he couldn’t place, the raven shifter leaned against the iron bars. While the human struggled to wake, he continued to hum.
Finally. Nap time is over.
“Hey, limey. What’s this song? I can’t remember it, and it’s driving me crazy.”
Nash scooted to the top of the bunk while fisting his eyes, probably trying to see through the blur of a heavy dose of knock-out juice. “Fuck if I know.”
“Here. Listen again.” This time Roark sang a few lines.
“Sounds like a bad version of Willie Nelson doing British grime.”
