She stiffened.There should only be two of them.Frowning as her wrist pulsed, she knew exactly who the third Atlantean was.The imprint was no bigger than an inch, but no matter how much she scrubbed or attempted to remove it, even going as far as tattoo laser removal, it remained.It was branded onto her skin.Each consort pair mark was unique to them.The mark forever linked her lifespan with Talik’s.And even if they spent their entire lives across the globe from each other, took lovers and never interacted again, it would not make a difference.If one of them were to die, the other would follow within forty-eight hours.
The ceremony was one only a few Atlanteans conducted and clearly the stupidest decision of her life.The consort mark had taken more than a century of Talik and her being separated for it to stop glowing and sending agonizing jolts through her body—as if the damn mark was sentient and objected to their falling out.In less than one week, it had started to thrum again.If she had to go through another century of separation before it stopped reacting violently to their distance, she was really going to stab him.
“I won’t stab Talik,” she muttered the words out loud.A flash of horror crossed Zayyan’s face.She ignored it.Zayyan was well aware of her history, but for his sake, she added, “At least fatally.”
She flexed her hand as she touched the hilt of her sword and anchored herself in the present.A trick she had learned years before.The relief was instant—she had switched out her newer swords for her favorites despite their origin.They were older, but the black and red silk that lined the hilt was soothing in its familiarity.They were a reminder of why she had wanted to learn to master the dual swords.Fragile beauty wrapped in lethality.
The footsteps grew louder as the trio walked toward them.Lord Azaes and his nephew Dante Delacroix.The two Atlanteans had the same height and build.The rest of their similarities were subtle, far more obvious in their bearings and arrogance, as well as their mutual desire to build and control empires, than their appearance, something she had never aspired to.
Anhur, Lord Azaes, looked up at her and nodded, his yellow eyes identical to hers.He had the eyes of a predator, and on him, they appeared more wolf-like than Atlantean, menacing against his black skin and short dark hair.Unlike most Atlanteans of his status, he wore plain clothing—a dark gray shirt and black pants.His shirt sleeves were rolled up, displaying the three-inch crimson consort mark, an intricate dotted ouroboros, on his right forearm.Unlike her, Anhur rarely hid the mark.
“Lord Azaes.”Zayyan bowed before turning his attention to Dante and giving him a subtle nod, enough to show respect.“House Mneseus.”
Zayyan stiffened next to her.There was an aura of pure ice that surrounded Dante.He was the coldest Atlantean she had ever come across, but that didn’t stop her from meeting his neon green gaze without backing down.They were, after all, related, and she liked to lose just as much as Dante.The icy Atlantean looked like he had walked out of a boardroom in his Manhattan office, which was fitting since he had amassed more power and wealth in the last two centuries than most Atlantean elite ever dreamed of.Not a small feat for the spare heir of the matriarchal Delacroix line.
“Zayyan,” Anhur acknowledged before he turned his undivided attention to her.“Khalida.”
“Lord Azaes,” she dutifully stated as she bowed.She may be Anhur’s eldest child, but she had forsaken her hereditary position within Atlantean society, and she did not want to give anyone a reason to strip her of the title she had painfully earned—nor another excuse to add to why her mother, Lady Jiah of House Mestor, had chosen to exile herself and give up her only child.
The sandstone panel hummed as it lowered behind her and Zayyan.Above their heads, green lights flickered like strobe lights.A second later, the panel had entirely disappeared into the ground.
Dante came over and stood next to her.“Cousin.”
“Dante,” she responded.
The mark on her wrist continued to throb, a small pulse every few seconds.A part of her hoped Talik had taken the hint and gone back to whatever hole he normally worked in.However, she was not that lucky.
Talik remained a few strides away and had stopped to look at the statue that towered over him.How anyone had thought Talik was originally human she would never understand.
She tapped the hilt of her left sword, letting it anchor her.He still wore the black matte uniform, instead of the expensive tailored suits he seemed to favor.He waited another second before he sauntered over toward them as if he had all the time in the world.Even after all these years apart, she would always recognize Talik’s walk.Arrogance incarnate, even when he had nothing to his name.But the days of Talik being the pauper were long gone, if she believed the rumors.
He stopped a foot away from her and looked at her swords, a smirk on the edges of his lips as recognition flared across his face.It lasted only a second before he finally dragged his gaze up to her face.
She would not stab Talik.
If she said the mantra enough, she might survive this ordeal and not have to explain to Anhur or Dante that she stabbed Dante’s second-in-command because his mere presence annoyed her.This wouldn’t be an issue if Dante had left Talik behind in New York City, like he was supposed to.
“I see you missed me.”Talik flashed her a killer smile.
“Wait.”She slowly looked him over, annoyed at herself that she had missed the small flash of silver on his calf, the hilt of a small blade, when she had first seen him.“No other weapons?”
“Just my charm.”
For a second, she closed her eyes, her hand tight on the hilt.Anger was making her feel this way.Not the small, almost indiscernible flutter she felt when Talik had smiled at her.
