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The rules of ascension come into play. If there is more than one candidate, they will fight, with the survivor taking Hunter’s place. Harry is not old enough to ascend to her position so would not be in consideration. The censure that had been evident in his voice appeared in his expression. Do not judge those you do not know based on your experiences with Hunter. Not all vampires—or indeed councillors—serve their own interests first and foremost. Not even Hunter did that initially.
And that was me told, I thought with amusement. I’m sorry if I misjudged your friend, Markel, but it’s kinda hard not to, given all the contacts I’ve had with Hunter and the council have not exactly been great experiences.
He nodded. And I’m afraid that is likely to continue until Hunter is gone and equilibrium restored. In the meantime, be careful. There are still those within council ranks who believe the simplest solution to the current situation would be to kill you.
Isn’t that just what I need at this point in time—the fucking council coming after me rather than the madwoman they’ve left in charge of the whole zoo.
You, Markel said with a smile, are seen as the easier option. You are not, of course, but Hunter has kept them relatively unaware of that.
Then they are bigger fools than I’d already thought. I hesitated. You’d better be careful yourself, Markel. If she is the slightest bit aware of your friendship with Stanford, you may well be next on her hit list.
Of that, I am well aware. But thank you for the concern.
I nodded. Talk to you later.
And with that, I returned to my body. As awareness of my immediate surrounds began to return, I did nothing more than breathe deep in a vague attempt to wash the tiredness and the need for sleep from my limbs. But after several minutes, the rather enticing scent of coffee mingling with the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread invaded my awareness and made my stomach rumble. I opened my eyes and sat up. Azriel leaned against the front of my desk, his arms crossed and amusement in his expression. Beside him, on the desk, was a large mug and the thickest steak sandwich I’d ever seen. My mouth began watering just looking at it.
“You could have told me you’d arranged food,” I said, getting up. “I would have stirred faster
.”
“You needed the rest, however brief, more than you needed the food. Besides, I figured your olfactory senses would kick in sooner rather than later.”
“And you were right.” I picked up the sandwich and bit into it as I parked my butt on the desk beside his. It was every bit as delicious as it looked.
As much as I dislike the idea, it was wise to ask Stanford to prepare for a possible confrontation. Especially if Hunter is capable of the darker arts.
I’m protected against the darker arts, so that’s not so much a concern. I glanced at him as I munched. You, however, are not.
It takes a lot of preparation and power to trap a reaper, he said. But I nevertheless will be cautious.
Good. I finished the rest of the sandwich in quick order, then licked the remaining juices from my fingers and said, Do you think Markel was correct that some of the council still considers me a risk?
Undoubtedly.
Taking me out won’t negate Hunter’s madness.
No. His mental tones were somewhat grim. But it is entirely possible that, given she has just murdered the most vocal of her opponents on the council, those who are neither with her nor against her might believe their only option now is to take out the bigger threat in the equation—and that is Hunter gaining control of the hell portal. The easiest way to do that is to kill you.
I guess. I took a sip of coffee. Surely Hunter will know that’s a possibility, though, and take steps against it.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. His gaze met mine. If there is one thing I have learned in my time here on Earth, it is that human thought processes are not logical at the best of times. When someone has stepped onto the field of insanity, determining what they may or may not think or do is beyond even the ability of the fates to guess.
Meaning we had better watch out for an attack out of left field?
Confusion flickered briefly across his expression. Left field?
I grinned. Yeah, you know, something totally unexpect—
I cut the explanation off as the phone rang yet again. I pulled it from my pocket and hit the Answer button. Stane’s image appeared on the screen, and he looked rather harassed.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Possibly everything,” he said. “Or possibly nothing. It’s hard to say, but I’m just not liking the feel of things.”
“The feel of what?”
“Events.” He glanced sideways, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I’ve lost all power, the streetlights have gone out, and the street itself has become weirdly quiet. Either I’m becoming paranoid, or something is going on.”
