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There were several.
The most important of which was from Billy Riddle. Evidently, the guy had had a disturbing interaction the night before and had called just after one A.M.
It was good that he was seeking comfort, Mr. X thought. And probably time that they had a conversation about his future.
An hour later, Mr. X drove to the academy, opened its doors, and left them unlocked.
The lessers he'd ordered to report in started to arrive shortly thereafter. He could hear them talking in the hall next to his office, their voices low. The moment he came up to them, they quieted down, looking at him. Dressed in black fatigues, their faces grim, there was only one whose coloring had yet to fade. Mr. O's brunette brush cut stood out, as did his dark brown eyes.
The longer a lesser stayed in the society, the more he lost his individual physical characteristics. The browns, the blacks, the reds of the hair turned to a pale ash; the tints of yellow or crimson or tan in the skin blanched out to a blushless white. The process typically took about a decade, although he had yet to see any strands of blond appear around O's face.
He did a quick head count. As all of the members of his two prime squadrons were there, he locked the academy's outside door and escorted the group into the basement. Their boots were loud and sharp on the metal stairwell, a drumroll of the power in their bodies.
Mr. X had set up the war room as nothing special, nothing unusual. Just a regular old classroom with twelve chairs, a chalkboard, a TV, and a podium in front.
The unremarkable decor wasn't just subterfuge. He didn't want any high-tech distractions. Group dynamics were the purpose and focus of these meetings.
"So tell me about last night," he said, eyeing the slayers. "How did it go?"
He listened to the reports, unimpressed with the excuses. There had been two kills the night before. He'd given them a quota of ten.
And it was a disgrace that O, who was so new, had been responsible for both deaths.
Mr. X crossed his arms over his chest. "What's the problem?"
"We couldn't find any," Mr. M said.
"I found one last night," Mr. X snapped. "Quite easily, I might add. And Mr. O found two."
"Well, the rest of us couldn't." M looked at the others. "The numbers in this area have thinned."
"The problem is not geography," a voice muttered from the back.
Mr. X's eyes shifted through the lessers, focusing on O's dark head in the back of the room. He was not surprised that the slayer had spoken up.
O was proving to be one of the best they had, even though he was a new recruit. With terrific reflexes and stamina, he was a great fighter, but like all powerful things, he was hard to control. Which was why Mr. X had put him in with others who had centuries of experience. O was liable to dominate any group made up of individuals even remotely inferior to himself.
"Would you care to elaborate, Mr. O?" Mr. X was not at all interested in the man's opinion. But he was very prepared to show up the new recruit in front of the others.
O shrugged carelessly, and his drawl was just short of insulting. "The problem is motivation. There are no consequences for failure."
"And what exactly would you suggest?" Mr. X asked.
O reached forward, grabbed M by the hair, and slit the other man's throat with a knife.
The other lessers leaped away, crouching into attack positions, even as O sat back down and calmly wiped his blade off with his fingers.
Mr. X bared his teeth. And then got himself under control.
He walked across the room to M. The lesser was still alive, gasping for breath, trying to stem the blood loss with his hands.
Mr. X knelt down. "The rest of you will leave. Now. We will reconvene tomorrow morning, when you will have better news for me. Mr. O, you stay."
When O defied the order and made a move to get up, Mr. X froze the man in the chair, stealing control of the large muscles in his body. O seemed momentarily shocked, clearly trying to fight the hold that was on his arms and legs.
It was a battle he wouldn't win. The Omega always provided a few extra benefits to the Fore-lesser. This kind of mental dominion over fellow slayers was one of them.
As soon as the room had emptied, Mr. X. took out a knife and stabbed M in the chest. There was flare of light and then a popping sound as the lesser disintegrated.
Mr. X glared up at O from the floor. "If you ever pull something like that again, I will turn you over to the Omega."
"No, you won't." In spite of his being at another's mercy, O's arrogance was unchecked. "You wouldn't want to look as if you can't control your own men."
Mr. X stood up.
"Careful, O. You underestimate the Omega's affection for sacrifices. If I were to give you to him as a gift, he would be most grateful." Mr. X walked over and ran a finger down O's cheek. "If I were to tie you down and call him to you, he would enjoy unwrapping you. And I would enjoy watching it."
O snapped his head back, more angry than frightened. "Don't touch me."
"I'm your leader. I can do anything I want with you." Mr. X clamped a hand on O's jaw and forced his thumb in between the man's lips and teeth. He jerked the lesser's face forward. So mind your manners, don't ever take another society member out without my express permission, and we'll get along fine."
O's brown eyes burned.
"Now what do you say to me?" Mr. X murmured, reaching out and stroking the man's hair back. The color was a deep, rich chocolate.
O mumbled.
"I didn't hear you." Mr. X pressed his thumb into the soft, fleshy plot under O's tongue, digging in until tears formed in the other man's eyes. When he removed his grip, he ran a quick, wet caress over O's lower lip. "I said, I didn't hear you."
"Yes, sensei."
"Good boy."
Chapter Thirty-one
Marissa could not get comfortable in her bed. No matter which way she turned or where she put the pillows, she was irritated.
Somehow, her mattress had been filled with rocks, and her sheets had turned into sandpaper.
Throwing back the covers, she went over to the bank of windows that were shuttered and covered in thick satin drapery. She wanted some fresh air, but there would be no opening them. It was morning.
As she settled onto her chaise longue, she covered her bare feet with the hem of her silk nightgown.
Wrath.
She couldn't stop thinking about him. And every time another image of them together came to mind, she wanted to curse. Which was shocking.
She was the docile one. The lovely one. All female perfection and gentleness. Anger went totally against her nature.
Except the more she thought of Wrath, the more she wanted to punch something.
Assuming she could make a fist.
She glanced down at her hand. Yup, she could. Though it was pathetically small.
Especially compared to his.
God, she'd endured so much. And he had no appreciation of how difficult her life had been.
Being the untouched spinster shellan of the most powerful vampire of them all was hell on earth. Her failures as a female had burned out any sense of self-worth she'd had. The isolation had preyed on her sanity. The embarrassment at living with her brother because she had no home of her own had stung.
And she'd been horrified to be stared at by others and talked about behind her back. She was very aware that she was a constant topic of conversation, envied, pitied, spied upon, the stuff of fable. She knew young females were told of her story, although whether it was as warning or inducement, she didn't want to know.
Wrath was totally unaware of how she'd suffered.
Part of that fault she had to lay at her own feet. Playing the good little female had felt like the right thing to do, the only way to be worthy, the only chance at finally sharing a life with him.
Except how had it turned out?
With him finding a dark-haired human he cared about more.
God, the payoff for all her efforts went beyond not fair and right into cruel.
And she wasn't the only one who'd suffered. Havers had been worried sick about her for centuries.
Wrath, on the other hand, had always been just fine. And he was no doubt doing just fine right now. In all likelihood he was. at this very moment, lying naked with that female. Putting that hard length at his hips to good use.
Marissa closed her eyes.
She thought about being pulled against his body, held in those crushing arms, consumed by him. She'd been too shocked to feel much heat. There'd been so much of him, all over her, his hands tangling in her hair, his mouth sucking hard at her throat. And that thick rod of his had scared her a little.
