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“Lucius received a note. She’s alive, but she’s been taken.”
The ground below his feet threatened to swallow Fadon whole as he processed those words. In seconds, the five of them ran to Lucius’ villa.
Whoever had taken her would die a slow and painful death. He’d save Lucius for last. By Ongar, Fadon swore to it.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucius
He had fucked up. He’d known it when he’d done it that day back in the cabin on the Freedom, and every day since. He shouldn’t have blatantly lied to her. The truth could have remained hidden just by omission, but for some reason, the lie had formed words, had been pulled from his throat and lips, offering them to her in an answer.
Did you know your father?
I have no idea who or where he is, he had answered. Each word a conviction, no hesitation. And now the lie had bitten him more thoroughly than landing in a den of hungry snakes.
There was not enough alcohol to drown himself in that would wipe the look on her face from his mind when she’d learned the truth. He had searched his memory of everything that had happened back in the restaurant. How had she known? The only thing he could come up with were the words Demos had been reciting from that ridiculous scroll, triggering some kind of vision in her. Her dazed eyes…
And who cared, really, how she’d even learned it? Sierra had been wrapped inside a web woven by those witches of Delphos, and he cursed the day she’d gone to them. Cursed them for that damn rite, for visions and supernatural ruminations. Did they plant these ideas inside her head? Why?
What did it matter to them who his father was?
Then why didn’t you tell her the truth?
Because he had been too scared to. Too scared she’d see it as some grand plan to take over House Trajan while using her to do it.
And he had been right. But it was made worse with that fucking lie.
Now, as the sky darkened and he waited for Phobius and Demos to return from inquiring at the shrine, he stared down at the sheet of paper that had arrived hours ago, a nightmare in the form of cream vellum. A threat. A ransom note from those fucking Owl Servants.
Did the blame really lie with them, though? Just like on that island, it had been Lucius that had started the gears turning. It had been his greed and ambition that had turned those Servant’s heads Sierra’s way.
No, he couldn’t blame them. This was all on him. His greatest treasure had been ripped away from him because of who Lucius was—nothing but a scheming, callous mongrel. He wasn’t proud enough to not accept that fact. He would own it all.
Again, like he had every five minutes since she’d ran from the meeting, he checked the bond they shared. Hours ago it had simply disappeared. He could feel no trace of her, and that acknowledgment terrified him more than anything he’d ever faced in his life.
The room was filled with Ongahri, but Lucius barely noticed them, didn’t hear their mumblings, their glasses clinking from the ice inside their drinks. Didn’t taste the smooth whiskey he was absently sipping. Indeed, all there was for him in this moment was the ink that taunted him.
We have your mate…
A horrendous roar erupted from his soul, filling the room and threatening a storm the world had never seen. From his hand the glass flew, crashing into a wall. He flipped the table in front of him and punched the air with tight fists, his chest rising in fury.
Only then did he make eye contact with the men in the room, all of whom stared at him with looks of sympathy, a few showing fear.
“What do you want to do, brother?” Chantis asked. “I can have my men here this time tomorrow if I send the word now.”
“We will join you as well,” Lox said.
Suddenly there was a chorus of similar sentiments, and Lucius, for the first time in his life, felt humbled. Never had anyone had his back before, outside of Neil. And for a few moments, emotions he hadn’t felt since he was a young boy surfaced, threatening to freeze him. He picked out Ander and Fadon across the room. Whether it was his imagination or not, he saw a common thread between him and his half-blood brothers. Another first, his desire to be accepted by them, not as men but as blood.
Gods, he had never felt so… small, so helpless. Yes, that was what it was—helplessness. And he hated it. But it was nothing compared to the fear of losing Sierra.
With that in mind, he straightened, feeling resolve take over. “While we wait for Demos and Phobius to return, send word. Gather as many men as you can. We’re going to the Basilica, and may the gods have mercy on those who dared to take what’s mine.”
“Oni Ongar Veldos Ma,” the group intoned.
Words said before a battle, words that Lucius had never heard in his lifetime. A thrill of bloodlust shot up his spine, filling those vacant empty holes that losing Sierra had created.
He would get her back.
