Demetri’s art collection is proof that money can’t buy taste, but it can buy restraining orders, or at least lead to them. Not that my mother would pursue that logical legal direction.
None of this is a shocker. His obsession with Lizbeth Landon knows no bounds. And oddly, I wonder if this is his way of trying tohurt Candace for dumping him. Stalk her daughter’s adoptive mother instead—totally normal rebound behavior. It reeks of major see-you-at-the-holidays energy. There’s no better way to hurt an ex than to make them look at you with someone else. Case in point, Chloe and Gage.
The air reeks of expensive cologne mixed with something darker—blood and pine, like a killer trying to cover up his crimes with air freshener. The floors are a glossy marble, the woodwork is as dark as Demetri Edinger’s soul, and everything that allows for it is coated with gold.
We find Demetri exactly where I expected—draped across a massive leather chair by a roaring fire with a crystal tumbler in hand, filled with something dark and sinister. His midnight-colored hair catches the firelight in perfect waves, his high cheekbones create sinister shadows across his face, and that black cape he’s wearing pools around him like liquid darkness.
Why the heck is Demetri wearing a cape? I’m suddenly befuddled, but before I lose my momentum, I step his way.
“We have questions.”
His dark eyes gleam with amusement at the fact that we’ve stormed into his domain, and his signature grin spreads across his features as if he’s been expecting us all evening.
“Well, well, well.” His voice carries that debonair charm reserved for vampires and serial killers alike—and villains who wear capes. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Though I suspect this isn’t a social call, given the murderous expressions each of you is wearing.” He nods to Marshall. “Sector.”
“Edinger.” Marshall nods back, and there’s an amused undercurrent in his voice.
“Highball, anyone?” Demetri holds up his drink with that grin of his ever widening.
“Cut the act,” I say. “We know what’s going on.” Or at least a part of it.
“Do you?” His eyebrows arch with pure delight, and he leansforward in his chair like a wolf who just spotted wounded prey. “How fascinating. Please, enlighten me.”
Logan steps forward, his entire body coiled like a spring, ready to snap. “Candace is planning to erase our children from existence. And we want to know if you’re part of it.”
Demetri throws back his head and laughs—rich and genuine, as if he’s absolutely delighted. “Part of it? My dear boy, I’m absolutely opposed to it.”
The words hit me like a blow to the chest. My mouth falls open as I process what he’s just admitted. No denials, no manipulation, no clever wordplay—just a straight confirmation of our worst fears. My mother is the true devil in disguise.
“Wait,” I interrupt with something nagging at me. “What about the anchor? Candace said we needed to create this temporal anchor to protect our family.”
Demetri’s laugh is rich and genuinely amused. “Oh, the anchor exists. But it’s not protection—it’s a catalyst. Your dear mother needed a fixed point in your timeline to ensure her manipulations would stick.”
Logan’s jaw clenches. “A catalyst for what?”
“For erasing the right children at the right time.” Demetri’s expression turns serious, losing some of that theatrical amusement. “You see, Candace recently discovered a rather inconvenient prophecy.” He turns my way. “Apparently, your sister Melissa and one of your future offspring are destined to lead a revolution that will completely reshape the faction’s power structure.”
My blood turns to ice. “What kind of revolution?”
“The kind that would undermine everything Candace has spent centuries building—namely Celestra. Her position, her influence, her carefully constructed celestial hierarchy—all of it threatened by a couple of children who haven’t even reached their full potential yet.”
“But you said you’re opposed to it,” Logan points out, confusion clear in his voice.
Demetri’s grin returns, sharp and calculating. “Because I findthis prophecy rather exciting. Change can be quite beneficial when you know how to position yourself properly. Unlike Candace, I’m not particularly attached to the current power structure.”
A horrible thought occurs to me. “Demetri, the tenets of light driving—they say we can’t change anything major. That the timeline self-corrects. Is that still true?”
His expression grows grave. “I’m afraid those rules no longer apply.”
“Why the hell not?” Logan thunders.
“The tenets were broken the moment Candace all but forced you to create the anchor. Since her entire purpose for the anchor is to alter the future, the past doesn’t stand a chance of remaining the same. Changes stick now. The timeline can no longer self-correct around major or minor alterations.”
Logan closes his eyes. “So, every change we make?—”
“Is permanent,” Demetri confirms. “Which is precisely why she needed you to create that anchor willingly. Your consent bound you to the new rules regardless if you understood them. Very clever, really. Diabolical, but clever.” He sighs hard. “So, you see,” Demetri continues, rising from his chair with liquid grace, “I am for the children. Not only was I growing fond of them, but they?—”
“Behoove his agenda,” Marshall cuts him off.
