A muscle in Silas’s jaw twitched. “Could be.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been dragged into a lover’s quarrel. People with extraordinary amounts of money had a tendency to get into extraordinary amounts of trouble when it came to sex — either seeking it, through the dissolution of a relationship, or in trying to maintain one. Some poor sap up in the Sierras had even paid him millions just to ward a woman’stiny, rundown house. Not because there was any real threat up there in the mountains, but because heworriedabout her.
Silas didn’t think he’d ever understand what drove people to madness over someone else. Lust was one thing, a quantifiable physical urge that could be aroused and satisfied, but to completely lose your head over someone?Stupid.
He wanted to believe that Petra was smarter than that.
“She said that he’s coming for an official visit next week,” he explained, ignoring the odd, bitter taste in his mouth. “He’s the one she wants me to steal from.”
What could he have that she wants badly enough to trade herself in exchange?Tal almost sounded sad for her.
They’d argued for hours over Silas’s plan, but even after conceding defeat, Tal clearly couldn’t accept the fact that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. People, witches in particular, made calculated exchanges of power every day.
Petra would not be the first to hand over her witchbond in exchange for something other than domestic bliss, and Silas was not the first bastard ruthless enough to accept it.
As far as he was concerned, if she consented to it, then there really was nothing to moan about.
“She wants whatever information he’s got with him when he visits,” Silas answered. “That’s all she’d tell me.”
I once overheard someone say that the most powerful currency in the Temple is blackmail,Tal mused.But that was… a very long time ago. When the Temple thought it could control the world. Maybe things have changed.
Silas pushed away from his desk with his heel. “Besides losing all their power? I doubt it.”
Glory’s Temple had once been a fierce thing — unified, coordinated, and wealthy. They’d crowned kings and played empires against each other, controlling cities and wholecountries from their lofty cathedrals, protected by a radiant shield of religious impartiality.
And then the Burning Years began, when the tide turned against them. Witches, considered Glory’s most vulnerable children, had borne the brunt of the fury as governments and acolytes of other gods sought to tear them down. No one knew how many innocent witches who had nothing to do with the Temple were burned, drowned, hanged, or beaten to death by mobs.
A century of bloodshed had driven witches across continents to found the Coven Collective, the small but mighty territory in the Pacific Northwest, but the Temple itself had never quite recovered from the blow.
Now they named their new cathedrals after those who’d been martyred and played at politics with a delicate but no less ambitious touch.
Silas had no patience for hypocrites, and the Temple was positively bursting with them.
He wasn’t a good man, but at least he never pretended to be one. People either accepted that or they didn’t. What did he care? His clan was safe. His promise to Tal was on the brink of fulfillment at last. He had more money than Glory herself.
And he’d made all of that happen by being as bad as he wanted.
The only thing hedidn’thave was power. Not enough, anyway. Not like Petra.
Normally he made up for his deficit with borderline blasphemous sigilwork. He could mold magic to suit his every whim, but razor-sharp skill could only take him so far. He needed the raw, burning core of magic at the heart of his witch.
Silas wandered over to his lab table, where sleek metal, encased in his own proprietary black enamel, lay scattered across the brushed steel surface. At first glance, it might haveappeared disorganized, but he knew exactly where every scrap, every wire, every tube, and every plate ought to go.
He’d spent a century working on prototypes with Tal, getting everything exactly right in between Silas’s jobs. Sometimes those jobs were chosen deliberately, allowing Silas to steal research or parts for their work, but mostly he’d picked his clients for the fun of it — and the money, of course.
He did love money.
Silas.The warning note was back in Tal’s disembodied voice, which was never a good sign.
As much as Silas liked having Tal around, he got tired of his sanctimonious lectures. The only reason he could tolerate it at all was because, unlike a certain golden priestess, Tal actuallybelievedin what he preached.
I really don’t think this is a good idea,he cautioned.Witchbonds aren’t like hats. You can’t just put one on and take it off again when you get tired of it. You’re asking this woman to be your mate. That’s sacred, Si.
Silas shot the shadows a frown. “I am not. Witchbonds aren’t just for mates.”
His father, a witch himself, had explained it to him extensively when Silas hit puberty. Being half-witch, no one had been quite sure what Silas’s needs would be, and his dad wanted to be sure his son didn’t accidentally bind himself to an unsuspecting person in a hormone-driven passion. Really, it was more for the public’s protection than Silas’s.
You’re obsessed with her,Tal challenged.You want her. Do you really think you’re going to be able to keep your hands off of her when she’s tied to you, body and soul? That’s like catnip to you.
