Even Soren, Thane’s father, managed to return stateside for the occasion, with his newest fiancée in tow. It’s one of the rare occasions Preston, Killian’s father, allows his mother Claire to leave pack territory. And Luther’s family would never miss a chance to boast about Cyrus, the prodigal son, if it meant tearing him down in the process.
The doors open, revealing an unfamiliar butler. I’ve seen that same blank stare in so many others. It tells me he’s been here long enough to witness what happens, but he still believes it won’t happen to him.
In time.
“Mr. Kovacs, Mr. Hastings, Mr. Rorvik, Mr. Falke—welcome. May I take your coats?” We hand them to him unceremoniously, following a maid who comes to escort us to the parlor where my mother’s in her element—charming a pit of vipers.
“Boys!” Rebecca greets as the maid makes her escape. She’s wearing an indecently low cut black silk slip dress that accentuates her eyes and reveals her flawless, porcelain skin. Her auburn red hair is done up to expose the diamond lariat chain that drips down her back, securing her dress.
“Mother,” I greet when she touches my cheek in silent command to accept her kiss “Lovely as always.” She slips her arm under my jacket and around my waist, and I struggle to repress a shudder of revulsion at her touch.
“Thank you, darling. Fate, you boys get more handsome every time I see you! You really must join us more often—it’s simply unnatural to keep a son from his mother for so long.”
“Truly, a travesty,” I agree as she leads me into the parlor, with my reinforcement following our wake. Killian greets his father first, who grips his shoulder hard enough to turn his knuckles white, but his smile widens—he’s too practiced to show any weakness in front of Preston. After he shakes hands with Soren and Marcus—snubbing Cyrus—he slips away to greet hismother, who’s quietly listening to a young blonde woman sitting with Naomi and Amarantha, Calanthe’s mother.
Thane doesn’t bother, walking straight to the ornate bar cart and pouring himself three fingers of whatever liquor is currently decanting. I glance at Luther who obeys my unspoken command to join him. Soren excuses himself once he catches sight of Thane, kissing my mother on the cheek as he passes us. When he pats Thane on the back hard enough to knock him off balance, my demon’s hackles raise from the rush of possessiveness over him touching what’smine, but my mother’s presence forces me to ignore it.
Preston and Marcus are in a heated debate when we join them. “Roth—perhaps you can settle something for us,” Marcus says, cutting off Preston.
“Gentlemen, must we talk business?” Rebecca sighs in exasperation, taking an amuse-bouche from a maid’s serving tray as she offers it to our group. Preston takes another with a lecherous smile as his eyes rake down her body when she turns, cataloging this evening’s prey.
“It’s no trouble, Mother. Besides, I’m sure Amarantha and Naomi would appreciate you coming to their rescue,” I nod towards the blonde, who’s now wildly gesticulating. Her sneer is brief, betraying her contempt for the woman’s boorish behavior, but it’s quickly replaced by her perfect, practiced smile.
“Just so. I’ll speak with you later, darling.” She finally disentangles herself, but the memory of her loathsome touch lingers as I turn back to Marcus.
“Cyrus and I are proposing a new ordinance to permit the detainment of any Nephilim who fail to produce Council dispensation upon request.” He points his glass at Preston. “He thinks we need a more direct approach to curb their numbers.”
“I say we expand the authority of Council Enforcers to apprehend them on sight, regardless of whether they havedispensation or not. That gets them off the streets where we can deal with them on our own time.”
Cyrus shakes his head. “We lose public opinion if we incite open conflict. We’d introduce the ordinance quietly and take them by surprise before they could put up a fight.”
“You are all wrong,” I state bluntly, with no small satisfaction at seeing their smarmy grins disappear. “Nephilim aren’t unchecked demons or shifters that can be brought down with force like our Enforcers are accustomed to. Their divine magic—no matter how watered down with other bloodlines—still breeds true. With no allegiance to the either Council and no way to know what they are capable of, any confrontation could lead to collateral damage or casualties that draw supporters to their plight, or risk discovery by humans.”
“What would you suggest, then?” Cyrus challenges, and my lips tilt up in the barest hint of a smile. The fool has yet to understand how truly outclassed he is.
“For one, I wouldn’t waste Council resources flushing the vermin out. It’s far easier and more efficient to lead them to their own slaughter.”
Marcus and Preston chuckle, but poor Cyrus just looks confused. “You aren’t seriously implying we cull them outright?”
“Obviously not.” I scoff. “You start by penning the animals together so escape becomes impossible. Even confused at the sudden confinement, they’re still comforted in the belief of safety in numbers. It isn’t until the scent of blood permeates the air and the screaming starts do they realize the death chute for what it is: inevitable.”
That’s not a lesson one forgets when Renard Kovacs beats it into you as a child.
“Begin with tighter restrictions on their businesses and livelihoods. Increase taxes, penalize minor offenses, and release statements claiming increases in crime and illegal activities.When they protest the subsequent escalations, criminalize their disobedience and institute harsher penalties. The public will be only too happy to throw their support behind the Enforcers who keep them safe, and the Council that punishes criminals. It’s textbook genocide. Humans get some things right, occasionally.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Renard’s deep voice sounds behind me, chilling my blood. He’s flanked by Calanthe and her father, Laurent. “Please excuse our tardiness, we had some business to attend to.”
“Of course, Father.” I nod.
Laurent’s bloodshot eyes indicate he’s already three sheets to the wind, but that doesn’t stop him from offering his worthless opinion. Whatever “business” my father had with Laurent, he surely came out the worse for it. “Nephilim are a scourge on our society.”
“Thank Fate we have you all working on the Council,” Calanthe purrs, sidling up to me, safe in the knowledge I can do nothing to rebuff her in front of our families. Preston and Cyrus’s hungry eyes follow her approach. The succubus is stunning in a figure-hugging scarlet red dress, but there’s nothing I want more in this moment than to never see her again.
Alas.
“Calanthe.” I nod. She threads her arm into the crook of my elbow and rests her head against my shoulder, gazing at me in contrived adoration.
“Come now, Roth, surely you can do better than that for your betrothed,” Renard goads. The menacing glint in his eyes expects obedience, or promises consequence.
