—Please, Cosmo. You can’t do anything yet. Wait—
—Gods, Theodora. This is so fucked up—
—Yes. But we’re helpless right now. We just need to get through tonight, then we can act—
The process continues as the red and black shadows begin to sink into the ambassador’s arm. I clamp down the urge to shift, to attack. If I break cover now, there are no guarantees of Theodora’s safety.
—Breathe—
The chant hits a crescendo, and the ambassador’s eyes fly back in his head, his muscles bulging as the raw, corrupted power surges into his system.
Raskolov is ascending.
The Russian lets out a long, shuddering breath—then flexes first one hand and then the other. The air around his fist ripples with a distorted heat and black mist.
"Success," Janine Hart whispers, her gaze passing nonchalantly over the unconscious, or perhaps dead, boy on the floor.
My father turns his predatory gaze toward Theodora and the desire and hunger on his face turns my stomach.
I subtly stretch out a hand until my pinky brushes against hers.
—I won’t let him have you—
Father signed his own death warrant years ago.
—He will never have me—
Finally, Theodora Wilson and I agree on something.
8
Ihate them all, they’re monsters.
True monsters.
That poor little boy.
In amongst the gleeful Conclave chatter, a voice breaks through to me.
My own personal monster.
—Can you hear my Father’s thoughts, Theodora?—
Cosmo doesn’t look at me, but I feel the brush of his finger against mine.
—No, nothing—
I’m sure whatever is in Tyrus Drakeward’s mind is repulsive, but I’d rather hear it than be left in the dark.
—Can you read anyone else here?—
I strain my telepathy, but just like the Lumina, it’s currently weak.
The two are entwined.
I catch vague mumbled thoughts that flick on greed and desire, but nothing more.
"The Ambassador's ascension is concluded," Cosmo’s father announces. “We have one more tonight. Roger Cox; can you make your way forward?”
