Victor wasn’t convinced. “Uriel.”
“I don’t blame myself for his death,” Uriel assured his companion, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. “I blame the Jinn for keeping me alive.”
Chapter 2
Victor was predictably baffled by the blunt confession. “What the hell does that mean?”
“After Johan was destroyed the Jinn appeared in front of me.” Uriel had a vivid memory of the demon who had taken human shape, although there was nothing human in the lethally beautiful face and the slanted lavender eyes that held an unearthly fury. “I tried to fight, but I was no match for him.”
Victor’s fingers gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “The only way to hurt a Jinn is to destroy his tiglia.”
Uriel nodded. Victor had discovered during his battle with the Jinn that the demon’s actual essence was kept in a wooden box. At the time, however, Uriel had only known that his fierce blows had done nothing but amuse the bastard.
“He could have killed me. Instead . . .” The words became lodged in his throat.
“What?”
Stepping back, Uriel yanked his sweatshirt over his head to expose his chest.
“Instead he grabbed me by the throat and used his other hand to do this.”
The this was the thick scar in the shape of a fist that was seared into his flesh.
Victor made a sound of shock as he caught sight of the disfigurement for the first time. Uriel had always been careful never to be seen without a shirt. Even when he was with his lovers. He didn’t want nosy questions.
And there would most certainly be questions.
A vampire’s ability to heal even the most grievous injuries made certain that their bodies remained flawless no matter how many centuries they might survive. It was only when they were being simultaneously starved and tortured that they scarred.
Or when they were in the hands of a demented Jinn. “Bloody hell,” Victor breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Uriel squashed the urge to snatch up his sweatshirt and cover the revealing wound. What was he? A warrior or a squeamish wuss?
Still, even in the company of the only person in the world he trusted, he felt vulnerable, exposed.
“Don’t ask if it hurt,” he awkwardly muttered.
“No need.” Victor lifted his gaze with a puzzled frown. “You don’t get marked like this without it hurting like a bitch. Does it still bother you?”
“Not physically.”
Victor lifted his hand, holding it over the scar without actually touching it.
“I sense . . .”
“Power,” Uriel finished the sentence.
The silver eyes widened as Victor abruptly realized where Uriel’s sudden increase of power had come from.
“Ah.”
“Exactly.”
“I have to admit I wasn’t expecting that.” Victor slowly shook his head. “Of course, I wondered what had happened to increase your strength, but . . .”
“But you didn’t suspect that the Jinn had juiced me up?”
“I can safely swear that was at the very bottom of my list,” Victor dryly admitted. “I’ve never heard of a Jinn sharing his power with anyone, let alone a vampire.”
Uriel flinched at the memory of the white-hot pain that had drilled into his chest, spreading through his body like an infection.
“At the time I didn’t know what the hell he was doing. I assumed I was about to meet my well deserved end.” His lips twisted with a bitter smile. “Imagine my surprise when the bastard simply disappeared, leaving me with a pretty new tattoo.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He said . . .” Uriel hesitated, bracing himself for Victor’s response. There was the potential that his chief would consider the secrets he’d kept hidden worthy of a death sentence. Not the most comforting thought. “He said that I was to be ‘the instrument of his revenge’.”
Victor’s brows snapped together, his power slamming through the room with frigid force. Uriel hissed, struggling to keep his own powers leashed. The potential for violence quivered in the air, just waiting for the smallest provocation to erupt.
Uriel didn’t intend to be that provocation.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened?” Victor growled.
“You had just rescued your new mate from the gaping jaws of death,” he reminded his chief. “You didn’t leave your private lair for over a month.”
Victor’s aristocratic features briefly softened. Like Pavlov’s dog, Uriel wryly acknowledged. Victor might be a fierce clan chief who enforced his laws with a brutal strength, but he melted at the mention of his mate.
“Ah yes,” the ancient vampire murmured. “Now that was a month to remember.”
Uriel refused to acknowledge his stab of envy.
What was the point?
Many of his fellow vampires joked that becoming mated was a fate worse than death (at least until they became mated themselves) but Uriel had secretly longed for the day when he would meet the female destined to stand at his side for all eternity.
Until he’d been cursed by the Jinn.
Now he accepted that he could never put his potential mate in danger.
Not if there was the slightest risk he could be forced to lose control.
“Besides, I thought the beast was amusing himself,” he continued with a shrug. “Like a cat with a trapped mouse. It wasn’t until days later that I realized he’d given my powers a dose of steroids.”
The silver eyes shimmered with anger. “And it didn’t occur to you that the Jinn’s mark might compel you to carry out his mysterious revenge?”
“Of course.” Uriel reached into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a wooden box no larger than his thumbnail. “That’s why I carry this.”
Victor hissed at the unmistakable symbol branded into the wood.
“A thana hex.”
Uriel nodded. It was a rare hex that could only be performed by imps with royal blood running through their veins.
The damned thing had taken him years to track down and cost over half his fortune to purchase, but it had been well worth the trouble.
One flip of the lid and he would be dead.
Quick, easy, and supposedly painless.
“Death in a box,” he said, returning the hex to his pocket. “If I ever feel myself being forced against my will I can end it before any damage can be done.”
There was the sound of approaching footsteps from the hallway and with a scowl Victor crossed to meet the young vampire at the door who handed him a cell phone. The conversation was brief, but the clan chief’s temper didn’t seem to be improved as he shoved the phone back into the servant’s hand and turned to glare at Uriel.