Without her…
A sharp knock on the door interrupted his agonizing thoughts, although it brought no relief to his pain. He could sense Styx standing in the hallway and as much as he respected his Anasso, at the moment he was no more than an unwelcome intrusion.
“Not now,” he called out, his voice raw with emotion.
In answer the door was thrust open, nearly coming off its hinges as Styx stormed into the room, his massive form covered from head to toe in black leather, his expression revealing that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Cezar gritted his teeth. Damn Viper. It had to be the clan chief who had sensed Cezar’s stark pain and sent for the leader.
That all-seeing golden gaze swept over the glass littering the carpet before landing on Cezar’s tense form.
“Come with me,” he commanded.
Cezar shoved his fingers through his tangled hair, struggling to contain the power that still swirled through the air.
“I’m not really in the mood for company, Styx.”
Styx folded his arms over his massive chest. “You would rather be pacing a hole in Viper’s rather expensive carpet?”
“I’d rather be in my bed with my mate,” Cezar snapped.
“There is no point in wishing for the impossible.” Styx narrowed his gaze. “And even less point in locking yourself in this room and brooding. Let’s go.”
Cezar gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell the older vampire to go to hell. The last thing he wanted was to leave this room and pretend as if his life wasn’t crashing down around him.
Unfortunately, Styx wasn’t just another vampire. He was the Anasso and he possessed the power to force the cooperation of others.
Including Cezar.
“If you insist.” With a stiff bow of his head, Cezar forced his feet forward, passing by the older vampire and stepping into the hallway. “But if you tell me that everything is going to be fine, I swear I’ll throw you out the nearest window.”
Joining him in the hall, Styx pointed toward the back stairs that led to Viper’s private tunnels. For a time they walked in silence, the vampire guards that filled the house disappearing into the shadows at the approach of the two powerful demons.
As they reached the stairs, Cezar felt the heavy weight of Styx’s gaze on his tight expression.
“The Oracles will not harm her, you know,” he said softly.
He didn’t ask how Styx had known why he was so disturbed. They’d both known that this day would come sooner or later.
Cezar hissed as he thought of his sweet, tenderhearted mate in the hands of the Commission. They would be ruthless to get what they wanted. And what they wanted was Anna to take her place as an Oracle.
They might not physically harm her, but they might very well crush her spirit if they thought it necessary.
“I pray you’re right,” he rasped. “But even assuming that Anna’s transition to the Commission is without complications, they will never return her. She’s lost to me.”
“I claim no knowledge of the Commission’s inner workings, but surely Anna will have some say in her future?”
Cezar stiffened at the soft question. No. He wouldn’t allow the dangerous hope to settle in his mind. It would only drive him mad.
“She’s an Oracle.” He closed his eyes as he forced the words past his clenched teeth. “It was the reason she was born.”
Without warning, Styx grasped his shoulder in a tight grip. “Destiny is not always etched in stone, amigo.”
Cezar opened his eyes as he glanced toward his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I once believed that fate could not be altered. Should not be altered,” Styx said, a rueful smile touching his lips. “And I was prepared to sacrifice all that I held dear to battle those who would dare to change the future. I was a fool.”
Cezar nearly stumbled as they reached the wide opening at the bottom of the stairs. Forcing Styx to admit that he might be wrong was like trying to force an imp to confess where he’d hidden his gold.
“Good God, I never thought to hear those words from your lips, my lord.”
Styx laughed as he led them down a wide tunnel. “Enjoy them while you can. They will never leave my lips again.”
They continued through the thick darkness and Cezar found his renegade thoughts dwelling on his companion’s words.
“So you no longer believe in destiny?” The words were out before he could stop them.
Styx halted before a large wooden door, his expression somber as he studied Cezar’s haunted expression.
“I believe that destiny, good or bad, is crafted by our own hands.”
“It was foreseen that Anna is to become an Oracle,” Cezar muttered. “That’s a destiny that I can’t craft away.”
“Have faith in your woman, Cezar,” Styx said gently.
“My faith in Anna is beyond question,” he growled.
“Then that’s all you need.”
With his cryptic assurance offered, Styx reached to push open the door and with a mere thought ignited the numerous torches that were set in the walls of the large room. With a sweep of his arm he gestured Cezar forward.
Cezar’s brows lifted as he stepped through the doorway. A mere glance was enough to confirm they were in Viper’s private armory. And that there were enough ancient and modern weapons in the glass cases to take over a third world country.
Viper’s rare collection was whispered of, but rarely seen. Little wonder. There were demons that would stop at nothing to get their hands on such a lethal arsenal.
“What are we doing here?” Cezar demanded as Styx crossed the floor to retrieve two long swords from a nearby case.
Styx turned and tossed one of the swords in Cezar’s direction. “It’s been some time since I’ve had an opportunity to spar with a worthy opponent.”
Catching the sword by the delicately carved hilt, Cezar absently tested the weight and balance of the weapon. It was, of course, perfectly crafted and fit his hand as if it had been forged for him. Viper would never have anything but the best.
He glanced toward Styx, who was eyeing him with an expectant expression. Maybe a few hours of testing his skill with a master was precisely what he needed. It would be hard to brood with a very large vampire swinging a sword at his head.
Pretending to study his sword, Cezar casually settled his weight on the balls of his feet and bent his knees to a fighting stance.
“It won’t be much of a competition,” he warned. “I’m no match for you even when I’m not distracted.”