“Jagr.” Styx leaned back in the leather chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
Jagr narrowed his frigid gaze. “Did I have a choice?”
“Careful, Jagr,” Viper warned. “This is your Anasso.”
Jagr curled his lips, but he was wise enough to keep his angry words to himself. Even presuming he could match Styx’s renowned power, he would be dead before ever leaving the club if he challenged the Anasso.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I have a task for you.”
Jagr clenched his teeth. For the past century he’d managed to keep himself hidden among his vast collection of books, never bothering others and expecting the same in return. Since he’d been foolish enough to allow Cezar to enter his lair it seemed he couldn’t get rid of the damn vampire clan.
“What sort of task?” he demanded, his tone making it clear he didn’t appreciate playing the role of toady.
Styx smiled as he waved a slender hand toward a nearby sofa. It was a smile that sent a chill of alarm down Jagr’s spine.
“Have a seat, my friend,” the Anasso drawled. “This might take awhile.”