Damn the idiots.
Dropping the dead female on the floor, Gaius retraced his steps. Someone was going to pay for this screwup. And it wasn’t going to be him.
Although dawn was nearing, he followed the scents of the curs to the kitchen. He intended to vent his displeasure before seeking his bed for the day.
Punishment was like a soufflé. If not served immediately, they both fell flat.
He entered the kitchen, taking a moment to glance around the narrow room. At one end the walls were lined with a tiled countertop and white painted cabinets. An ancient fridge hummed in the corner and a matching stove was set under a window that overlooked the dilapidated chicken coop.
At the other end was a small wooden table with matching chairs. Not that there was much to see of the table beneath the huge slab of raw meat the two curs were consuming with gusto. In the corner the witch was perched on a stool, reading from a battered, leather-bound book.
At his entrance the three froze, smart enough to comprehend that their lives hung in the balance.
He concentrated on the dim-witted duo. He would have to take greater care with the witch.
“I trust that the two of you are proud of yourselves?”
Ingrid flinched, lowering her head in a gesture of subservience. “Caine was a lot stronger than we expected him to be.”
Gaius moved to stand in the center of the tiled floor. “You knew he’d become a pureblooded Were.”
Dolf shifted closer to his sister, his hand lifting to touch the crystal hung around his neck. “Yes, but his power isn’t just that of a Were,” he tried to bluff. “I doubt there’s anyone but Salvatore who could beat him in a head-to-head fight.”
“A convenient excuse for your failure,” Gaius said, his voice soft. Lethally soft.
“A convenient excuse?” Dolf ’s fingers tightened on the crystal, no doubt wishing he had the nerve to lob a spell in Gaius’s direction. “That bastard almost killed me.”
“Hardly a great loss,” Gaius drawled.
“Yeah?” Dolf scowled. “Well, where were you during the battle? I didn’t see you doing anything to help.”
“A good commander directs his troops. He doesn’t waste his talent by becoming a foot soldier.”
“Talk about convenient,” Ingrid muttered beneath her breath.
The bitch was dead.
Her and her perverted brother.
Gaius clenched his fists, his power slamming through the room with enough force to overturn the table and shatter the overhead light.
“Do you dare imply that I—”
“Wait.” The witch was abruptly standing directly in front of him, her hands held up in a gesture of peace. “Squabbling among ourselves isn’t going to help. What we need is a new plan.”
Utterly unaware of how close he came to death, Dolf turned the table upright and continued chewing on the bloody slab of meat. “What kind of plan?” he demanded between bites. “There’s no way in hell we’re going to be able to lure the seer and her protector into another trap.”
Sally shrugged, looking worse for the wear with her black eyeliner smeared and her pigtails drooping. “There’s no need for a trap.”
“No?” With an effort, Gaius regained command of his temper and regarded the tiny female with a mocking smile. “Do you intend to wiggle your nose and make them appear?”
“Something like that.” She reached into her bustier to pull out several golden strands of hair. “Abracadabra.”
“Hair?” Gaius rasped.
“Not just hair. The prophet’s hair.”
Gaius frowned, recalling Sally’s insane charge toward Cassandra in the cellar. Was that what she’d been doing? Yanking out the female’s hair?
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Sally smiled. “I can use this to track her.”
Suddenly Dolf was at the witch’s side, his face filled with awe. “You can scry?”
“Yes.”
Annoyed at being left out of the conversation when he should be in control of it, Gaius pointed a finger toward the witch. “Explain.”
She paled, swallowing heavily as his displeasure was focused on her. “Having a part of Cassandra means I can use a spell to locate her.”
A portion of Gaius’s fury eased. As much as he wanted an excuse to kill his bumbling companions and lay the blame on them for allowing the prophet and her protector to escape, he understood that the Dark Lord might not be in a forgiving frame of mind. In fact, he might just kill Gaius before he could convince him that the fiasco wasn’t his fault.
“You can locate her now?” Dolf growled, his eyes glowing crimson.
“Don’t be any more of an idiot than you have to be, cur,” Gaius snapped.
The stupid creature scowled. “What?”
Gaius waved a hand to slam shut the heavy shutters over the window. “It’s nearly dawn.”
“So . . .” Realization at last managed to penetrate his thick skull. “Oh.”
“Precisely.” Dismissing the fool, Gaius turned his attention to the witch, moving with blinding speed to grab her by the throat and lift her off the floor. “You will perform this scrying at nightfall,” he commanded, his glare warning that he would rip out her heart if she tried to find the prophet while he was imprisoned by daylight. “Not a moment before, capisce?”
She struggled to breathe, her eyes wide with fear. “Of course.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, and I’ll need a new female. Order one off the computer.”
“It’s not that—” She squeaked as his fingers tightened, a fraction from crushing her windpipe. “Yes, fine. I’ll have one here by dusk.”
“Good.” He released his grip, watching her crumple on the floor before turning back to the curs. “Dolf.”
The cur lowered his head, flinching as if he expected a blow. “Yes, Commander?”
“Get rid of the body upstairs.”
“Yeah.” The cur hissed a sigh of relief. “No problem.”
Feeling the heavy press of dawn begin to sap what little energy he had left, Gaius turned to leave the room. The night had been a debacle. For now he just wanted to lock himself in his private rooms and drift into oblivion. He’d reached the doorway when Ingrid foolishly halted his retreat.
“What about me?”
Gaius threw a jaundiced glare over his shoulder. “Try not to burn down the house while I’m sleeping.”