Styx arched a dark brow. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Share the fact he was no better than a eunuch with his Anasso? He’d rather be gutted.
And, speaking as someone who actually had been gutted, that was saying something.
“I most emphatically do not,” he rasped, shoving open the door to his office and leading his companion inside.
“Thank the gods.” Styx crossed the slate gray carpet, perching on the corner of Santiago’s heavy walnut desk. “When I took the gig of Anasso I didn’t know I had to become the Vampire Whisperer. I just wanted to poke things with my big sword.”
Santiago veered past the wooden shelves that held the sort of high-tech surveillance equipment that only Homeland Security was supposed to know about, unlocking the door of the sidebar that was set beneath the French Impressionist paintings hung on the paneled walls.
“I hope you didn’t come here to poke anything with your sword,” he said, pulling out a bottle of Comisario tequila.
“Actually, I need your help.”
“Again?” Santiago poured two healthy shots of the expensive liquor. The last time Styx had said those words the Dark Lord had been threatening to destroy the world and he’d been teamed up with Nefri in an attempt to find the missing prophet. “I thought we’d gone beyond the sky-is-falling to yippee ki yay, everyone back to their neutral corners so we could pretend that we didn’t nearly become dog food for the hordes of hell?”
Styx hadn’t become king just because he was baddest of all bad-asses. He was also frighteningly perceptive. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Santiago’s bitter expression with a disturbing intensity.
“Does this have something to do with Nefri and her return to her clan?”
Nope. Not discussing it.
Santiago jerkily moved to shove one of the glasses into Styx’s hand. “Here.”
Briefly distracted, the ancient vampire took a sip of the potent spirit, a faint smile curving his lips. “From Viper’s cellars?”
“Of course.”
Styx’s smile widened. Despite being predatory alphas, Styx and Viper, the clan chief of Chicago, had become trusted friends. It was almost as shocking as the fact that vampires and Weres had become allies. At least temporarily.
Which only proved the point that doomsday truly did make for strange bedfellows.
“Does he know you’re enjoying his private stash?”
“What he doesn’t know . . .” Santiago lifted his glass in a mocking toast before draining the tequila in one swallow. “Salud.”
“You know,” Styx murmured, setting aside his glass, “maybe I should try my hand at Dr. Phil.”
Santiago poured himself another shot. “You said you needed my help.”
“That was the plan, but you’re in a dangerous mood, amigo. The kind of mood that gets good vampires dead.”
“I’m fine.” Santiago drained the tequila, savoring the exquisite burn. “Tell me what you want from me.”
There was a long pause before the king at last reached to pull out a dagger that had been sheathed at his hip. “Do you recognize this?”
“Dios.” Santiago dropped his glass as he stared in shock at the ornamental silver blade that was shaped like a leaf with a leather pommel inset with tiny rubies. “A pugio,” he breathed.
“Do you recognize it?”
His short burst of humorless laughter filled the room. Hell yeah, he recognized it. He should. It belonged to his sire, Gaius, who had once been a Roman general.
Centuries ago he’d watched in awe as Gaius had displayed the proper method of killing his prey with the dagger. What a fool he’d been.
Of course, he wasn’t entirely to blame. Like all foundlings, Santiago had awoken as a vampire without memory of his past and only a primitive instinct to survive. But unlike others, he hadn’t been left to fend for himself. Oh no. Gaius had been there. Treating him like a son and training him to become his most trusted warrior.
But all that came to an end the night their clan was attacked. Santiago had been away from the lair, but he knew that Gaius had been forced to watch his beloved mate, Dara, burned at the stake. And lost in his grief, Gaius had retreated behind the Veil where he sought the peace it supposedly offered.
Of course, it had all been a load of horseshit.
Gaius had allowed himself to be swayed by the promise of the Dark Lord to return Dara, and he’d gone behind the Veil to betray them all.
And as for Santiago . . .
He’d been left behind to endure hell.
Realizing that Styx was studying him with an all too knowing gaze, Santiago slammed the door on his little walk down memory lane.
“Gaius,” he said, his voice flat.
“That’s what I suspected.”
“Where was it found?” Santiago frowned as the Anasso hesitated. “Styx?”
Styx tossed the dagger on the desk. “A witch by the name of Sally brought it to me,” he at last revealed. “She claimed that she worked for Gaius.”
“We know he had a witch who helped him along with the curs.” Santiago nodded his head toward the pugio. “And that would seem to confirm she’s speaking the truth. Gaius would never leave it lying around.” He returned his gaze to Styx. “What did she want?”
“She said she had been using Gaius’s lair in Louisiana to stay hidden in case she was being hunted for her worship of the Dark Lord.”
“More likely she knew that Gaius was dead and decided to help herself to his possessions.”
Again there was that odd hesitation and Santiago felt a chill of premonition inch down his spine.
Something was going on.
Something he wasn’t going to like.
“If that was the case, then she was in for a disappointment,” Styx said, his expression guarded.
“Disappointment?”
“She says that a week ago she returned to the lair to discover Gaius was there.”
“No.” Santiago clenched his hands. This was supposed to be over, dammit. The Dark Lord was dead and so was the sire he’d once considered his father. “I don’t believe it.”
Something that might have been sympathy flashed through Styx’s eyes. “I didn’t either, but Viper was convinced she was speaking the truth. At least, the truth as far as she knows it. It could be that she’s being used as a pawn.”
Santiago hissed. His clan chief possessed a talent for reading the souls of humans. If he said she was telling the truth then . . . dios.