The atmosphere, however . . . yeah, that couldn’t be more different.
All hints of the opulent gold and crimson furnishings had been stripped away and replaced with a twelve-foot marble table that consumed the center of the room with twelve chairs set at precise distances apart. And gone were the barely civilized vampires with their raucous parties and bloody brawls.
In their place were a variety of subdued demons attired in matching white robes who settled in their seats with a silent dignity.
With a wry smile, Styx waited for Siljar to step to his side, her expression unreadable as they watched the last Oracle take his seat.
“Is this all of them?” Styx asked.
“All but one.”
Ah. Success.
“Who is missing?”
“Brandel.”
He turned toward the tiny demon, making certain his voice was pitched low enough to keep from carrying.
“You don’t sound particularly surprised.”
Her expression remained aloof, but Styx could sense her growing concern. He grimaced.
The thought of an Oracle going rogue was enough to give the entire demon world nightmares.
“I have been . . .” She searched for the proper word. “Troubled by him since our arrival to the caves.”
“Anything in particular?”
“I sense there is more to him than meets the eye.”
Well that was predictably ambiguous.
God forbid an Oracle just say what she was thinking.
“A secret he’s hiding?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “It’s more than a secret.”
“Then what?”
“I think his very identity is a lie.”
Styx blinked, then blinked again.
It was one thing for a human to alter his identity. A new hair color, a pair of colored contacts, and a change of name and—presto—a new person.
But a demon . . .
They would have to modify themselves on a cellular level, or have their essence scrubbed like Gauis, to fool other demons.
Even then he couldn’t imagine an Oracle being deceived for long.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered.
“Neither do I,” Siljar slowly admitted, her eyes shifting from the gathered Commission to meet his confused gaze. “But I do know one thing.”
“What?”
“Your brother Roke is in danger.”
The warning was so unexpected that it took Styx a beat to wrap his head around it.
“Roke?” He was instantly in full Anasso mode. No one screwed with one of his brothers. Not unless they wanted to deal with him. “What does he have to do with this?”
Siljar paused, as if considering her words. “As you are perhaps aware, I am in tune with the universe.”
He shrugged, not giving a shit what she was babbling about. He just wanted the info on Roke.
“If you say so.”
Her lips thinned, but she ignored his lack of tact.
Thank the gods.
“Which means I am occasionally urged to tug on the threads of fate,” she continued.
A polite way of saying she was an intrusive busybody interfering in other people’s lives.
This time he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.
See? He could be trained no matter what Darcy might say.
“And you tugged on a particular thread?” he carefully demanded.
“I did.” She gave a dip of her head. “It brought me Levet.”
Styx shuddered. “That’s a thread you can keep.”
“Levet was a companion to Roke when they tracked down his mate in Canada.”
He bit back his impatient hiss. “That has some connection to Brandel?”
“Levet was here when Brandel returned from a mission he claims took him to Hong Kong.” She at last got to the point. “Levet, however, was quite certain he smelled of the same ocean spray he’d just left.”
Styx was briefly distracted. “Ocean spray has different scents?”
“So it would seem.”
Who knew? Pulling out his phone, Styx punched in Roke’s number, willing the younger vampire to answer.
“Damn. Straight to voice mail,” he at last growled. “I need to find them.”
Siljar lifted her hand, releasing enough of her outrageous power to keep him from charging out of the cavern.
“No, I have a more important duty for you,” she informed him.
“But . . .” With a snap of his fangs, he regained control of his severely strained temper. This was one of the few fights he couldn’t win. “What duty?”
“We need to discover more about Brandel and why he would be interested in the clan chief of Nevada.”
Her words made sense. It would be easier to protect his brother if he understood the nature of the threat.
Dammit.
“And what of Roke?” he snarled.
Siljar flashed her razor-sharp teeth. “I will send him assistance.”
Roke struggled to open his eyes, briefly wondering if he’d been on a bender.
His head was throbbing, his mouth was dry, and his bones ached as if he’d been beaten by a rabid troll. Always the signs of a fantastic party.
Then, he at last managed to focus his gaze enough to take in the familiar sight of his private lair.
As always he took comfort in the plain stucco walls and dirt floor covered by simple Navajo woven blankets. The ceiling was open beamed and the furniture hand-carved from sturdy oak.
It was like him.
No fuss, no frills.
As his senses slowly came back online, he turned his head, sensing he wasn’t alone.
“Zoe?” He wasn’t entirely surprised to discover the small, blond-haired vampire perched on the edge of his mattress. Zoe had been attempting to convince him that she belonged in his bed for the past decade.
Now, however, he shuddered at just how . . . wrong her presence felt next to him.
“So, the dead decides to awake,” she murmured, reaching to run her fingers through his hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He instinctively pulled from her light caress, desperately searching his foggy mind for the cause of his throbbing fear.
He was missing something.
Something that was more important to him than life itself.
Baffled by the strange sensation, he tried to raise his head only to flop back on the pillow with a groan.
“What happened?” he moaned.
Zoe returned her hand to her lap, her expression hardening with a frigid fury.
“You were poisoned.”
He jerked in shock. Vampires could be sickened by toxic substances, but their swift regenerative abilities kept poison from being an effective weapon.