“It could kill you, Slick.” Arsen gripped her arms, tried to give a little shake. “Six probably compelled him, along with Kace. We’ll contact Three. Don’t risk this.”
“You’re in a war.” Lexi held up the bloody shirt, then reached for a shard of glass, gripped it until her fingers bled. “Please, Arsen, they might be killing him right now. Let me do this for him, give him additional strength.”
“Lexi...”
“Trust me.” Tears were in her eyes but her expression was serene. “The honor is in the action, Arsen. Tell me.”
Arsen hesitated a second longer, then the power crashed against Lexi’s mind, doubling her over as she pressed the shard deep into her skin. The words settled. She saw the visual sounds that flared into living fire when she wrapped her hand in the bloody shirt. Felt grains of sand like whispered words in a desert storm. They were ancient words, filled with something so ferocious it consumed her.
A tugging sensation ripped as if trying to pull her muscles apart. The pain was instantaneous.
Christan lay propped against the cold wall, his legs spayed out in front of him. They had broken both his hands, and three of his ribs. Six was using his magic to impair the healing process, not unexpected, since Six preferred to drag interrogations out until they died of exhaustion. This was nothing new. They’d played this game many times before, just switched the roles for who lay on the floor.
Christan had known Six compelled him the moment it happened, recognized the distinctive tugging, as if his body was being ripped apart. Then the few seconds of oblivion. He’d resisted, felt Lexi’s hands on his side. But the wound Kace inflicted had gone too deep and the blood loss weakened him. Even now, Christan could not move without using the precious energy he needed to conserve.
Christan estimated he’d been on the floor no more than ten minutes. It hadn’t taken that long to break his hands, and the ribs had been earlier. He stared at the pool of blood creeping outward from his hip, focused on slowing the bleeding. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, but he was able see enough to assess his surroundings.
Six stood near a massive desk. The immortal was wearing one of the dark gray suits he’d purchased from an exclusive tailor in London, along with a dove grey shirt and red tie. Apparently, Six had noticed that American Presidents wore the color of power and thought he belonged in the club. Kace was in his usual jeans and shirt, and some of the wounds Christan had inflicted were still healing. Six would have been wise to conduct his game without Kace; the Enforcer’s presence only fueled Christan’s aggression. But perhaps that was the point of the exercise. Six wouldn’t kill Christan, at least not yet, but when he did, Six wouldn’t try it alone. He’d learned that lesson long ago.
Kace was staring at the ceiling. He looked like a bored man waiting for a meeting to end while Six paraded around the desk. It was still night, and this was probably Zurich—Christan had read the dossier about the embassy-styled building Six maintained. It was in an upscale neighborhood, three stories, with a view of the lake from the top floor. The attack on the villa would have ended by now. Three would be looking for him. One would get in the way, but she always did, and if anything was going to happen on that end it would take time.
The windows beyond the desk were thick glass blackened by the night, reflecting Christan’s image in reverse. His body was sprawled painfully. He pressed against the floor, tried to shift the weight from his left hip while ignoring the broken ribs. He knew Six watched him.
“Enjoying yourself, Enforcer?”
“Immensely.”
“How long before Three figures out where you are?”
“Not long. There can’t be many choices.”
“Less than you think,” the immortal said. “Seven lost himself in Australia and Five doesn’t have the strength—he drank it away with the vodka.”
“Maybe you should tell him that to his face.”
Six leaned back against the desk, crossed his arms. Kace walked forward and kicked Christan in the kidney, then bent down and pummeled his head and shoulders until Six told him to stop. Christan didn’t hear the order. He was on the verge of unconsciousness.
But the Calata member continued to talk, his voice penetrating the haze of pain and forcing Christan back to awareness. The immortal was holding a photograph.
“Pretty girl.” Six waited until Christan was able to focus, then tossed the photograph aside. “Can’t say I like her name this time around. Lucy, is it? Lexi?” His lip curled. “I hear she ran into your mess tonight. Looked like she was trying to save you. But you don’t want to be saved, do you, Christan? You like to do things on your own. Maybe you should have warned her.”
Christan grunted, spit blood from his mouth. “She’s stubborn that way. Not one to listen to the advice from others.”
“I was thinking the same about you,” Six agreed. “You went off the deep end four centuries ago, didn’t you? You were a menace. Wisest decision you ever made, putting yourself in the Void. You should have stayed there. All you’ve done is put your girl in danger again.”
“You don’t want her, Six. She’s human. She lives and she dies and she comes back again.”
“But you want her.”
“Three won’t leave her unprotected.”
“I can assure you, Enforcer, that Three has her problems just like One. Complacency causes a certain vulnerability, don’t you think?”
“I’ll have to ask Phillipe,” Christan said. “I hear he’s familiar with Three’s vulnerabilities.”
“Christan.” The immortal shook his head, readjusted his position against the desk. “You were always courageous in your rebellion. Why do you care who wins our little wars? You’ll always be employed as long as you switch sides—something you’ll never do.”
“What do you want, Six?”
“What does any Calata member want? Not everyone is happy about the way One runs her territory. If she can’t control the growing violence someone else will do it for her.”
“And once the useful idiots have run the course, you’re willing to pick up the flag?”
Six shrugged. “You know how it is—power abhors a vacuum. What better way to disrupt power than by provoking the Enforcers and the violence they bring? You of all people should have seen the pattern. I attacked your girl to get your attention. Then I went after that dark-haired girl Arsen is so fond of because it would bring you here. But perhaps the rumors are true and you lost your edge in the Void. Which means you’re going to lie there on my floor until I decide what to do with you.”
“I didn’t think there was any question about that.”
“I’m still considering it,” Six said. “I was fond of you, once. You were Three’s greatest accomplishment. A legend. And I did like that gold dragon.”
“I could find some carnage and dump you there,” Christan suggested.
Six made a subtle movement with his hand. Kace stepped forward, kicked once and ground his heel into one of Christan’s broken hands.
The conversation continued as if nothing had happened.
Lexi thought there was a hood over her head, but it was only the bloody sweatshirt she still clutched in her hands. Voices were present, dry and rustling like brittle leaves. She recognized them. They were the same voices she associated with the one word Christan had given her all those weeks ago. And there was another one word. Arsen had forced it into her mind when she’d been on her knees with a shattered piece of glass in her hand. Lexi glanced at her palm and saw the red slice. It was still bleeding. Odd, she thought, that the wound didn’t hurt as much as it throbbed with energy, pulling her toward some invisible destination.