Ivan flipped open the Book. It was filled with strange symbols, each accompanied by stanzas of writing in a language he’d never seen before. Each symbol representing a demon.
But how to choose? Sascha had shown him the symbol that had summoned his demon, Kai. It was a swirling blue number that took up most of the page.
So Ivan should choose an even bigger one, yes? Ivan had greater power and strength of will than either of his brothers, as he’d proven time and time again. He needed a demon to match.
Especially if he was to have any hope of keeping his empire from crumbling.
He flipped through the pages, stopping after a mere moment on one that caught his eye. It was a stark red symbol made up of harsh lines taking up the entire page. Ivan could even swear that page was hotter than the rest, the paper nearly burning his fingers.
This was it. Ivan could feel it.
This washisdemon.
Now all he had to do was summon it.
He remembered exactly what Sascha had told him (although Sascha had meant it as explanation, not instruction)—copy the symbol, say the words, spill the blood.
Spill the blood.
Ivan didn’t have a knife on him. A gun, yes, but that would no doubt be overkill for his purposes.
He hit the intercom button on his desk phone.
“Yes, Mr. Kozlov?” his secretary answered.
“I need a knife. A sharp one.”
There was a brief pause, but Tara knew better than to question his demand.Somepeople knew how to treat the leader of a Bratva family. Some people knew the meaning of respect.
“I’ll bring it right away, sir.”
Ivan waited, impatience thrumming through his veins. Her desk was on the floor beneath his. Ivan hadn’t wanted anyone on his floor, not since Alexei had left. Definitely no simpering receptionist to greet him each day. He’d wanted to be able to press a button and be taken to his sanctuary without seeing a soul.
While he waited, he stared at the symbol. The more he looked at it, the more Ivan felt howrightit was. Some of the tension left his body, his jaw unclenching again.
Yes, his brothers had betrayed him. Yes, Ivan had a mole in his organization, one who’d conspired to cause Sascha harm in this very building. But here was a solution. A way out. A way to secure his hold in New York. His hold on his men.
As if to mock him, Ivan’s cell buzzed, Sergei’s name coming up on the screen. He ignored the call from his supposed right-hand man. Did Sergei know Ivan had gone to Maine? Ivan had driven himself, had ducked out without even alerting his driver.
Sergei couldn’t know.
Either way, now wasn’t the time.
There was the ding of the elevator and the telltale sound of Tara’s heels on the floor. She appeared a moment later, sharply dressed as always, her dark hair slicked back in a bun. She approached the desk carefully and set a steak knife in front of him, the handle pointed toward him, the blade wisely pointed toward herself.
“It’s from the break room. It was all I could find.”
“Fine.” Ivan grabbed the knife, testing its sharpness. “That’ll be all.”
She left quickly. She wasn’t a timid woman by any means, but it was possible Ivan was even less…welcoming than usual, at the moment.
Unhinged, perhaps?a wry voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Sascha suggested.
Ivan waved the thought away. It was fine. It was all going to be fine.
His new demon would make sure of it.
He sat in his office hair, a cushy thing he’d gotten when he’d refurbished the office. (Weak, his father’s voice told him every time he sat in it.Pampered and weak.) He took out a paper and pen from his desk drawer, painstakingly copying the symbol from the Book. He studied the words a few times over before reciting them as best he could as he cut the tip of his finger with the knife, a few drops of blood falling on the copy he’d made.
