“Master’s not the correct term,” Rolf corrected her. “We have master vampires, supreme witches, grand mages, and alpha lycans and shifters. But necromancers fall into a special category.”
Khent agreed. “He’s right. We normally refer to them as sovereigns. But since your kind is rare anymore, the term’s faded from use.” He thought about it. “So he’s powerful. He’d have to be in order to create hellspawn from berserkers and hellhounds. What can you tell me about the blight stick stolen from the apothecary?”
Valentine frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Hecate shot him a sharp look. “Whatareyou talking about? What blight stick?”
“The witches in the apothecary reported a theft right when the dark fae and hell-threader attacked. I think the skirmish was a clever diversion so someone could steal their reproduction of the Staff of Blight. But I don’t know why a copy would be valuable.”
“Whose staff was it?” Varu asked.
“The original belonged to Nergal, god of pestilence and plague.”
“And war, death, and the Mesopotamian underworld,” Hecate added, sounding thoughtful.
Rolf snorted. “Sounds like a fun guy.”
“He’s not.” Hecate shook her head. “He’s a huge pain in the ass. Worse than Hanbi.”
“We sent him back to Irkalla.” Varu and Khent shared a smile. That fight had been delightful. Varu, Khent, and Kraft had fought the evil lord of the Mesopotamian underworld while Orion battled a demon god to save his mate from becoming the demon’s next sacrifice.
Fun times.
Rolf glared. “Thanks a lot. You stuck me on that stupid island fighting regular monsters while you got to battle Hanbi. I’m still pissed about that,” Rolf growled before brightening into a blinding smile. “Huh. We fought Hanbi. Now we’re getting ready to take on Nergal.”
“That’s just speculation,” Hecate said.
He ignored her. “Nergal. Yet another underworld demon lord, god, jackass—take your pick. Seems like Mesopotamia’s all the rage lately.” He winked at Valentine.
She stared in disbelief. “You guys fight a lot of underworld deities?”
“Our share,” Varu murmured and cocked his head, the way he did when the Bloode Stones inside him spoke. Khent used to find it odd. Now he considered it no more than a quirk.
Though he’d never bow or agree with everything Varu told him without questioning it first, Khent appreciated having a powerful strigoi as a ruler and felt no shame in following his lead.
“Don’t you find it interesting that the underworlds keep colluding with demons and darkness to create chaos?” Rolf asked, watching Valentine, as if she had the answers. “It’s almost as if Hecate’s Darkness That Comes knows something we don’t. It” needs the power inherent in the liminalities.” The draugr smiled at Valentine in a manner Khent didn’t appreciate.
As if Rolf found her a tasty treat he had a right to indulge in.
Which he didn’t.
Valentine wasKhent’sprey.
“Rolf.” Khent didn’t say more.
He didn’t need to.
Of all the vampires in their clan, Rolf and Khent had partnered together the most often. Though very different, they worked well collectively, in sync. Rolf would know Khent had staked his claim.
“Very well. But you won’t like the outcome. I’m telling you now. Give her to me and save yourself the headache.” To Valentine, he once again apologized. “No offense.”
“Headache?” She scowled. “You know what? Offense taken.”
Khent shook his head, containing his amusement, no longer annoyed since Rolf had conceded.
Rolf sighed. “What the hell? No one ever listens to me. Do what you want.”
Varu crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you finished rambling?”
