“You’ll get your answers when I get them. Whenever that might be,” Khent bit back, his tone icy to remind Varu he dealt with a mature reaper, not some newbie vamp.
“Figured as much.” Varu smirked.
“Your sense of humor is what I like least about you,” Khent growled.
Varu actually chuckled. “I have shit to do. Where’s Fara?” He turned away to find his mate.
Leaving Khent in charge of the little human.
He spun around and loomed over her. “Hmm. First, let’s see what you’re made of, Valentine Darkmore.”
“Made of?” Her voice rose. “I’m human. There’s no great mystery there.”
“Ah, but there is.” Khent dragged her close and slung an arm around her shoulders, pleased at the feel of her lithe body against him. “Let’s investigate my lab, shall we? I want to run some tests.”
She struggled but couldn’t free herself as Khent took her down to his personal space. Where he planned to see just what made her so valuable to the rogue necromancer and so fascinating tohim—Khentimentiu of the Night Bloode.
A reaper who had better things to think about than what her lips would feel like under his.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
While her vampiresmade plans to figure out what the hell a necromancer clouded with Darkness had up his sleeve, Hecate answered Mormo’s mental call for help.
She found him in the basement bickering with Morpheus, a troublemaker of a god who often had her laughing when she should instead be taking him to task for interfering with her vampires. They were by the bar, where Catherine, a dead flapper from the 20s, leaned over the counter, listening with a big grin.
Next to Morpheus, a goblin and lamia giggled while a satyr showed them magic tricks by making coins appear and disappear behind their ears. The flapper slid them double hellfire shots, the fringe and sequins of her dress shifting in a whisper of naughtiness as she hurried back to Morpheus and Mormo, watching the pair with dreamy, dead eyes.
Just another night in the Grand Intersection of the many realms of existence.
Though the outside of the home on Mercer Island looked normal enough to humans, Hecate had need of something much more extensive to serve as her base of operations.
Leaving the upper floors to Mormo and their Night Bloode residents, Hecate had turned the basement into an office ofsorts. Only when she or Mormo were present, the basement turned into a wayside for those traveling from one plane to another. Be that from the celestial, fae, hell, or death realms, Hecate oversaw thresholds.
I maintain borders with flair,she thought with amusement. She’d decorated the central space as a speakeasy with dark burgundy, navy, and gold colors. Ancient ash, birch, hawthorn, and spelled oak had been used to craft the furniture, the interior illumination a smoky blend of fae and artificial lighting. Several bars, tables, and lounge areas provided refuge for the tired and thirsty. From the main area, long corridors branched out, leading to different lands, times, and, in the case of death, states of existence.
Dead humans and those owing Hecate favors served drinks to all and sundry. In Hecate’s Place, anyone and everyone was welcome. Even the occasional demon.
Hecate didn’t fool herself that those who ventured from the hell realms weren’t up to no good. But beneath all the veneration from those who worshipped witches, magic, and death, Hecate was a goddess of balance. Her intrinsic power stemmed from her understanding that nothing could exist without an equal and opposite in its place.
Case in point. She watched serious Mormo scowl and do his best to argue with laid-back, laughing Morpheus. Unfortunately for her assistant, he didn’t understand Morpheus’s powerful ability to seduce. Morpheus was, after all, a god of dreams. He knew what most people wanted before they did, swimming in their deepest desires and hidden secrets.
Lately, Morpheus seemed to have developed an extreme interest in Mormo, who, as far as she could tell, had never looked one way or another at a romantic entanglement with anyone. Too busy serving her, his goddess, as his mother had done beforehim. Mormo worked tirelessly to keep the vampires in line while also helping Hecate keep the world in one piece.
Something a lot of her friends kept avoiding. The oldout of sight, out of mindrefrain ran rampant through the many gods she called friends.
Assholes.
Sure. Leave it to her, as if she didn’t have enough on her plate.
She closed in on Mormo complaining to Morpheus about what a hassle his job had become. A common enough grievance.
“I mean, they don’t listen. At all. Even when I come up with solid plans, Varujan manages to twist them. Orion and Kraft are smartasses. Duncan is too busy trying to pry everyone’s secrets from the darkest corners of the universe, and Rolf is an asshole.”
“Of course he is. He’s a draugr. That’s what they do. What of the reaper?”
Mormo snorted. “Khent? He’s no help. As smart as he is, he should be. But it’s like he lives to make my life more complicated.”
