Isadora (Masters Among Monsters Book 2) (22 page)

“The proof is right in front of you,” Elias said, daring to speak.

The vampire stopped on the final step and pivoted back to face him.
 

“You can’t stay away from him, can you? And you just said that you weren’t sure why, but you were trying to be kind to me. It’s because of him.
You
want to please
him
.” He laughed and knew he sounded demented, and then he cut his eyes to the silent Diomêdês. “And you. You can’t take your eyes off me, can you? Even now while Isadora hides behind your chair, wanting to come out and see me, you can’t stop staring at me and wanting…something, hmm? Tell me. Do you think a normal being, that mere
humans
would have such a pull over all of you and your first-sired?”

As a frenzied uproar filled the hall, a spike of adrenaline rushed through him, diminishing the pain in his hand. He’d planted a seed of doubt in this horde waiting for him to die.
 

Had they been tricked? Were they all now to perish because their oh-so-wise ones were infatuated with these pesky humans?
 

It was almost laughable how concerned they all were.
There. Let them talk their way out of that.
Pompous pricks.

In the whirl of chaos, Diomêdês was in front of him in the blink of an eye and had his chin in a punishing grip. The hall had once again gone deathly silent as if fearful of this vampire’s wrath.
 

“Where are you from, Elias Fontana? Why have they sent you? Tell me.”

Elias closed his eyes and let the intoxicating feeling of euphoria overtake him as the confusion in the vampire’s voice electrified him.
 

“Speak.”

Elias opened his eyes and remained silent as he gazed into the interesting face studying him.

“You have been brought here to die. Do you not understand?
 
One flick of my wrist and you
will
be dead. Why do you stay silent when I hold your life in my hand?”

Elias licked his lower lip, and the male’s eyes fell to it. Then he thought loud enough so Diomêdês could hear,
Yes, the draw is powerful. You don’t even like men…yet you can’t tear your eyes away from me.

The hold on his jaw intensified to the point that he’d have bruises if he survived. Then he managed to get out, “You hold nothing but my body in your hands. Your power, all of it, comes from those
I
descend from.” His eyes then shifted to find Leo as he said, “Everything leading up to here and beyond is fixed. You can’t change it.”

“You are a fool to not try to save yourself.“

“What would be the point?” Elias asked as his eyes came back to Diomêdês, and he gave a twisted grimace. “Where is she? If I am to die, then let it be her who lands the final blow.”

“Many deserve to give the final blow that will take you out, human.” The pale one holding him angled his head slightly to the young male on the right of the raised stage. “Eton?”

The male seated upon the throne looked him over with so much hatred that Elias was surprised he didn’t wither and die where he was being held.

“Give him to Isadora. She has the energy to do my Thanos justice. I would prefer to watch his suffering.”

Now Elias knew who this vampire was. The Ancient of the one he’d daggered at his office. The satisfaction of that win was a high he hadn’t experienced before. But witnessing the one who appeared to be in some state of mourning had his guilt creeping in the cracks of his splintering resolve.

“Isadora.” Diomêdês summoned his first-sired to the forefront.

And that was when it happened. Isadora Nikitas walked across the dais in the sexiest boots he’d ever laid eyes on, and everything changed.

Leather, tight, and spiked, the boots gloved her entire leg to midthigh. They probably could have been used to stab him in the heart, and considering he was pretty much hers to do with as she pleased, the idea was probably crossing her mind.

The black jacket that molded to every phenomenal curve of her body was fastened by brass buttons that started above her left breast and dissected her bodice in a diagonal line to the waist, where the material was cinched. But, unlike the men, whose jackets were short and tailored to match their dress pants, hers flowed dramatically behind her to the floor like a cape and showcased the slickest pair of black leather pants he’d ever seen.

Her hair flowed in beautiful, raven waves over her shoulders, and as her eyes found his, Elias’s one and only thought was that this was his true goddess, and his angel of death was fucking breathtaking.

HE LOOKED TERRIBLE. That was her first thought as she made her way down the stairs to where Diomêdês was standing. Her second was,
He is perfect.
 

Elias’s face may have been twisted from the pain he was experiencing, but when his eyes locked with hers, the connection between them radiated deep within her soul.

The weight of their entire species was on her shoulders as she came to a standstill by her sire. This was it. This was her moment of revenge. He was handing it to her, allowing her to strike a blow and prove her position as she avenged Thanos, who Eton was still too weak to avenge himself. But, as she stared at Elias, his jet black hair now threaded with hints of silver, her conviction wavered. She’d run her hands through that hair. Held on to it when he’d thrust into her body and told her that he wanted to live and die inside her. And the memory of that made it hard to do what she must.
 

What is it, my Isa?
Diomêdês pushed into her mind.
Tell me what you need.

She thought about that for a second and then reached for Elias’s hand, the one with the broken finger. As Isadora tightened her grip around the shattered phalange, a howl of pain left Elias’s mouth. Then she turned to her Ancient and gave a slow, malicious sneer.
 

“I want what he had.
Hours
,” she hissed, and when she applied more pressure, Elias’s silver eyes flared.
 

There, simmering within, was a fire borne of contempt, lust…and something else she couldn’t pinpoint.
 

“I want hours to tear, torture, and torment him. Just as he did me.”

Diomêdês’s pride poured off him as he asked, “And then?”

Isadora licked her lips as the power coursing through her and the approval of those watching her ignited the desire to feed, fuck, and fight. “
Then
I will land the final blow.” With that, she pulled Elias in close and fisted her other fingers in his shirt front as she vowed, “By the time I am done with you, you’ll wish you were dead.”

With stubbornness she assumed was borne from misplaced faith and determination, he replied, “Maybe. But I won’t be.”

Her fury and her indignation rose, and as she angled her head to run her tongue along the shell of his ear, salt hit her taste buds and she had to remind herself what her purpose was. “I will never understand why you had to be so cruel. One thing I do know: I cannot help you. You will die, and for what?”

When Elias brought his face around to hers, her lips parted at the unrestrained love swirling in their depths. “For loving the wrong woman.”

As the words fell from his lips, he looked as shell-shocked as she felt, and before she thought better of it, she faded them from the hall.

PARIS SAT ON the narrow bench against the far wall of the cell and cursed when he bit the quick of his thumbnail. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and jammed it under his thigh as it continued to bounce up and down in a nervous jig.

It felt as if Elias had been taken a long time ago. That could’ve been his mind playing tricks on him though. As it was, he was pretty fucking sure he was close to being certifiable.
 

He stood, about to go to the door and try banging on it again, when it was shoved open and filled with the silhouette of the huge-ass vampire from before—but no Elias.

Shit, oh shit. Where is he? Dead?
 

When the vampire moved inside, Paris backed the fuck up and his legs bumped the bench. As his ass hit the surface, the guy reached for the chain and unlocked it. Then he kept coming. Paris’s heart sped up, and his eyes blurred. When he brought his hands to the center of his forehead to steady himself, a dull thud started in his head.
 

At first, he thought it was the blood making his ears ring, but as the vampire got closer and his anxiety rose, the sound became so loud that it was as if he were standing next to the bass speaker at a concert.
 

He lowered his arms to halt the vampire. “Wait,” he said, wanting to buy himself some time.
 

But as the word left his mouth, a cloud the color of ash exploded from his palms and the cuffs disintegrated under the force of it as it hit the one stalking him.
 

Paris sucked in a shocked breath as the monstrosity of a male seemed to shrink and shrivel before his eyes. When he fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Paris clenched his fist shut and pulled it to his chest—because
he
was the one causing whatever was happening.

He was shaking all over as he stared at the unmoving figure at his feet.
 

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. What was that?

He opened his hands and saw that he was free. Then his eyes darted to the open door. He didn’t have time to think. This was it. He needed to act. So he stepped over the vampire and ran faster than he’d ever run in his life.

ALASDAIR COULDN’T BELIEVE what was happening.

One, three, twenty, fifty—the Assembly Hall emptied out faster than he’d ever seen before. He sought Vasilios’s guidance, but he merely remained seated on his throne upon the stage and watched as every member of the lair faded to whatever hole they could hide inside until the shitstorm that had unraveled was sorted.

Diomêdês had vanished after Isadora, no doubt hunting her down to kick her ass. And Alasdair didn’t envy her that confrontation in the slightest if the fulminating look on her Ancient’s face was anything to go by.
 

Eton, still seated by Vasilios, seemed to have slipped into some sort of catatonic state. It was as if he hadn’t witnessed anything that had just taken place. Not the confrontation with the one who had irreparably damaged his first-sired, and not even the revelation of who and what they were dealing with. It was unnerving to see him so despondent, and as his eyes fell to him once again, Eton silently faded out of the room—not unlike one would fade from life.
 

Alasdair looked to Vasilios, curious what he was thinking. Ever since he’d told him what he’d learned from the little dig he had done of Leo’s long-haired friend, his Ancient had been unusually tight-lipped and had sealed his mind shut.
 

The news had solidified what they’d begun to suspect about the gods. But what did it mean now that they knew they were dealing with their direct descendants? What were they capable of?
 

Clearly, the gods believed in mass destruction. Genocide of their race. But with the way Leo’s heart was thumping, Alasdair couldn’t help but think there was more to it because this man didn’t seem confident enough for homicide on such a scale—or any, for that matter. He might have wanted to murder him and Vasilios, but that was another thing entirely.