Dark Descendant (16 page)

“It’s a little chilly out here.”

At that point, I was eager to comply. If I was inside the house, I wouldn’t be able to see

the spot where I had killed Emmitt, and maybe I’d be able to keep the memory at a more

comfortable distance. I forgot to be wary as I hurried to cross the threshold while Anderson held

the door open. Luckily, there was no mob of angry
Liberi
waiting to jump me, or I’d have

blundered into them blindly without even a hint of a fight.

The foyer was everything you would expect in an enormous mansion. The floor was of

intricately patterned green marble, and the walls were decorated by oil paintings that might well

have been the work of grand masters—I’m not enough of an art aficionado to tell an imitation

from the real thing. There was even a crystal chandelier that looked like something right out of

Phantom of the Opera
.

If Anderson took any particular pride in the grandeur of his home, he didn’t show it. He

barely seemed to glance at the house, or notice my reaction to it, as he led me through room after

elegant room until we came to a huge state-of-the-art kitchen.

The rooms we had passed through on the way to the kitchen had all been pristine and

formal, almost like they were more for show than for actual living. The kitchen was a different

story. It was as large and well-appointed as any other room I’d seen, but there was no missing the

signs of habitation. A couple of dirty cups in the sink. Some crumbs on the counter near the

toaster. A walk-in pantry crammed with a disorganized array of boxes and cans and bags.

The air was rich with the smell of spices, and I saw a huge vat of something simmering

on the stove. I couldn’t be certain, but it smelled a lot like chili. My stomach grumbled its

approval, and my mouth started watering. Who’d have thought the leader of a group of such

powerful immortals would cook chili for dinner, just like an ordinary single guy? I bet neither Konstantin nor Alexis had ever let such peasant food cross their lips.

At one end of the kitchen, there was a breakfast nook, surrounded on three sides by

windows looking out onto the back lawn. A butcher block table occupied the nook; Anderson

had laid out a couple of place settings there. An open bottle of wine breathed in the center of the

table.

“Please, have a seat,” Anderson said.

I was strangely glad he didn’t try to pull out my chair for me. Both Konstantin and Alexis

were such stuffed shirts I couldn’t help appreciating Anderson’s more casual manners. I sat

down while Anderson gave the pot on the stove a stir.

“I hope you like chili,” he said. “It’s about the only thing I can cook that anyone other

than me would willingly put in their mouths.” He shot me a self-deprecating smile over his

shoulder.

“Chili’s great,” I assured him. “Can I help with something?” I asked, belatedly

remembering my manners. Then I was surprised at myself for asking. Ever since I’d first met

him, I’d been considering Anderson an enemy, or at the very least an antagonist, but over the

course of just a few minutes, I seemed to have dropped my guard entirely.

“No, no,” he answered. “One of the advantages of chili is that all I have to do is scoop it

into a bowl. Strictly a one-person job.”

He got a couple of bowls out of one of the cabinets and generously ladled in the chili.

Then he reached into the oven and pulled out a foil-wrapped bundle, which turned out to be

cornbread. He put the bowls and cornbread on a couple of plates, then carried them into the nook

and set them down. The chili smelled heavenly.

“Don’t worry,” Anderson said, one side of his mouth curling up in another of his wry

smiles. “I didn’t cook the cornbread, so it’s safe to eat.”

The meal was surprisingly pleasant. We didn’t talk about the Olympians or Emmitt’s

death or what either faction wanted from me. Instead, we talked about the kind of trivialities that

almost reminded me of the getting-to-know-you part of a first date. We learned we were both

Redskins fans, and I was appropriately jealous to discover he had season tickets. He had

typically male tastes in movies—action flicks good, anything remotely mushy bad—but showed

no hint of the veiled sexism I’d seen in Alexis and Konstantin. He didn’t even make a face when

I admitted I liked romance novels. And, unlike Jim, the Date from Hell, Anderson showed

interest in what I was saying and didn’t try the steer to conversation toward himself.

If it really
had
been a first date, and nothing had come before, I’d have said I had a good

time. Too bad it wasn’t a first date.

Observing Anderson’s “cult” in the days before I’d joined the ranks of the
Liberi
, I’d

noted that although he served as their leader, Anderson had a remarkably laid-back manner. That

manner was very much in evidence tonight. I kept reminding myself that Anderson was

dangerous and not to be trusted. I even forcibly reminded myself of the way he’d hurt Jamaal,

and the way he’d threatened to hurt me. But it was hard to reconcile that memory with the man

who sat across the table from me, chatting amiably and smiling easily.

I stuffed myself on chili and cornbread, both of which were blazing hot. I was

half-expecting it from the chili, but the cornbread took me by surprise, since I didn’t see the

jalapeños until I’d shoved a big hunk in my mouth. Good thing I like spicy food, though I’d have

preferred to wash it down with a cold beer rather than room temperature red wine. I’m pretty

sure the wine was good stuff, but my taste buds were burning too much to notice.

When I could eat no more, Anderson made a pot of after-dinner coffee, which he served

with a generous splash of Bailey’s. When he returned to the table, I could tell by the serious look

on his face that social hour was over, and we were about to get down to business. The strength of

my regret surprised me.

Being in no hurry to put an end to the festivities, I sipped my coffee in silence, waiting

for Anderson to begin. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Your sister and anyone else you care about is going to be in some amount of danger, no

matter what you do,” he started, and the baldness of his statement made me wince. There was

sympathy in his voice, but he made no particular attempt to soften the blow. “I figure it does

neither of us any good if I make promises I can’t keep.”

At least he was honest about it. “So if you can’t protect Steph, what’s the point of me

coming here?”

“I’m not saying I can’t protect her. I’m just saying that even if I do, there will always be

some danger. Konstantin and I have agreed to tolerate each other for the sake of expediency, but

if at any time he should decide our truce is more trouble than it’s worth, he could break it. That’s

a reality all of us in this house have to live with. We don’t have any Descendants at our beck and

call, which means we can’t kill Konstantin or any of his people. If he decides to break his truce

with us, he’ll do it by having his pet Descendants attack us, and even if we win the battle, it’s

likely some of us will die—and increase the Olympians’ strength by doing so.”

I frowned as I thought this over. “Then why did he agree to a truce with you in the first

place?”

Anderson smiled, and in his eyes I saw a flash of the ruthlessness that was usually well

hidden beneath his friendly demeanor. “Consider that a trade secret.”

I decided not to press. “Okay. So you have a shaky truce with the Olympians, but you’re

not confident enough in it to promise you can keep Steph safe.”

“That’s it in a nutshell. But I
can
promise to keep her a whole lot safer than she is right

now. Even if you agree to hunt the people on the list Konstantin gave you, that won’t guarantee

her safety. If you ever balk at anything he commands you to do, he’ll trot the threat out again. I

can’t imagine you could have spoken to him for more than five minutes and not know I’m telling

the truth about this.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Konstantin had tried to make it sound like we could be best

buds if only I’d do this one little thing for him. But I knew a bully when I saw one, and I knew

Konstantin was the kind of guy who’d enjoy flexing his muscles on a regular basis.

I had to suppress a shudder at the thought of Steph being subjected to Konstantin’s

malice. There were times I couldn’t help being jealous of my sister’s relatively easy life. She’d

been born beautiful and personable, to a wealthy family who doted on her. Sure, she’d had her

share of heartbreaks, just like any normal person, but nothing really
bad
had ever happened to

her. She’d never been abandoned by her mother, or been passed from foster home to foster

home, or been threatened with juvie.

The downside to this gilded life was that she’d never had to develop the kind of armor I

had. There’s a difference between knowing that there’s ugliness in this world and being

subjected to that ugliness yourself. My early life had inoculated me against some of the worst the

world had to offer. I was reeling under the stress of what had happened to me the other night, but

I was at least
coping
with it. Steph wouldn’t have those kinds of coping skills. Even a small dose of violence would be a terrible shock to her system. I feared that if Alexis got his hands on her,

he wouldn’t have to work very hard to break her.

“The best thing you can do for your sister,” Anderson said softly, “is to ally with me. I’m

not a tyrant like Konstantin, and my people do what we can to make the world a better place.”

I pushed my fears for Steph to the side and met Anderson’s eyes. Maybe it was just my

imagination, but I thought I saw something warm and wise in those medium brown eyes of his.

Eyes I’d once dismissed as ordinary.

But as friendly and non-threatening as he was being now, I’d seen another side of him

that first night. I wanted to trust him, if only because it would make my own life so much easier,

but I couldn’t allow myself to forget how little I knew about him.

“So that Hand of Doom thing you did to Jamaal isn’t something you consider

tyrannical?” I challenged, watching his face carefully in hopes his expression would reveal more

of his hidden depths. No such luck.

“Hand of Doom?” he asked with a little smile. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

“You think it’s funny?”

His smile faded, replaced by an almost sad expression. “No. No, it’s not funny at all.” He

sighed and reached for his cup of coffee, which was almost empty. I think he was just stalling for

time as he tipped the last few drops into his mouth.

“I suppose I have my own tyrannical moments,” he admitted, staring into his empty cup.

He seemed to catch himself doing it, then carefully placed the cup on the table and looked at me

once more. “Gentle rebukes don’t have much of an effect on most
Liberi
, especially not on

someone like Jamaal. I know you’ve seen no evidence to support this, but he’s a good man at

heart. He
wants
to control his dark side, but he isn’t always able to, especially without Emmitt to help him. When he loses control, there have to be consequences.”

“So that was special treatment you reserve just for Jamaal?” Instinct told me the answer

was no.

“I don’t run around hurting my people on a regular basis, if that’s what you’re asking.

But I am their leader, and I do expect them to obey me when I make a direct order.” He leaned

forward, his expression intense. “Understand this, Nikki: you’re very new to being
Liberi
, but the rest of my people are not. Being immortal and having supernatural powers will change you over

time, will corrupt you, if you let it. If I let my people get away with defying me, then I risk losing

them. Not right away, but over time, as they find they can do anything they want without

suffering any consequences, year after year after year. I’ve seen it happen too many times, and so

have my people. They’re with me because they don’t want to go down that road, and they

believe I can keep it from happening.”

“And what’s to keep
you
from going down that road? Or do you punish yourself when

you’ve been a bad boy?”

I thought my sarcastic question might piss him off, but Anderson just smiled. “There are

some checks and balances in place.”

Not the most specific answer in the world, but it was apparently all I was going to get.

“All right. Let’s say I accept that you’re not a tyrant and that becoming your ally is the

best way to protect my family. What would I have to do to join up?”

“First, you would have to move into the house, because those are the terms of my

agreement with Konstantin. Any
Liberi
who lives in this house is considered to be one of mine.”

I had no intention of moving into the mansion permanently. I loved my condo, and there

was no way I was giving it up. I also loved my freedom, and sharing communal quarters with

Anderson and his flock of
Liberi
would be like living in a barracks. A luxurious, beautiful

barracks, but a barracks all the same.

However, I’d already established that I needed Anderson’s help, and if temporarily

moving into the mansion was what I had to do to get it, then I was going to have to suck it up, at

least for a while. I’d just have to consider it as an indefinite hotel stay.