Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) (59 page)

“Is his butt on fire?” He heard Thaddeus mutter to Magnus.

Whatever Magnus said in response, Octavian didn’t care. They needed to board and get going.

The procedure was fairly straightforward. Everyone found a seat, strapped in and waited for the pilot to do the same. When the machine began roaring, Octavian’s gut muscles tensed. He turned his head towards the oval window on his right and pictured Riley, not the Riley now, but the one she’d been before with her beautiful smile and bright eyes. He thought of her voice and the sound of her laughter and ached. He’d visited her before he’d gone, a part of him wanting her to know that he wasn’t abandoning her, that he would return. It was stupid of course. She didn’t understand. She hadn’t cared.

He rubbed a hand over his face and back into his hair. When he blinked out the window again, they were already airborne. Octavian sighed.

“We’re going to come back,” his father said from the seat across the aisle.

“Do you have the decree from the Guardians?” Octavian wondered.

His father reached into the front pocket of his oversized coat and removed the scroll. The thin piece of parchment was rolled and sealed with the Summit’s red crest. Along the roll, in bold lettering, it said,
do not open until arrival.

“What do you suppose it means?” he asked.

His father shrugged, tucking the scroll back into his pocket. “We will know when we arrive, I suppose.”

Octavian turned away. “They’re probably going to just let us get slaughtered.”

The thing had arrived an hour after his mother had sent off the request. It had dropped from thin air onto the coffee table along with a note that assured them their letter had arrived and was being considered. In the meantime, they should continue as planned and take the scroll with them to their destination. Further instructions lay within.

Typical Angels. Full of riddles and bullshit, he mused with a shake of his head. They didn’t care about anything but humans. It was all about the humans. True that his mate was human and he ought to be grateful, but what good was having a group of immortal begins protect their precious humans if they didn’t at least give them some kind of super power? It irked Octavian to no end. Yes, they were stronger and faster than humans, but they were useless where it mattered most. Now they were on their way to Russia of all places to face a coven of strigoi, and chances were they weren’t going to leave the place alive.

Maybe they could throw the scroll at Mortlock and it would somehow erupt into flames or something. He almost snorted. The Summit would never do that. To break the treaty with one coven would be breaking the treaty with all of them and not even a human was worth that risk. Despite their preaching that they were the ones in charge, the Angels would bend over backwards for the Forsaken. Nothing scared both worlds like the possibility of an uprising. It would wipe everyone out. There was always an air of caution when in reference to the bloodsucking group.

“Please fasten your seatbelts and tuck your balls in safely boys, because we’re about to hit turbo speed and those babies’ll smack you in the face!” Thaddeus crowed over the intercom.

Octavian turned his head and glanced at Magnus in the seat behind their dad. He arched an eyebrow. Magnus returned it with a dry glower.

“Don’t look at me,” Magnus muttered. “Guy’s fucking nuts.”

Octavian snorted. “He’s your friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” Magnus said as the plane picked up speed. “He’s a guy I occasionally have the misfortune of running into because he’s always doing stupid shit, like transporting illegal—”

Whatever illegal stuff Thaddeus was transporting, Octavian never found out as the world was suddenly sucked in through a straw. He felt every bone, fiber and muscle in his body compress like he was being pulled through a vacuum. He half expected his head to explode like a balloon as the pressure built, suffocating him. He opened his mouth to cry out when the plane jerked and everything snapped back into place.

Octavian groaned, clutching his head, wondering if it were possible to even survive doing that more than once a day. There should have been laws against it. But maybe it was different for demons, because the next moment, Thaddeus’ voice filled the cabin.

“I hope that was as much fun for you as it was for me! Please remain in your seats as we make the descent.”

Octavian frowned. Descent? They were there? He pressed his face against the glass and squinted at the world below.

Nothing but miles upon miles of blinding white wasteland stretched as far as he could see into the distance. Mountains jutted all around, looking infinite against the blue backdrop. He wondered what would possess a person to even consider making such a trip. He’d never been a fan of cold places, so he couldn’t imagine ever living in a place with that much snow.

They made their descent onto a snow covered patch of road behind what appeared to be an enormous ice castle.

“How long has Mortlock been exiled here?” Octavian wondered out loud.

“Apparently too damn long,” Magnus answered, staring up at the fine attention to detail, like the shingles on the turrets stretching towards the heavens and the thin pieces of ice doubling as windows. There was even a bell tower with a bell carved entirely of snow. “Men do strange things when they’re bored. Some take up knitting, some build snow castles.”

“Boys!” their father said sharply when they snickered. “Focus please. Take note that a man on the edge is a man to be feared. Stability is not a luxury we will find here. Tread carefully, and, Octavian.” He cut his gaze to his eldest. “I will speak. You will say nothing.”

Amusement gone, Octavian gave a brisk nod.

Together, they exited the plane. Thaddeus waved them off, promising to stay and pick them up. Their boots crunched as they made their way to the drawbridge separating them from a moat filled with jagged ice spears, all standing erect, waiting to impale the poor soul that fell in. They passed through the open portcullis into the inner bailey. It was designed like most castles with a chapel and battlement. There was even a medieval stock, and everything was carved from snow in fine detail.

“Maybe we should open that decree before we go any further,” Magnus muttered with an edge in his tone as he took in the unnatural stillness of their surroundings. He knew as well as Octavian that they were only being given the illusion of security, but there were eyes watching their every movement.

Their father removed the scroll from his pocket and broke the red seal. The parchment blazed scarlet before puffing out of existence.

“That can’t be good,” Magnus said, jaw tense. “Did they just give us the middle finger?”

“The Summit does not give middle fingers,” came a drawl voice from behind them.

They spun around to find a tall, finely dressed man standing there, blinking blue eyes at them. He wore a navy suit and leather loafers. He was so not dressed for Siberia. But he seemed unaffected by the cold that was peeling back Octavian’s skin.

“I am Seraph Abraham,” he said evenly. “I have been sent to help oversee this meeting.”

“I’m Liam. These are my sons—”

“I know who you are,” Abraham said. “I don’t have very much time. I have been briefed on the situation. We are here simply for the strigoi with the name Duncan. You will leave it to me.”

Octavian opened his mouth to tell the guy to stuff it. This wasn’t his mission. It was his father’s hand on his arm that stopped him.

“We are here only for Duncan’s blood.”

“I want to kill him,” Octavian said.

“It will be done,” Abraham said seeming unaffected by the venom in Octavian’s tone. “Come now.”

They followed Abraham to the great doors and paused on the open threshold. The doors opened into a majestic foyer with tall pillars and vaulted ceilings. Windows lined either side, spilling light into a giant room full of strigoi.

Octavian silently cursed.

Abraham seemed unfazed as he resumed his even strides down the center aisle to the ice throne perched atop a dais. A man sat there, tall and built like a Viking with a wild mane of blond hair and a rugged jaw that could cut glass. His eyes were as cold and blue as the throne he sat upon. His body was sheathed in gleaming gold armor, which, in Octavian’s opinion, could not be comfortable in this sort of weather.

“Three Casters and an angel,” the man said drolly. “This must be my lucky day.”

“Antonius Mortlock, I am Seraph Abraham, Divine Council sent by the Summit. I have been sent in response to the laws one of your coven members have broken. Do you admit your knowledge of this act?”

Antonius inclined his head. “I was only just made aware of the situation.”

“Then you are aware that by the conversion and harm of a human, he has gone against the treaty and has put a strain on the agreement, thus our judgment?”

“Duncan.” Antonius never took his eyes off the Angel. “You have company.”

The strigoi stepped free of the hundreds standing about the room and walked casually up to his Master.

He went down on one knee at the throne. “Master.”

“Address the damage you have caused.”

Duncan rose and turned to face the Angel. “I confess.” His inhuman gaze drifted to Octavian and a ghost of a smile curled his lips. “I sunk my fangs into her pretty little neck and drank my fill.” His leer broadened, revealing fangs. “She was delicious.”

The room erupted in snarls and jeers that sounded like an angry hornet’s nest when Octavian lunged. Magnus grabbed him before his hands could close around Duncan, restraining him from tearing out the bastard’s throat and watching as he died slowly at his feet.

“Stay focused!” Magnus hissed into his brother’s ear. “He’s goading you.”

Octavian growled deep in his throat, mind still curtained by a heavy red veil hell bent on revenge. Duncan snickered.

Abraham put up his hand for silence. “You realize the punishment for such a crime is death?”

Duncan turned away from Octavian to squint at the other man. “If my Master wishes it, then I am prepared to face the punishment.” Duncan turned to his Master. “What would you wish of me?”

“You have failed me. Death is a small price to pay for your disobedience.”

Duncan inclined his head. “Yes, Master.” He turned to Abraham. “My Master has deemed me fit for death.”

“Wait.” Octavian’s father stepped forward before another word could be spoken. “Pardon my interruption, but there is another matter yet to be settled. The human he has bitten was never allowed a proper transformation. We require a vial of his blood.”

Antonius said nothing for a long moment. His blue eyes swung from Octavian to Magnus before settling on their father. “You wish for a vial of his blood,” he repeated very slowly like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yes, to complete the transformation,” their father answered.

“And you still wish for Duncan to die?”

“Yes!” Octavian growled, gaze fixing on the beast. Duncan returned the sneer with a smirk.

Antonius continued to study them a moment before he threw up his hands. “If that is what you wish who am I to stand in your path. Do as you will.” He waved for Duncan to go ahead.

Magnus took the vial his father passed him and uncorked the top. He turned to face Duncan who presented him with a forearm. Magnus removed his angelic blade from within the folds of his sleeve and made cut over the vein. Duncan never so much as flinched as blood, thick and black as tar oozed from the incision. It rolled like paste into the vial. The foul odor of it burned through the room. Once full, Magnus stuffed the cork back over the neck and slipped the vial into his pocket. He stepped back and gave Octavian a nod. Heart hammering with elation and the desire to leave so they could give it to Riley, he nearly turned on his heels right there and then and left. But there was still a matter left to see through.

“If there is nothing else…” Antonius said.

“There is.” Octavian took a step forward. “Why did you order Duncan to attack Riley?”

Antonius remained frustratingly blank faced. “I am unfamiliar of these orders. Duncan?”

Duncan so much as batted an eyelash. “It was an error on my part, Master. Forgive me.”