“Actually, I need your help.”
“Again?” Santiago poured two healthy shots of the expensive liquor. The last time Styx had said those words the Dark Lord had been threatening to destroy the world and he’d been teamed up with Nefri in an attempt to find the missing prophet. “I thought we’d gone beyond the sky-is-falling to yippee ki yay, everyone back to their neutral corners so we could pretend that we didn’t nearly become dog food for the hordes of hell?”
Styx hadn’t become king just because he was baddest of all bad-asses. He was also frighteningly perceptive. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Santiago’s bitter expression with a disturbing intensity.
“Does this have something to do with Nefri and her return to her clan?”
Nope. Not discussing it.
Santiago jerkily moved to shove one of the glasses into Styx’s hand. “Here.”
Briefly distracted, the ancient vampire took a sip of the potent spirit, a faint smile curving his lips. “From Viper’s cellars?”
“Of course.”
Styx’s smile widened. Despite being predatory alphas, Styx and Viper, the clan chief of Chicago, had become trusted friends. It was almost as shocking as the fact that vampires and Weres had become allies. At least temporarily.
Which only proved the point that doomsday truly did make for strange bedfellows.
“Does he know you’re enjoying his private stash?”
“What he doesn’t know . . .” Santiago lifted his glass in a mocking toast before draining the tequila in one swallow. “Salud.”
“You know,” Styx murmured, setting aside his glass, “maybe I should try my hand at Dr. Phil.”
Santiago poured himself another shot. “You said you needed my help.”
“That was the plan, but you’re in a dangerous mood, amigo. The kind of mood that gets good vampires dead.”
“I’m fine.” Santiago drained the tequila, savoring the exquisite burn. “Tell me what you want from me.”
There was a long pause before the king at last reached to pull out a dagger that had been sheathed at his hip. “Do you recognize this?”
“Dios.” Santiago dropped his glass as he stared in shock at the ornamental silver blade that was shaped like a leaf with a leather pommel inset with tiny rubies. “A pugio,” he breathed.
“Do you recognize it?”
His short burst of humorless laughter filled the room. Hell yeah, he recognized it. He should. It belonged to his sire, Gaius, who had once been a Roman general.
Centuries ago he’d watched in awe as Gaius had displayed the proper method of killing his prey with the dagger. What a fool he’d been.
Of course, he wasn’t entirely to blame. Like all foundlings, Santiago had awoken as a vampire without memory of his past and only a primitive instinct to survive. But unlike others, he hadn’t been left to fend for himself. Oh no. Gaius had been there. Treating him like a son and training him to become his most trusted warrior.
But all that came to an end the night their clan was attacked. Santiago had been away from the lair, but he knew that Gaius had been forced to watch his beloved mate, Dara, burned at the stake. And lost in his grief, Gaius had retreated behind the Veil where he sought the peace it supposedly offered.
Of course, it had all been a load of horseshit.
Gaius had allowed himself to be swayed by the promise of the Dark Lord to return Dara, and he’d gone behind the Veil to betray them all.
And as for Santiago . . .
He’d been left behind to endure hell.
Realizing that Styx was studying him with an all too knowing gaze, Santiago slammed the door on his little walk down memory lane.
“Gaius,” he said, his voice flat.
“That’s what I suspected.”