Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,27

She’d filed charges, and that had made things exceedingly difficult for him. But it had gone a step further; the number of people watching over her had increased tenfold. And then she’d disappeared entirely.

It was a good thing he’d taken plenty of photographs when he had the chance. They were the guide by which he architected the dot-to-dot tapestry of his art works. The misfortune that none of those art works had survived the process to date only served as further proof to him that the original was, well, original. She was unique and fantastically special. She alone was the one he truly wanted.

“And I can’t find you,” he whispered. His gaze darkened. “Even if I could, I can’t go anywhere near you.” Thanks to the arm-chair ethics professors who’d tried his case and the people watching over her that she wasn’t even aware of.

“If they’d had their way, I’d be wallowing behind magic-reinforced bars right now,” he said to himself as if he were instead speaking to the subject of his affection. Or dead, was his afterthought. Probably dead. He wouldn’t put it past this particular crowd of would-be saviors. Nor would he put it entirely past Annaleia Faith. She was capable, after all. Given all she had already so clearly endured, he could easily imagine her killing someone else to survive. He experienced a rush of raised hairs along his spine and a nearly uncomfortable flutter in his gut at the thought. He liked the idea.

It took one killer to know another, he guessed.

And then a groan from the table drew his attention, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. “Oh, right,” he muttered. She was bleeding to death as he stood there and daydreamed. He shook his head at his own foolishness and got to work disinfecting and wrapping the wounds. There would be plenty of time for dreaming later.

*****

The god of Entropy watched from the shadows as his target busied himself making organized chaos. It was a beautiful thing. He was the perfect subject, the perfect puppet for what Victor needed.

The human male was so filled with pain that he wanted to make right, so overflowing with desperation, it fed his actions like a bottomless fount. In turn, his actions fed Victor.

And he was so hungry. He was weak. Escaping Bantariax had nearly destroyed him. The shockwave of his final separating escape had not only mortally wounded Victor, but his jailor. That was the silver lining, he supposed.

Since finding his way into this corporeal form, Victor had already done so much. Appearing to the sovereigns, making his presence and escape known, beginning the workings of his long-term plan. He’d used most of what little energy he had managed to take with him as he’d fled, and aside from a few appearances here and there to keep his enemies on their toes, Victor was running on empty.

Now was the time to feed, and not only to feed but to supply himself with a more permanent solution to his hunger. This human here sufficed nicely. He could also utilize the man in other ways. By keeping him close and using him as a middle man, he would be able to come closer to Katrielle. At least in a round about way.

Ah, Kat…. He smiled to himself. Of all the reprisals he’d visualized dispensing upon the ones who had trapped him, this one was the sweetest. When the time came, Victor would make certain he had enough strength to make her scream before it was over. He wanted cries to pierce every dimension. He wanted to make sure Bantariax heard her.

Victor would also use the human to further fuel confusion and worry amongst the wardens and their sovereigns. Lead them on a wild goose chase. Point them in the wrong direction. And so on, and so on.

Grinning, Victor Maze made up his mind and coalesced into a solid being. He stepped out of the shadows of the basement where his subject was diligently working to bind the wounds of his victim with medicine and wrappings.

The human male stopped what he was doing and froze. His green eyes locked on Victor’s form over the wire of his gold-rimmed glasses.

“Good evening, Mr. Price. My name is Victor Maze. I know who and what you are and what you’ve done – and I know what it is you want.” He stopped and smiled, then corrected himself. “Or rather, who it is you want. And I can give her to you. I’m here to