Omens (The Dark in You #6) - Suzanne Wright Page 0,116
now. The infection should have contaminated your organs.”
“I’m not easy to kill,” she said.
“Maybe not, but you will die here tonight. I warned you that I’d one day kill you; that I’d use your corpse to attack the people you love.”
“You’ll have to open this door to kill me,” she pointed out.
He smirked. “Oh, and you think you can strike at me when I do?”
“Would you expect anything less?”
“I suppose not.” He tilted his head. “You haven’t tried to escape,” he mused, a note of suspicion in his voice.
“Why would I, when these people here intend to take you out as soon as you’ve handed over the money you owe them?” asked Khloé.
Thea’s eyes widened. “That’s a lie!”
“Indeed,” said Gavril. “Now, pay me and we will leave you and the imp in peace, Enoch. Thea and I have things to do.”
“Like take Enoch out when his back is turned,” said Khloé.
Gavril glowered at her. “Ignore her, Enoch. She’s just trying to mess with your head—it’s what imps do.”
“They do, yes,” agreed Enoch, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at the Prime. “But they don’t wait around to be killed. They’re escape artists. She undid her binds, but she hasn’t tried to get out.”
“She can’t get out,” clipped Gavril. “A containment spell is woven into the metal of the crate.”
“The kid’s waking up,” declared one of Gavril’s sentinels.
Thea blinked at her son and tried taking him from the sentinel, but the guy held tight. Lane’s eyelids fluttered, and his little fingers flexed. Thea palmed his cheek. “Lane, honey, it’s Mommy. Can you wake up for me?”
His eyes opened, and he looked up at his mother, his gaze startingly blank.
She gently stroked his face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She frowned when he blinked at her but didn’t reply. “Lane?”
“Let us return to the manor so we can get this done,” said Gavril, his tone rife with agitation. “I want that power. I’m done waiting.”
Thea rubbed her son’s arm. “He’ll need a few moments, Gavril. He’s still disorientated.”
Khloé snickered. “Oh, puhlease.”
Gavril glared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?” Khloé rolled her eyes. “It’s so obvious that she wants you to believe Lane’s too weak to help you—in reality, she wants him to give her the power he stole. Come on, you didn’t think she’d let you use her son as a pawn unless she thought she’d get something big out of it—not to mention a guarantee that you’d never come after her—did you? Your death would certainly guarantee that, wouldn’t it? Not that I blame her for wanting you gone permanently. She has to know you’ll kill her before you’ll let her have Lane all to herself. Why else would your sentinel be holding him so tight?”
“Divide and conquer,” said Thea. “An old and effective trick, but it won’t work here.”
“Prove it and have little Lane transfer Asher’s ability to Gavril,” Khloé dared.
The woman’s face hardened. “He can’t yet, he’s still not fully awake.”
“How convenient.”
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
Khloé sighed. “Fine.”
Enoch turned to Gavril. “What ability does the child have that’s so important?”
The Prime’s spine snapped straight. “That’s not your concern.” Lane’s body jerked violently, as if it had been zapped by a high voltage of electricity.
“Lane?” said Thea, her voice heavy with anxiety.
He jerked again and slapped a hand on his chest. Then he was coughing and hacking like he was trapped in a burning building.
“Gavril, something’s wrong with him. What do—” Thea cut off as the coughing fit ended. She rubbed her son’s arm. “That’s it, honey, you’re fine.”
His eyes bled to black as his demon surged to the surface and glared at her.
“It’s okay,” she told it. “Everything is okay.”
The demon gave a short shake of the head. “You threatened him,” it said, its voice empty of emotion. “You scared him. You used him. All is not okay.”
She swallowed. “I did what had to be done for my sake and his own.”
“Not true,” it argued. Then the coughing started up again. Its whole body bucked as it coughed and gagged and heaved. Then it doubled-over and retched, puking up something black and oily all over the floor at its mother’s feet.
Khloé stared at the small puddle. It swirled and bubbled and steamed like a potion in a cauldron. But said movements slowly began to fade, and the puddle dried up until it was a mere black stain on the wooden floor.