Call of the Siren(83)

Belpheg’s gaze raked over those who would form the circle of twelve, all incubi with the exception of Mammon. They were handsome, intelligent men who’d all been broken in some way…who’d been ripe for the picking. Along with his guards, they would form his army tonight, and what they lacked in numbers, they made up for with sheer power.

Tonight his men would join him in heralding the future—the destruction of the Elden Council.

“All is ready, I take it,” Belpheg said to Mammon.

Mammon nodded, his gaze moving to the bundle lying on the rug on the opposite side of the room. The sniveling infant let out a pathetic wail before stuffing its tiny fist in its mouth. Belpheg glanced away before he could be moved by its apparent frailty. The child was a regrettable but necessary pawn, and he wouldn’t let its innocence sway him. Not now, when he was so close to finally accomplishing his life’s mission.

The evil that was the Council had to be destroyed.

“What’s up with the baby?”

Belpheg followed the sound of Rage’s voice. The vampire stood by the fireplace, his back against the heavy wooden mantelpiece. Next to him was one of the twelve, an incubus whose name failed Belpheg but who gazed back and forth between Belpheg and the infant with thinly veiled disgust. He disapproved of Belpheg’s methods. The silken threads binding their souls together made that quite clear.

Well, too bad. He might not own Rage’s soul, but he owned the incubus’s, and the time had come for him to collect his payment.

“The child is none of your concern,” Belpheg responded coldly.

Rage shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but he snuck another glance at the infant, an expression of unease in his dark eyes.

“Once the Detainors arrive, we’ll capture them and have my succubi drain their essences. After that, we’ll form the circle.”

With the circle in place, he would be able to perform the ritual. His body would become centered and he would be indestructible. Using the spells he’d learned from his people, he would then summon the Council members to this dimension…

And he would destroy them.

Belpheg turned to address both Mammon and his head sentinel, Emry. “Let’s all gather outside to discuss where our respective positions will be. I want nothing to stand in the way of our forming the circle once we’ve captured and absorbed the Detainors.”

Mammon nodded and started to step forward, but then he paused and glanced at the whimpering child. “What should we do with the prisoner?”

He didn’t bother glancing at the tiny babe. Best it was put out of sight, where neither he nor his men would have to think about it anymore.

“Put it down in the dungeon.”

There, no one would be forced to hear its pathetic screams.

…

Mammon carried the squirming infant in his arms as he took the steep stone stairs down to the damp, murky dungeon. Once upon a time it had served as a prison for mortals in their puny struggles for power. It had seen countless deaths, no doubt, and though it was now empty, the lingering smell of human rot remained.

As he hit the final step, the child let out a piteous wail. One of his tiny fists snatched at the cloth of Mammon’s shirt. To Mammon’s surprise, the gesture elicited a sympathetic tug from his heart.

It wasn’t as if it mattered to him that the child shared his bloodline, but even he recognized infants needed a mothering touch. His prodigal sons could say what they would about him, but he’d always ensured they had nannies to properly care for them, up until the youngest of his brood had begun to reach manhood. Simply abandoning the infant down here…it seemed heartless.

The child shifted and dug his grip tighter into Mammon’s shirt. His eyes closed in on Mammon with an amazing sense of clarity. Red eyes, so very similar to his own.

He lost track of how much time they spent like that, their gazes locked on each other, as if the child was trying to communicate a silent message. Begging for mercy…

Yet where had Mammon’s sons been when he needed them most? They’d abandoned him, left him to his own defenses. Reminded him that a man could rely on no one but himself.

The sooner this infant learned that bitter lesson, the better off he’d be.

Forcing back his compassion, he pried the child’s hand from his shirt and held him at arm’s distance. The smartest thing to do would be to toss the infant deeper inside the dungeon, where his sad cries would be lost. But truthfully, all Mammon wanted to do was get rid of him and leave. Now, before he suffered any further crises of conscience.

Setting the now-wailing bundle onto the floor, he then turned and raced up the steps. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went.