It was time for Mikhail to ready himself for war.
He remained standing, too gods-damned on edge to sit for even a second. Ronan returned a few moments later with the dhampir in tow, a male worthy of the title warrior. Hair cut so close to his scalp that it was nearly bald, and covered in archaic tattoos, Jenner projected an aura of intimidation that Mikhail appreciated. Jenner didn’t take a knee, or bow, or anything dramatic like that, but he did incline his head for the barest moment in a show of respect to Mikhail. When Jenner brought his head up silver chased across his dark gaze as he studied Mikhail with open—though not hostile—curiosity. White teeth flashed in a feral smile, the contrast to Jenner’s darker skin giving him the appearance of someone who spent his fair share of time dazzling others under the heat of the California sun.#p#分页标题#e#
“You’re not what I expected,” Mikhail admitted. Siobhan had amassed a good company of fighters, there was no doubt.
“I’m not what a lot of people expect.” Beneath his rough exterior there was a charm to Jenner’s personality. Mischief shone in his eyes and in the curve of his grin. Mischief and a fair share of malice as well.
“You’ve left Siobhan’s coven?”
Jenner hiked an unconcerned shoulder. “More or less. Ronan and I agree that she needs to be coddled to a certain extent.”
Siobhan could certainly be an ally. It would just take time to wear her down. Time that Mikhail didn’t think he could spare. “What of the slayers? Have they attacked her coven?”
Jenner’s voice was as gruff as his appearance. “Three times in the past two weeks. Your ascension to power is a thorn in her side. She blames the attacks on you and is using the rhetoric to turn others against you.”
This male was more than sheer brawn. He had a sound mind and a good head on his shoulders. Ronan’s judgment couldn’t be questioned. He certainly knew what he’d been doing when he selected Jenner as the next to be turned. “And what do you think of my ascension, Jenner? Do you share your mistress’s opinion?”
The male’s gaze darkened as a low growl rumbled in his chest. “I do not belong to Siobhan.”
Mikhail cocked a brow. “To whom do you belong, then?”
Jenner’s lip curled. “To no male. And no female. I belong to myself.” Mikhail opened his mouth to respond, but Jenner cut him off. “But I will serve you as my king. Swear my fealty to you for as long as you’ll have it. And should you choose to honor me with your bite, I’ll serve you well.”
“And should I ask you to kill Siobhan…?”
Jenner fixed Mikhail with a narrowed stare. “I would not advise it, but I would carry out the deed, nonetheless.”
“You’ll stay here.” Mikhail turned back toward the garden. “The transition will keep Ronan from service for at least three days. You’ll be my second until his transition is complete.”
“As you say.” The rough tenor of Jenner’s voice did not quaver with even an ounce of doubt.
“Send Ronan in.”
“Yes, my liege.” The title, the very formality with which Jenner spoke to him both unnerved and energized him. My liege. Could he be a king worth following?
Silence descended with Jenner’s stealthy retreat. The male would become a formidable vampire. One that would make the Sortiari tremble with fear. The scent of Ronan’s blood indicated his entrance into the room. Mikhail’s thirst burned his throat, and though he’d promised never to drink from another but Claire, it was his vow to Ronan and to the entirety of his race that prompted his actions.
“Jenner said you wanted to see me? How did it go between the two of you?”
Mikhail attacked in a flash of motion, taking Ronan to the floor like any starved predator would. Without a word, Mikhail sank his fangs into his friend’s throat, tearing at the vein to open it fully. He glutted himself on the warm, thick blood until it no longer flowed willingly over his tongue but rather required long, deep draws at the vein to drain it from Ronan’s body. The male’s heartbeat slowed as the male clawed at Mikhail’s arm, his eyes wide with fear.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump … thump.
Ronan’s heart beat its last as a dhampir, and Mikhail released his jaw from the male’s throat, sinking his fangs into his own wrist to open the vein. Mikhail pressed it to Ronan’s mouth and let the blood trickle down his throat, coaxing him to drink. Soon the sting of his fangs bit into Mikhail’s wrist as Ronan latched on and fed greedily, pull after powerful pull until the myriad voices of the Collective quieted in Mikhail’s mind and he swayed from the rush of power that left him as it fused with Ronan.#p#分页标题#e#