He heaved out a breath through tense lips. They would know what to do.
“Whatever you are about”—Samgor’s questioning yellow gaze traveled the length of him—“your energy is certainly powerful. Don’t do anything you cannot undo. Remember that well.” A flash of green light burst into the small space, and Samgor was gone.
Madoc entered first, with Ferrous close behind. Jordan fell in behind them. They walked down the narrow hall carved out of rock and up two flights of stairs into the club itself. Even here, in this place of acceptance—where all members had an unnatural ability—the three of them together formed a daunting presence.
They wove through the mass of leather-covered tables. A golden-haired young man with sunken cheeks sat with an elderly gentleman dressed in a gray evening suit. The older man’s eyes changed to milk white as he raised his hand. The young man repeated the action. The glass, which sat before them, filled with a blood-red liquid as if sucked straight from the air. Water turned to blood or wine.
Thousands of variations on “ones with ability” walked the lands. They could be anything. Ferrous was correct to give the brothers a name. Doing so gave them a distinct identity from the others. In all their years, they had never met anyone else like them.
They entered a large private room and closed the thick oak door. Jordan spun on the edge of his black-booted heel. His brother’s gazes held shock. Madoc’s and Ferrous’s expressions also held concern. Ilmir sat in the corner by the fire, a glass of port in hand. His eyes narrowed, and a scowl marred his angular face. He looked thoroughly vexed.
Ferrous shook his head, and his too-long black hair fell across one of his steel-blue eyes. “The woman on the shore?” His lips formed a tight, straight line. “Never would I have thought that kind act would end in you finding your mate.”
“I know.” Jordan stepped from the door and toward him.
“He singed my bloody coat.” Ilmir set his glass on the table and rose to his feet. “My favorite coat.” He yanked the edges of his waistcoat down.
“You are lucky I singed only your bloody coat.” Jordan stared at him in astonishment. Damn it. “Get perspective, Ilmir. Life is not all about you.”
Madoc turned and narrowed his eyes on Ilmir. “Ilmir. Sit.”
Ilmir glared at Madoc and then sat back down.
Ferrous’s obsidian brow pulled tight. “How did that happen? Did you breathe fire? Tell me what happened, Jordan. Tell me all.”
Jordan fisted and unfisted his fingers, then glanced at each one of them. “I realize the details are important to us, Ferrous.” He blew out a tense breath. “But for now, there is an urgent need that should be cast out.”
“Yes, of course.” Ferrous’s hand rose, and he rubbed his square chin. “You are correct. She is Hudson’s.”
“Newly his.” Ilmir spoke as one of his gray brows arched. “That is not an issue for us.” His pale blue, almost white eyes narrowed, and cold disdain flirted through their depths.
“What do you mean, Ilmir?”
“We are immortal. She most likely is too, now. Wait until Hudson dies, and then take her.”
Jordan took two hasty steps toward Ilmir. His blood pounded, scorching through his veins. The pouches in his mouth filled with poison once again. He clamped his jaw shut. Calm, Jordan. If you do not, you will burn your brother alive. He closed his eyes. Think of her. In his mind, a flash of gold hair tumbled down from the pearl-encrusted clips that held her tresses up this night. Was he seeing her simply by wishing it? He rolled his shoulders and exhaled. Warmth blew out through his nose. He opened his eyes. Smoke curled about him. He was not used to that.
Ilmir sat before him, legs crossed, lounging as if this discussion annoyed him to no end. Jordan swallowed, sucking the poisonous smoke down his throat. He would not give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him lose control again.
The pouches in his mouth receded. “How could you suggest I stand down?” he asked with a steely edge. “I have waited five hundred years to have someone to love and be whole with.”
Ilmir rolled his eyes. “So have we all.”
He wanted to challenge Ilmir to a duel, but what would that prove? That he acted irrationally? “What if it was you, Ilmir? You who bit, and she was wed…not only to a human, but to one who could obtain important information on us all?”
“Exactly my point, Jordan.” Ilmir brushed at his coat as if the state of the fabric were more important than his words. “There is no better way out of this than to let her go for now. Besides, look at you—your powers have returned tenfold, while ours still languish. Even in waiting to take her, you have increased your longevity.”