histories in New 2. Three from the vampire families of Arnaud, Mandeville, and Baptiste; three from the witch families of Hawthorne, Cromley, and Lamarliere; and three from the demigod/shifter families of Ramsey, Deschanel, and Sinclair.
The heirs would be inside as well. The next-in-lines. Some were too young to realize what a massive responsibility it was to be head of a family, like Bran’s daughter Kieran. And some were far older than Sebastian, with families of their own, such as Nikolai Deschanel’s grown son, Hunter. But others, like Gabriel Baptiste and his three cronies, were bloated on their own importance. If that was what the Novem had to look forward to, the council would not last long once the heirs took control.
Sebastian drew in a deep breath, placed his hand on the door, and entered. All eyes shifted in his direction. The Novem heads sat around a large oval table, while the heirs sat on chairs along the walls.
He met his father’s intelligent gray eyes and dipped his head. He could feel Josephine’s dark stare, feel her satisfaction, and he knew if he looked at her now, he’d see the small smile playing on her lips, the smile that said, “I’ve won. You’re mine.”
Whatever.
He went to the empty seat, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, when a chair grated across the hardwood floor and a figure stood. Sebastian froze. Shock crashed through him, lighting every nerve. His heart started to pound. The figure turned and looked right at him.
Zaria.
Memories flashed through his head, unbidden and unstoppable. Zaria offering him her wrist, tempting him every night in Athena’s temple until he broke, until he became a monster. Her eyes traveled up and down his body, and then her lush red lips drew into a knowing smile.
Rage incinerated everything but his desire for revenge.
He was at her throat before he knew what had happened.
The council surged to their feet as his fingers closed around Zaria’s throat. She didn’t fight back. Her gaze remained glued to his, amused, calculating, challenging. He was going to rip her fucking head off.
“Bastian,” his father’s calm voice reached through the dazed fury. It was a sad tone, a tone that said he understood his son’s pain. Michel knew what had happened to Sebastian, and he knew what it was like to be Athena’s prisoner. He understood completely.
Another hand clasped his shoulder, and he shrugged it off violently. Someone grabbed his arm in a steely grip. It was Bran. He could smell him. His senses were on overdrive. All around him, he knew where everyone stood, who was holding back and who wanted to pull him from the bitch in his grasp.
He was panting. Red clouded his vision.
“You going to do it or not, Bastian, my love?” Zaria crooned.
The sound of her voice sickened him. He fought for control, fought to rise up from the rage and find his voice. “What do you want?” he ground out, his fingers easing on her throat.
“I didn’t come here for you. I can see how upset that makes you, darling. I’m here on business. Athena’s business.”
His grip went tighter at the goddess’s name.
“Sebastian. Let her go, son. This is not the time.” Then his father’s voice dropped to a chilling tone directed at Zaria. “There will come a time, that I promise you.” His voice went gentle again. “Your revenge must wait, Bastian. Another time, another place.”
Michel’s words finally sank in. Another time. Another place. But soon. Soon, she’d pay for her hand in torturing him, in wrecking everything. He shoved Zaria back with enough force that she struck the table and went sprawling over its surface. Anger filled her cheeks. Yeah. She didn’t like that, looking weak. She straightened, righting her blouse and skirt.
Bran and Michel blocked his path, but he angled through them without a word and slumped into his seat. So many eyes were on him, but he didn’t care. His heart still raced and adrenaline still flooded his system. His knee bounced relentlessly.
After everyone found their seats again, the meeting proceeded.
“Well,” Rowen Hawthorne said as she tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear, “that was fun. Now that we’re all here . . . ” Her attention went to Zaria. “Our surprise visitor has come via synagraphus, or safe-conduct,” she said for the benefit of the younger heirs unfamiliar with the Latin term. “I hand it over to you.”
Zaria drew in a breath and seemed to go right back into temptress mode. “Athena is not dead. Sorry to disappoint you,” she said slyly. “She sends me with a message. As you are all well aware, she wants what was in Anesidora’s Jar when it was gifted to your ancestors.”
Sebastian sat straighter. Shit. He knew where this was headed.
“Athena wants the Hands of Zeus. Let’s not play coy and kid ourselves. By now most of you have likely guessed what they are and why she wants them. But none of that matters. What matters is that you return what is hers.”
“Why would we do that?” Josephine asked in a casual tone that Sebastian knew was far from the truth.
“Why not? You have no need of them.”
Josephine drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the table. “I think we do. I think keeping the Hands in our possession keeps Athena in line. And keeps us safe.”
Murmurs of agreement went around the room.
Zaria seemed unaffected. “And that is why Athena has offered Donum Essentia Dea to the one who returns her property.”
Gasps echoed through the room. More than a few Novem went pale. Michel sat back in his chair, stunned. Bran let out a low whistle. And the tension in the room just shot sky-high. Sebastian had no idea what Donum Essentia Dea was, and from their confused looks, neither did any of the other heirs. Finally Hunter spoke up. “For those of us Latin-challenged attendees, mind telling us what that is exactly?”
Sebastian found it odd that the person most affected by Zaria’s words was Josephine. She looked as though she was about to be sick, while Zaria looked like the Cheshire cat. Whatever offering she made had just turned the tables in a major way.
Looks of warning passed around the table. It was clear the Novem didn’t want the heirs to know.
“All they have to do is look it up and put the pieces together,” Nell Cromley said. When no one took the initiative, she pushed back from the table and stood. “??Donum Essentia Dea is the act of gifting the essence of a god, or in this case, goddess. It means Athena has just offered everything that makes her who she is. Her immortality and all her accumulated power in exchange for the Hands of Zeus. She’s offering to make one of us a god.”
“She can do that?” Kieran asked her father in disbelief.
Bran answered, his deep voice resigned. “Aye. She can. She can give it all up and become mortal.”
The heirs went silent. And Sebastian was no exception. Athena was willing to give up her immortality, to be human, to get her kid back.
Zaria gazed over the assembly with a satisfied expression. “I’d suggest watching your backs from now on.” She pivoted and sauntered to the door, waving a hand as she went. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.” And then she disappeared into thin air.
As soon as she left, Bran glared at each Novem head. “Stop. Stop it right now. Do not let this divide us. That’s exactly what she wants, and you know it.”
“The Hands are currently in the library, correct?” Simon Baptiste asked quietly, flipping a pen through his fingers.
A shiver went down Sebastian’s spine.
