Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) (66 page)

She smiled at him in a way that one would smile at someone they were deeply fond of. “I love you, you know that right?”

Gideon rolled his eyes heavenward. “What’s not to love?” Grinning, he bent his head and kissed her on the cheek before giving her a twirl under his arm into Reggie’s.

His grin was a bit more reserved as he stared down at her, fingers making rivulets in his thighs. “Riley—”

She never let him finish. She hooked both arms around his neck and pulled him into a fierce hug. She said something into his ear that had him shaking his head and pressing her close.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

With a kiss to his cheek, Riley pulled away to smile up into his face. “Friends?”

Reggie smirked, flicking a curl off her face. “Friends.”

Octavian could see the effort it was costing her not to cry as she turned to Magnus. He didn’t speak, but patted her on the head once before turning her in the direction of their father. Octavian glowered at him.

Magnus shrugged indifferently as he meandered over to a table and dropped unceremoniously into a chair. He dumped his feet onto the table and crossed them at the ankle. “You know I don’t do sentimental.”

His mother brought Riley back to Octavian and placed her at his side. They were both crying although Riley was trying very hard not to show it. They were the sort of tears he didn’t mind seeing in her eyes. Happy tears were okay. Octavian kissed her temple, a safe place considering he clearly couldn’t be trusted around her mouth. Not in public anyway.

While the rest of his family busied themselves bringing in the ceremony banquet and setting the table, Riley turned to him. “What was that thing you said earlier in Gaelic? You’ve said it before. I remember it vaguely.”

“
Tá grá agam duit. Is liomsa thú agus is leatsa mé anois is go deo,
” he repeated.

She nodded. “Yes, that.”

He grinned. “I love you. You are mine and I am yours, now and forever.”

Her eyes went velvety. “You really need to teach me that one.”

His fingers slid up her back to the expanse of skin exposed just before the dress began beneath her shoulder blades. “There are a lot of things I will teach you,
bean chéile
,” he said, using the Gaelic word for wife.

He hadn’t meant it in a sexual manner, but the way she flushed and dropped her gaze, he had a feeling that’s how she took it, which was fine with him.

“Oh I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his pocket for the final gift he kept tucked inside.

Her eyes lit up even as she scowled at him. “Another gift?”

“The last for the evening,” he promised, his fingers wrapping around the slim band. “It’s not customary in Selkie tradition, but I want—” He never did get to give her his gift when the door blew open with a shattering force that shook the room.

Every candle in the place puffed out as frigid air stole through the warmth that had once been circling around that moment, leaving only the flames in the hearth snapping and crackling in overexcitement. Plumes of smoke rose in tendrils to the ceiling, forming a cloud over what had been a moment of joy. Octavian took Riley’s hand and forced her behind him as three Guardians, each as tall as two men, forced their way through the opening, spears drawn.

The Guardians, giant half-man, half-Angel beings with crudely misshapen features and small, round heads on massive bodies, remained unmoving, brown statues guarding the doors with their spears and shields. They wore body armor in tarnished gold over skin the color of dry dirt. Scars from battle marred their flesh like cracks. Around their throats, thick, bronze bands gleamed. The imprisonment runes on them blazed scarlet. They were the most feared in the world beyond the Veil. They were famous for their strength and speed, both of which even the Forsaken could not compare. They were ruthless, mindless killing machines controlled by the heavens, which always struck Octavian as ironic considering their creation was seen upon as an abomination. They were the result of Angels fornicating with mortal women, a big no-no in the holy world. That moment of angelic weakness gave birth the Nephilim, slaves to the Angels and destroyers of all those who oppose the law.

From behind the Guardians, looking as neat and shiny as a new penny, Abraham stepped out, still in his navy suit and unblemished loafers. He took the room in with very little interest before settling on the group staring back at him.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he said as though he’d interrupted nothing more important than a tea party.

Octavian’s father intercepted when it became apparent that no one else would. “It’s never an intrusion,” he assured the Angel. “We are just completing a binding ceremony. What can we do for you, Seraph Abraham?”

Abraham moved deeper into the room, hands clasped at his back. “I have come to see if the task has been completed and the monster destroyed.”

Next to Octavian, Riley stiffened. Her hand tightened in his. He gave hers a gentle squeeze, assuring her that he wouldn’t let anything harm her.

His father looked bemused. “Monster, Seraph?”

“Yes, the inanimis birthed by the blood you gave the girl.”

His father shook his head. “The girl is a strigoi, thus covered by Antonius Mortlock’s coven and the treaty.”

Blank, blue eyes regarded his father flatly. “Was a strigoi or would have been, but tie between her and the Mortlock coven was severed the moment Duncan was executed. She is a rogue and not protected by the treaty.”

“That is not possible,” his father said calmly. “It was a member of Mortlock’s coven that turned her, thus Mortlock’s blood.”

“It is forbidden for a strigoi to turn a mortal, but without the coven Master consenting to keeping the changed one and no bond between them, the changed is obsolete.”

“You knew that!” Octavian growled before he could stop himself. “You knew when we asked for his blood that it would mean nothing and you kept your mouth shut.”

Those shrewd little eyes locked on Octavian, narrowed. “You are a Caster, knowledge of the Underworld and all its dwelling should be second nature to you. You should have known that without the creator, the bond is severed. You yourself vetoed Duncan’s life. What did you expect would happen when a strigoi’s creator is destroyed? The strigoi becomes expendable because they no longer belong to a coven.” His lips curled into a sneer of disgust. “How can you call yourself the Son of Judgment when you don’t know your own enemies?”

Octavian’s fury threatened to explode. It was purely the need to keep Riley shielded that restrained him from tearing across the room and ripping the bastard to pieces.

“What did you think we needed his blood for if not to—?”

Abraham shrugged indifferently. “The obvious reason, she was an Unknown, a creature that did not fall into any of our categories and therefore could not be judged. In order to properly pass sentencing, she would need to be classified, which now she is.”

“She is not a thing for you to put into your categories,” he shot back. “She is a person, my wife, and she was attacked against her will.”

“And the one responsible has been punished, but the laws remain, when a creator is destroyed, the coven must be as well for they are no longer protected by the treaty. Only the coven Master is protected, thus his children.”

“Antonius Mortlock is still alive.”

“But he is not her creator and the one that bonded her to Antonius Mortlock was sentenced, severing that bond.”

“You son of a—”

“Octavian!” It was only his father’s sharp command for silence that stilled Octavian’s boiling words. He turned to Abraham. “Surely the circumstances in this situation should be taken into consideration. The girl is no threat. We will make sure of it and take full responsibility for her.”

Abraham remained unaffected by the rationality. “The laws can be broken for no one. Bring us the girl.”

Every bone in his body coiled, bracing to annihilate anyone who so much as glanced in Riley’s direction. But his father spoke, still calm, still fighting for logic in a losing battle.

“The girl is my son’s mate and as of tonight, his wife, by law—”

“Not in the eyes of the Lord,” Abraham interrupted. “Your unholy methods are not recognized by Summit.”

“What if we agree to perform an acceptable ceremony, one that is recognized?” his father asked.

Abraham’s eyes narrowed. “I will consult the others and bring forth your case to the Summit.”

“I’m sure you will,” Octavian muttered under his breath.

Abraham, if he heard him, ignored. “You will be given three days to formulate a course of action should the Summit chose to rule… not in your favor.”

With a snap of his heels, he twirled around and marched tautly from the diner. The Guardians ambled after him, bowing their massive bodies to pass through the doors. Reggie rushed over to slam them closed behind them.

“Mortlock knew,” Octavian hissed, turning to his father. “When he asked if we were sure we still wanted to kill Duncan after we’d taken his blood. That fucker knew!”

“Yes,” his father sighed. “I’m afraid we were blindsided with this one.”

“How?” Octavian exclaimed. “We don’t deal with strigoi. They are not our concern unless they’ve broken the law and when was the last time that happened?”

His father shook his head. “It is our own fault that we did not do our research beforehand. I had a feeling Mortlock was keeping more than just this from us.”

“Well, we can’t go back to ask,” Magnus said. “I doubt he’d let us off the plane before ordering us killed, and he’d be in the right. We would be trespassing on his territory without cause.”

“No, going back is out of the question,” their father agreed. He punched the air in frustration. “This whole matter reeks of something we’re not seeing. Everything is too calculated, too methodically organized. Someone wants us in this corner with the wall to our backs. I just can’t figure out who.”

“Baron.” Riley’s soft whisper was nearly lost in the hiss of the fire.

Octavian turned to her. “What?”

She looked up at him with anger in her eyes. “It’s him. There is no one else.”

“Strigoi are forbidden to work sides,” his father said for him. “If Baron has struck a bargain with Mortlock, they are both in forfeit of the treaty. It will start a war.”

“Maybe that’s what Baron wants,” she said.

“That would be suicide,” his father said. “The strigoi will kill all of us. We will not stand a chance. The only thing binding them is that treaty.”

A frown darkened Riley’s brow in a way he knew she was mulling over a difficult question. “If the strigoi are so much stronger than anything on this planet then why would they agree to sign the treaty in the first place? Why didn’t they just destroy both sides and take over?”

Octavian answered this one, “There weren’t as many at the time and they could easily be overpowered. But the Angels knew that if they didn’t put a collar on them quickly, they could easily one day take over.”

“But the strigoi could up rise at any moment, couldn’t they? Why are they still listening to the Angels?”

“Because some — unlike Mortlock — know the value of life and the importance of keeping that balance. They maintain the treaty to maintain life on earth and avoid needless bloodshed. There is nothing stopping them from breaking the treaty but humanity.”

“And as for those like Mortlock who don’t care for humanity?” she asked.

The room exchanged glances between them.

It was Gideon that spoke. “Then we are all screwed.”

That night, Octavian lay in bed with Riley curled up into his side. Her head was pillowed on his chest, tickling his skin with her hair. He couldn’t be sure she was asleep. Neither of them had said a word since they’d gotten under the sheets. It certainly wasn’t how he’d envisioned his honeymoon, that was for sure.

Careful not to rouse her if she was sleeping, he combed the hair back off her temple, letting the silk strand glide through his fingers as it floated back down to join the rest. The motion was so soothing that he repeated it, again and again. Letting himself slip into the routine. When she stirred, his hand stilled. He held his breath, but there was no point.