Divine Descendant

by Jenna Black

  A fraught silence filled the room as Anderson looked us over one by one. I don’t think anyone other than Jamaal and me made eye contact with him. If my own feelings about him weren’t so mixed, I almost might have felt sorry for him.

  “Look,” he finally said, “I know you’re all angry, and you have every right to be. Maybe it would be good for us to do some kind of big group therapy thing where we all share our feelings and clear the air. But we don’t have time for that right now. When Blake is safely home, and we’ve worked out a plan to deal with Niobe, we can have it out.”

  “Who says you get to decide when we can have it out?” Maggie challenged, startling me. She was the most deferential of us all, and she was the absolute last person I’d expect to use that tone with Anderson. I actually felt kind of proud of her.

  “If you think telling me I’m a shit is the best use of our time at the moment, then by all means let me have it.”

  But for once, Maggie refused to be put in her place. “Okay. I think you’re a shit.”

  Anderson blinked, and the two of them spent a few seconds indulging in a staring contest. The room was so quiet I could practically hear everyone’s heartbeat. It might have been gratifying to see Anderson continue to squirm, at a total loss for the first time since I’d met him, but he was right, and we had better things to do.

  “Everyone who thinks Anderson is a shit, please raise your hand,” I said, raising my own hand high above my head. Jack and Jamaal both quickly followed suit. Logan gave me a brief, incredulous look, but his hand went up as he nudged Leo into action with his elbow.

  “Great,” I said with false cheer. “Now that we’ve established that, what’s next on the agenda?”

  “This isn’t funny,” Maggie snapped.

  “Do you see me laughing?” I countered. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, Jamaal already decked him when we were in the Underworld, so we made our opinion pretty clear.” That won Jamaal a few wide-eyed looks. “Can we please just concentrate on getting Blake back and leave the public flogging for later?”

  I don’t think anyone was exactly eager to let go of their grievance, but for Blake’s sake, they did it. When it became clear that we were ready to move on, Anderson fell back into his easy habit of taking charge.

  “As soon as it’s a decent hour,” he said to me, “call Cyrus and request a meeting. And don’t tell him that Oscar didn’t make it back.”

  I blinked at him. “You’re going to try to bluff him? He already thinks you’ve lied to him about Konstantin, so—”

  “No bluff. I just want to make sure he brings Blake with him, and if he knows Oscar is dead, he might not.”

  There was no reason I should feel bad about lying to Cyrus, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t done it before. But the combination of stress and lack of sleep made me decidedly cranky. “Why don’t you call him and set up this meeting? I think it’s well established that you’re a better liar than I am.”

  Anderson gave me a reproachful look but didn’t deny my accusation. “I think it’s best if he doesn’t know you found me. We want him to feel really secure and in control. He mustn’t feel it necessary to hold Blake back and use him as a hostage.” He cast a look around the assembled Liberi, most of whom still refused to make eye contact. “I know I’ve failed you in many, many ways. But I won’t fail you in this. I will get Blake back.”

  It was a sign of how much had changed that not a single person in the room looked like they believed him.

  Thanks to Cyrus’s favorite meeting place, I was in danger of associating the wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee with the stress I felt when I walked through the coffee bar door. It was impossible to enter that lion’s den filled with Olympians and not have my pulse start racing, even though I knew that for once, I would not occupy center stage.

  The knots in my stomach pulled so tight I couldn’t breathe when I paused in the doorway to assess the situation—a habit I retained despite having Anderson right behind me—and saw Cyrus sitting at his usual table.

  It wasn’t Cyrus who made my stomach knot, though. It was Blake, who stood close by his shoulder. And was wearing a dog collar. Worse, there was a leash attached to it, and Cyrus held the other end.

  I wished I had Jamaal’s power and could summon an angry tiger to rip Cyrus limb from limb. It was probably a good thing I hadn’t brought a gun to the meeting, or I probably wouldn’t have been able to resist shooting the bastard.

  My fury and outrage must have shown on my face, because Cyrus’s posse went on high alert, watching me with the clear intention of pouncing on me if I made a hostile move. Frigid air breezed in from the open door, but I was struggling too hard against my rage to step inside and let the door close.

  Blake made a big show of rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against Cyrus’s chair to show how relaxed he was.

  “Don’t be so easy, Nikki,” he said with an ironic grin. He plucked at the leash. “You know he just put this on me to get a reaction out of you.”

  Yes, I did know that. If Cyrus had meant the leash to wound Blake, he’d obviously failed. I’d seen evidence before that Blake had as much testosterone-fueled ego as any other man, but unlike many, he was able to turn it off when it behooved him.

  The spectacle Cyrus had created derailed me so much that I almost forgot about Anderson. I’m short enough that Blake and Cyrus could see him behind me, but thanks to my dramatic reaction, they hadn’t bothered to look. I could see the moment that changed; both their jaws dropped open in surprise.

  Anderson gently nudged me aside and stepped into the coffee bar. His rumpled clothes and messy hair were a disguise within a disguise, making him seem unremarkable and nonthreatening. But of course now that everyone knew who and what he really was, the glamour lost its power to fool.

  The assembled Liberi and mortal Descendants gave out a collective gasp, and weapons were whipped out of pockets and holsters and waistbands. Cyrus pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet, dropping Blake’s leash. Blake calmly reached up and removed the collar, letting it and the leash drop to the floor. Cyrus was far too fixated on Anderson to care.

  The mind-blowing array of guns that were pointed our way would have daunted just about anybody—except Anderson, who had stepped in front of me. Shielding me with his own body, I realized.

  “You all know what I am,” he announced in a booming voice that barely sounded like him. “Your guns can’t hurt me, so you might as well put them away.”

  That wasn’t technically true. I’d seen Anderson die from a gunshot wound to the head before. But that death hadn’t lasted long, and if he burst out of his mortal disguise, I wasn’t sure what bullets could do to him.

  Every weapon in the room remained pointed in our direction. Cyrus tried to regain his composure and look confident, but there was too much fear in his eyes to make that work.

  “I see Nikki was not completely honest with me when we spoke on the phone,” he said.

  “Very observant,” Anderson answered. “Tell your people to put their guns away.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Cyrus asked with an inquiring tilt of his head. “They might not be able to kill you, but they can kill Nikki. I’d be sad if that happened, but I think you’d be sadder.”

  “You’d be too dead to be sad,” Anderson said. He stepped out of the way so that suddenly I was completely out in the open, a sitting duck. “If that’s a risk you’re willing to take, then have your people fire away.”

  And I thought I’d gambled with someone’s safety when I’d bargained with Cyrus. Some of the people aiming guns at me were mortal Descendants, though I couldn’t tell which ones. Any one of those Descendants would be thrilled to shoot me dead and steal my immortality.

  “Don’t be stupid, Cyrus,” Blake said. “He will kill you. I know you can see that in his eyes as well as I can.”

  Cyrus was faced with the same dilemma his father had faced before him, the one that h
ad kept Konstantin quiet about Anderson’s identity for so long. It’s a tough thing for someone who’s trying to be the alpha dog to admit in front of the people he leads that someone else is stronger and more powerful than he is. I wondered if Anderson could have handled this in a more subtle and tactful manner, but it was too late to change strategy now.

  I could almost see the thoughts swirling around Cyrus’s mind, and I imagined he was looking for some way, any way, to save face. But there wasn’t one.

  “Put the guns away,” he growled. Most of his people obeyed promptly, if with obvious reluctance, but there were a couple who hesitated a moment. A fierce glare from Cyrus put them in their place, and soon all weapons were out of sight, if not out of mind.

  Anderson nodded his approval. Maybe he’d had no doubt that Cyrus would give in rather than shoot me, but I’d had plenty of doubt. I’m sure it was much easier to feel confident when you weren’t the one in danger of dying.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Anderson took a seat at Cyrus’s table and gestured for the other man to sit. It was an imperious, arrogant move that was not lost on the gathered Olympians. More than one dark look was thrown my way, and hands twitched with the desire to pull those guns right back out.

  Once again, Anderson had left Cyrus with no way to save face. With a sour look, Cyrus yanked back his chair and sat. Usually, he managed to keep an easygoing, almost friendly facade even when tensions were running high, but today he couldn’t do it. His jaw was so tight I could see its outlines under his skin, and the look in his eyes said he would strike Anderson dead right then and there if only he could.

  “I think it best we keep this conversation private,” Anderson said, making a sweeping motion at the small army Cyrus had parked in the coffee bar. “It’ll be easier for both of us to speak freely without an audience, and it’s not like they serve a useful purpose.”

  Cyrus considered Anderson’s suggestion for a long while. I doubt he liked the thought of ordering his people to leave at Anderson’s request, but he’d already had ample evidence that having an audience wasn’t in his best interests.

  Eventually, practicality won out over pride, and Cyrus dismissed his goon squad. There was some grumbling as they filed out into the cold, and I doubted they would go far, but I for one was happy not to have to worry about being shot in the back.

  “I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Anderson said when we had the place to ourselves.

  Even in his fury, Cyrus managed a short laugh. “Well now, that’s a change, isn’t it?”

  Anderson made a dismissive gesture. “We don’t have time for games or posturing. I know Nikki told you what’s at stake, and I know you care or you wouldn’t have been as cooperative as you have.

  “I killed Konstantin,” Anderson said. Blake and I both gasped to hear him admit it so baldly, and Cyrus’s face went white. “I had good cause, and I’m sure everyone—including you—knows that.”

  Cyrus did his best to hide the pain and grief Anderson’s words caused, but his best wasn’t good enough. How a sadistic bastard like Konstantin with a penchant for killing off his own kids had won Cyrus’s love and loyalty was a mystery I would never understand.

  “He was my father,” Cyrus said in a hoarse croak.

  Anderson’s voice gentled, but only a little. “Feel free to hate me as much as you want. You’ll probably live longer with him out of the picture, but I don’t expect you to thank me or even forgive me.”

  Cyrus’s hands clenched into fists, and I could hear his quick, shallow breaths as he tried to control what he was feeling. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d leapt across the table and gone for Anderson’s throat, despite knowing what Anderson could do to him.

  Apparently, Blake had the same thought, because he put a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. Cyrus jumped at the touch, and his head whipped around so he could glare at Blake.

  “Don’t get yourself killed over this,” Blake said, and I saw his fingers tighten as he squeezed Cyrus’s shoulder. “You already knew in your heart that he was dead. Nothing has changed.”

  For a tense moment, I thought Cyrus was going to bite Blake’s head off. Instead, he let out a gust of breath and sanity returned to his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve held me back in the last ten minutes. One might almost get the impression you cared about me.”

  Blake hastily jerked his hand away and scowled. “Don’t get carried away.”

  But I was pretty sure Cyrus was right and Blake did care. Kind of amazing considering Cyrus had had him on a leash not so long ago.

  “While we’re being honest,” Anderson said, “I must also tell you that your Olympian—Oscar, wasn’t it?—didn’t make it back from the Underworld.”

  Cyrus blinked. I think it was the first time he even noticed Oscar wasn’t with us. Which probably said something about how important Oscar was to him: not at all.

  “He got himself killed while trying to skip out on Nikki and Jamaal,” Anderson continued. “I’m sure you’ll agree that attempting to strand two of my people in the Underworld is sufficient cause for us to demand a refund.” He looked pointedly at Blake. I struggled with the feeling that we were once again treating Blake like no more than a slab of meat, but no one else in the room—including Blake—seemed to share my concern.

  “I have only your word for it that Oscar tried to strand them,” Cyrus said, but the argument sounded halfhearted to me.

  “I just admitted to murdering your father. Why would I bother to lie about Oscar?”

  “Because you’d do anything to get Blake back,” Cyrus snapped.

  “Yes, I would,” Anderson admitted. “And since you know what anything entails, you might as well acknowledge that you have no choice in the matter. If your Olympian had stuck to the agreement, then I’d feel honor-bound to do the same. But he didn’t.”

  I don’t think anyone, much less Cyrus, was convinced Anderson would have given up on Blake if Oscar had died without trying to abandon us, but it at least sounded plausible. Even so, Cyrus looked near to hyperventilating. Anderson shook his head and leaned forward conspiratorially.

  “Come on, Cyrus. We both know you wouldn’t have sent him if he was someone you valued. Is he really worth risking your life over?”

  Cyrus kicked a chair in frustration but didn’t say anything.

  “He’s lost a lot of people already,” Blake said to Anderson, looking at Cyrus with concern in his eyes. “Konstantin’s cronies are leaving in droves—probably to join Niobe. If he lets you bully him into letting me go, his Olympians are going to see it as a sign of weakness, and more of them will likely defect.”

  Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for sharing things told to you in confidence.”

  Blake snorted. “Like hell it was in confidence. You knew I’d share any intel I got.” He turned his attention to Anderson. “The last thing we need is to feed Niobe’s little army. I’ll stay with Cyrus until we’ve dealt with her one way or another.” He glanced at Cyrus. “No one has to know it’s voluntary. But you’re not putting that fucking leash on me again.”

  The fight—and the energy—had drained out of Cyrus, and he sat there with shoulders slumped and a lost look on his face. I’d have felt sorry for him if I didn’t remember him clubbing me over the head, tying me up, and leaving me to his father’s tender mercies.

  “If you’re willing to keep up the appearances,” Anderson said to Blake, “then I have to agree that’s probably for the best.” He looked at Cyrus. “The best way to regain control of your Olympians is to stop Niobe before she lures any more of them away.”

  A hint of life returned to Cyrus’s eyes. “Oscar was a slimy little weasel, and I won’t shed any tears for him, but I wouldn’t have loaned him out if I didn’t agree she needed to be stopped.”

  “Yes, she does,” Anderson said. “And I won’t be able to get through her army of ex-Olympians without your help.”

  Cyrus laughed, the sound verging on hyst
erical. “You show up here, treat me like I’m your bitch in front of my people, admit to murdering my father, and you want my help?”

  Anderson smiled wryly. “I have to admit, it sounds rather presumptuous when you put it that way.” The smile faded quickly. “The fact is when you get right down to it, this is what’s best for both of us. You need Niobe to stop siphoning off your people, and I can make that happen. If you can help me get to her.”

  I could see that Cyrus still wanted to argue. I could also see that he no longer had the will or energy to do it.

  “Fine,” he said with a resigned shake of his head. “I’ll assemble a team whose abilities are a good counter to the people I’ve lost. It may take me a couple of days. I’d hate to make the wrong decisions and have people turn on me at inopportune moments.”

  “Understood,” Anderson said. “I’m going to need some time myself to set things up.” He pushed back his chair and stood. Cyrus remained seated and stared at the tabletop. He might be agreeing to help, but he wasn’t even close to happy about it.

  “If I offered a handshake,” Anderson said, “would you accept it?”

  Cyrus found the will to summon a fierce glare. “No way in hell.”

  “All right, then. I won’t offer.” He looked at Blake. “You’re sure you’re willing to stay?”

  Blake nodded, then shot a glance at me. “If there’s any way you can avoid telling Steph about this . . .”

  But we both knew there wasn’t.

  EIGHTEEN

  If I’d had my way, we’d have been on a plane bound for Bermuda that very day, but Anderson and Cyrus were in agreement that this expedition of ours required thought and careful planning. I can’t rightfully say I disagreed, but I begrudged every moment that went by.

  Leo had set up some complicated algorithm searching for evidence that might indicate people on the islands were starting to notice the lack of new pregnancies. It had been only about two weeks since the altar went dormant, but already signs were starting to show. All Leo found were a few offhand comments here and there from OB-GYN clinics and midwife services noting that business was a little slow lately, but those offhand comments would soon turn into something more like complaints, which would then morph into worries. If we didn’t stop Niobe soon, the panic was going to start, and my mind balked at considering how bad it would get.