by I. T. Lucas
She slanted him a knowing look. “But you have a hunch they are up to something.”
Andrew rubbed his neck. “Yeah, a gut feeling. By the look of them, they are either athletes or soldiers, but I’m betting on the second one. Their postures give them away. Put uniforms on them and they can easily impersonate Marines.”
She chuckled. “You mean they look like they have sticks up their butts?”
Andrew narrowed his eyes at her. “Watch it. I was a Marine once.”
Susanna executed a series of quick jabs. “And how long did it take you to lose that posture so it wouldn’t give you away?”
Andrew snorted. “Months. I don’t know why they bother to recruit from the Marines when they want guys who can blend in.”
“I guess because of the training and the stamina.” Susanna took off her gloves and sauntered up to him. “Talking about stamina, how about we skip the workout and check out what you’ve got?”
Andrew grinned and wrapped his arm around her muscular shoulders. “I’m all for it.”
“I thought you would be.”
Chapter 22: Kian
A little after eight, Kian closed the file on a property in Maui he’d been trying to read for the past half an hour and walked out of his home office.
“Do you have my robe ready?” he asked Okidu.
“It is freshly ironed and hanging on a hook by the front door. Let me get it for you, Master.”
“Thank you.”
As Okidu handed him the robe, Kian draped it over his shoulders and headed for the underground complex.
Once he reached the Grand Council Hall, Kian flicked on the lights and took a good look around. He hadn’t seen the amphitheater-style auditorium since he’d inspected the newly completed building four years ago.
The room’s opulence and grand size was reminiscent of a bygone era of indulgence, representing Kian’s largest splurge on the clan’s headquarters. Working from what he’d remembered of his mother’s descriptions, he’d tried to replicate the gods’ council chamber as best he could.
Semicircle rows of comfortable red-velvet seats formed a horseshoe pattern, and large columns held graceful arches with murals and plaster reliefs depicting mythical scenes. Exquisite detailing adorned mosaic-inlayed marble floors, and the staircase leading to the second-floor balcony featured elaborate plaster moldings and brass rails.
At four hundred seats, the council hall could accommodate all of his clan’s American members with room to spare. And just to be on the safe side, the currently unfurnished second-floor balcony could house an additional two hundred seats if needed.
Kian had no idea what had possessed him to build it on such a grand scale. Between his two hundred and eighty-three, Sari’s one hundred and ninety-six, and his mother’s seventy-two the whole clan numbered five hundred fifty-one members. What were the chances of all of them gracing his keep at the same time?
Probably none.
But he liked to plan big and prepare for all conceivable contingencies. Perhaps in the future a monumental event, hopefully a celebration, would require the presence of each and every clan member.
The chamber had turned out exactly as he had envisioned it. Well, with the exception of the council members’ seats that were still just as ugly as the first time he had seen them, and were proof that contrary to what everyone thought of him, he had the capacity for compromise.
Sitting on the raised platform, arranged in an arc to face the audience, the thirteen throne-like monstrosities had been Amanda’s choice. She’d somehow managed to convince Ingrid the interior designer to back her up, and so despite his protests the ostentatious gaudy things had stayed.
Some battles were just not worth fighting.
Still, as he sat on his regent seat, stretching his long legs and bracing his arms on the heavy armrests, Kian had to admit that the thing, albeit an eyesore, was comfortable. His seat was in the center, with the six council members to his right and the six Guardians to his left. Onegus, as chief guardian, sat on the council side.
Glancing behind him, he made sure that the two large movable screens at the back of the stage were at the optimal angle for teleconferencing Mark’s service. After he had talked it over with his mother and Sari, it had been agreed that tomorrow night all members of the clan would take part in the ceremony.
Satisfied with the screens, he shifted his focus to the multiple rows of plush seats. Damn, the room was huge. Too big for the small council meeting he’d called for.
Reaching under the robe’s voluminous folds into his pants pocket, he pulled out his phone and called his secretary. “Shai, we need a smaller room for future council meetings. Call Ingrid, have her choose a suitably sized room and prepare a design for it. I want it on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
“It shall be done.” Shai clicked off.
With a sigh, Kian pushed to his feet and walked over to the six light switches located near the entry doors. Flipping each one on and off, he eventually figured which one controlled what and turned off the lights over the audience section, plunging it back into the shadows.
Walking back to his seat, it suddenly dawned on him that he was micromanaging everything.
Did he really care how the new small council room would look? He should delegate the whole thing to Ingrid and give her free rein to do as she pleased, trusting her to do it right.
Yeah, like those goddamn awful chairs.
Except, this was the whole point, wasn’t it. If he wanted to free up any of his time, he’d have to deal with these kinds of insignificant petty annoyances. His obsessive need to control each and every detail had worked in simpler times. Now it was hindering his performance.
He had to rethink the way he was doing things.
Some of his workload would have to be relinquished to others. Though knowing himself, trusting them to do it well and then living with the consequences would be tough.
Kian planted his ass on his throne and waited in the empty auditorium for his people to arrive—not because anyone was late, but because he’d gotten there early to make sure everything was in order.
Just another example of his OCD...
As if Shai couldn’t have done it for him.
Tapping his fingers on the armrests, he watched the door, expecting the Guardians to get there first.
Tradition dictated that the council’s meeting place had to be secured and protected prior to the arrival of its distinguished members. Though with safety not being an issue in the bowels of the keep, the men would be upholding the custom more out of respect, or maybe habit. Still, he had no doubt they would be arriving soon.
Besides Kri, their most recent female addition, the six men were seasoned warriors who’d been serving in this capacity for centuries and were likely to stick to doing things the way they had always been done.
Anandur and Brundar were the oldest, serving with him for over a thousand years. Born of the same mother and two very different sires, they were nothing alike.
Besides both being deadly, that is.
On the surface of things, Anandur appeared charming and easygoing, always ready to jest and pull pranks. But as a stalwart defender of the clan, the guy was a ruthless slayer of its enemies. His tactic of projecting a demonic visage of himself into his opponents’ minds and scaring them shitless was his kind of a cruel joke. They either ran for their lives or died believing they were going to hell.
Brundar was still an enigma after all the long years he had been serving as Kian’s bodyguard. Besides his brother, no one really knew him, and Kian wondered how well even Anandur did. Brundar was aloof, secretive and somber. Rumors hinted he had a sadistic streak, others that he was a masochist. One had to wonder, though, how someone that couldn’t stand being touched could enjoy being at the mercy of another.
Brundar looked like an angel; a vengeful, deadly angel of wrath. Possessing unparalleled skill and agility, he had perfect aim with any kind of projectile weapon and complete mastery with any
kind of blade.
Just as Kian had expected, the brothers made it first, Onegus walking in right behind them.
“Good evening, Kian,” Onegus said. The brothers nodded their greeting.
As Brundar climbed the three stairs and took his seat, Anandur stopped for a curtsy, lifting his robe’s tails like a lady’s gown and batting his red eyelashes at Kian.
The guy just couldn’t help his compulsion to clown around, despite it being highly inappropriate considering the circumstances that had brought them here.
Nevertheless, for once Kian was grateful for the comic relief.
Onegus, on the other hand, didn’t share his leniency, flicking the top of Anandur’s head. “Show some respect!” He pinned the redhead with a hard stare before taking his seat.
It was doubtful Anandur had felt the flick through the cushion of his crinkly hair, but he rubbed at his scalp as he looked at his superior. “It’s not my fault that you have no sense of humor.”
“Oh, just shut up.” Onegus was clearly not in the mood to carry on with the guy, and rightfully so.
What often started with Anandur goofing around, ended up with a sparring match at the gym where the big oaf ruled as an undisputed champion. So unless Onegus wanted to pull rank, he was smart to nip the thing in the bud.
An inch or two shorter than Anandur, Onegus was still quite tall but not as burly, more on the lean, athletic side. With smiling brown eyes, curly blond hair, and a million dollar smile, he claimed to be more of a lover than a fighter, which, of course, was total crap. Still, it was true that he often used that charm as a weapon in his diplomatic capacity on Kian’s behalf and to his own benefit with the ladies.
“I’m telling you; the assholes didn’t know he was one of us!” Kri’s agitated voice turned Kian’s attention away from the guys. He glanced at the door as she entered the room while arguing with the stoic Yamanu.
For all intents and purposes, Kri was as good as invisible next to that guy. Yamanu had this effect on people, his startling looks commanding everyone’s attention to the exclusion of everything else. Which might have been the reason Yamanu hardly ever left the keep. Except, that raised another important question... How the hell did he manage to get any sex without prowling the clubs and bars?
Not that he would have had to work hard for it, towering as he did at six and a half feet and built like a sculptor’s fantasy of how a male body should look. And as if that was not enough, Yamanu wore his shiny, black hair in a straight curtain that fell down to his waist.
His most startling feature, though, were his hypnotic, pale blue eyes, strange and out of place in his dark, angular face.
Yamanu was a master illusionist with an ability as powerful as that of the gods of old. His illusions could alter the perception of reality in thousands of mortal minds, providing a sense of touch, smell, and sound, in addition to sight. On more than one occasion, this unique talent of his had saved the clan from serious trouble.
With hordes of mortals attacking anything in their path, Kian’s small force of warriors hadn’t stood a chance, and though his people were hard to kill, a sword could sever a mortal’s or immortal’s head with the same ease. Even worse, the thought of what those savages could’ve done to the females if they had gotten past his warriors’ defenses... and the children...
Hell, he’d better not go there if he wanted his head clear for the meeting.
The last Guardians entering were the somber duo from the Bay Area; Bhathian and Arwel.
The two looked worn out and miserable, but the sad truth was that it hadn’t been the recent tragedy that had caused their misery. It had just amplified it.
Bhathian always looked pissed off. If not for the unpleasant vibe emanating from him, the big guy could’ve been considered handsome. His tall muscular frame and strong face were certainly attractive. As it was though, his angry expression and sheer size made him look more like an ogre. And Arwel, with his out-of-control empathetic ability, was wearing a perpetually tormented expression.
Regardless of their disparate physiques and temperaments, Kian had to admit that the seven Guardians formed an impressive, unified front in their formal ceremonial attire. Onegus’s robe as both Guardian and councilman was white with a double edge of black and silver, the others were black with a single silver edge.
Kian’s, in his opinion, was ridiculous. Made of blood-red velvet and edged in black, silver, and white it looked like a glitzy monarch’s costume. The despotic getup was only missing a crown and scepter. But be that as it may, he had no intention of arguing with his mother over her choice of formal robes. Not that it would’ve done him any good.
The doors pushed open again as Shai and the four council members he was escorting entered the room. Acting as if he’d designed the place himself, Shai flicked all the lights back on. Pointing proudly, he explained the chamber’s features and decor, “…we have four hundred seats down here, and two hundred more can be added on the balcony. The room is decorated in the Neo-Grecian style…”
Kian tuned Shai out, focusing on the council members instead.
Bridget, the local clan’s only MD, had her medical and research facilities located in the building’s underground, and they bumped into each other on occasion.
Kian liked and respected the pretty redhead, with her pleasant and unassuming demeanor. It never ceased to amaze him that a woman so petite could break and reset badly fused broken bones with ease. It was one of the few things a near-immortal needed medical care for; delivering babies and sewing up the more serious wounds being the other two. All were rare occurrences, which left Bridget with plenty of time to research their kind’s unique biology.
Edna, a brilliant attorney and an expert on clan law, oversaw the legal aspects of their business transactions and presided over clan members’ trials.
Besides her sharp mind, Edna was a tough cookie, which was the main reason Kian had chosen her as his replacement in case something happened to him. He could trust her to handle the job. That didn’t mean that the rest of the clan would be happy with her at the helm. She was known as a harsh and unforgiving judge, and though respected, wasn’t well liked.
Kian couldn’t remember seeing the woman ever smiling, and her looks matched her austere attitude. Edna didn’t bother with making herself pretty. If anything, the opposite was true. It must have been a deliberate effort for her to look so plain. Her brown hair was tied in a severe knot on her nape, she wore no makeup, and the ceremonial robe was a big improvement over her daily wardrobe of ill-fitting pantsuits.
Edna’s one saving grace was her eyes. They shone with intelligence and the kind of understanding that delved into the most hidden places of her victims’ souls, reaching behind their mental shields and baring all of their nasty secrets. It was quite unnerving, as Kian remembered from personal experience. It was also a rare ability. Normally, immortals couldn’t penetrate each other’s minds, only those of humans. Annani could, but then she was a full-blooded goddess.
Because of her unique talent, Edna was nicknamed the Alien Probe.
William, the Science Guy as everyone called him, was the opposite. Good-natured and bubbly, he looked like a chubby bear, proving that even superior genes couldn’t combat the consequences of a big appetite. William liked to eat a lot, while sitting in front of the computer, or the television, or with company. He was the go-to guy for all things technological—one of the few smart enough to translate and comprehend the technical information contained in the ancient gods’ tablet.
Walking between Edna and William, the suave Brandon stood out like a peacock amongst ducks. In charge of culture and media, his job was to promote books, movies, TV shows, and magazine stories; advocating the gods’ social agenda—starting with democracy, through equal rights, to education and research—the list was long.
By portraying the desired state as an expressed ideal, enacting it in stories, plays, and movies, mortals assimilated the message. To strive for something better, people
had to imagine it first to be aware of the possibility.
Understanding this dynamic, oppressive regimes denied their people free access to these sources, fearing the exposure to new and better ideas would promote social unrest. Demonizing the cultures that produced the dangerous materials served as a deterrent to their ignorant and brainwashed masses against seeking the corrupt, immoral, evil, etc. sources of information.
Unfortunately, there was little Kian could do to bring enlightenment to those closed-off regions, and their populations were falling further and further behind the Western world.
He often asked himself what came first: Navuh finding fertile ground for his propaganda in these places, or his propaganda creating the atmosphere in which oppressive regimes could gain power.
The fact remained, though; wherever women were marginalized, considered inferior, and denied rights available to men, the society as a whole lagged behind.
No exceptions.
“Would someone please open for me?” Amanda called for help while kicking the doors.
As Shai rushed over to let her in, she handed him one of the two Starbucks trays she had been carrying. Besides the trays, she also managed to hold onto a paper bag full of bottled drinks, her robe, and her purse.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone. I had to have coffee and stopped at Starbucks, but then figured it would be rude to be the only one with a cappuccino, so I brought some more.”
Brandon relieved her of the other tray and the bag, then together with Shai they passed the drinks around.
“Thank you, guys.” Amanda put on her robe and took a look around. “Kian, this is so not the place to have a small council meeting in; it’s huge! We need a small room, one with a table to put our drinks on.” She took the last vacant chair next to Onegus.
Kian shook his head. It was so like Amanda to ignore everyone and everything and just say whatever popped into her head.
“Already on it. Can we begin now?” he asked as he pushed to his feet and turned to face the council.
