Page 25 of Stars in Umbra
Mo’s casual lean stiffened, almost imperceptibly, his hand still wrapped around his empty whiskey glass. ‘What markings?’
They gestured, with a bow of reverence, to the inky glyph sprawled over his heart. In the dim light, it pulsed, alive, electric, as if aware of their gaze.
‘That one,’ the smaller luminary whispered, awe-laced. ‘The sigil of the Third Eye. A Sacran relic. Few bear it now, fewer still with the vertex gem.’
Rina’s brows lifted, her curiosity more than aroused.
Mo glanced down at his chest, confusion flickering across his face. ‘I’ve always had it.’
The Sacran dignitaries exchanged a loaded glance.
The taller one stepped closer, pointing to the apex above the central curve of the glyph, where a gem-shaped etching caught the light and fractured it like a prism.
‘That jewel design marks a bloodline that is now extinguished. A fallen House, cast from the Seventh Heaven.’
Mo’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing to cold slits. ‘What house?’
The luminaries hesitated, unsettled.
‘One we do not name,’ the loftier said at last, voice dropping. ‘For fear it might awaken again.’
Without another word, they bowed, deep and hurried, as if realizing they lingered too long, and floated away.
They disappeared into the crowd, their whispers trailing them like the rustle of leaves in a dead wind.
Rina tracked them, blinking once, twice, before she turned back to Mo.
‘Are you a god in hiding, Mo?’ she said, arching one brow, her tone light but her heart nowhere near calm.
The question landed like a hammer.
He bristled, walls slamming up behind his eyes, that easy calm cracking just enough for her to see the storm beneath.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured, laying a gentle hand on his forearm, savoring the warmth of his skin, the tautness of muscle underit. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I tend to prattle on when I’m nervous.’
He stared at her, long and unblinking.
Then, like a tide receding, some of the tension left his shoulders.
His mouth quirked, a slight, sardonic lift on his lush lips.
‘Nothing to be edgy about with me, mama,’ he rasped, rough as gravel and warm as dusk.
Rina inhaled, unprepared for the way his endearment wrapped around her ribs and held tight.
She smiled, a little uneven, and cast about for safer ground. ‘So tell me, what’s your favorite model of pre-Exodus firearm? Don’t tell me it’s the boring Ares 9mm. Everyone says that.’
The spark returned to his gaze. ‘Boring? That’s classic engineering. Butnada, give me a Helix .44. A beauty in recoil.’
They fell into the topic, their laughter easy.
Neither of them noted when the lights dimmed, the music softened, or when the merriment, dancing, and clinking goblets faded.
When Rina finally glanced around, she found the celebration dwindling.
Most of the bartenders were gone, leaving a handful of staff members to clear up and clean glasses behind the counter.
Only a few guests lingered in clusters.
