Page 27 of Kingdom of Chaos
Titus moves to stand behind Ensley, arms crossed, like a silent sentinel ready to protect her at a moment’s notice. I can’t help but wonder if she even realizes the nonverbal signals he’s giving off. She’s always been oblivious to things like that.
Talon pushes off the counter and strides forward, stopping just short of where Ensley and I are seated.
“What it means is that we have a way through the gates. Grab your stuff. We leave in an hour.”
Nine
Since I left allmy bags in Ensley’s car, I don’t have anything to pack, so I head to the formal great room to wait for Talon and the others. I try to be patient, but I’m too anxious to sit still. Popping up from my seat, I begin circling the couches and velvet armchairs in the center of the room like a restless shark.
My gaze catches on the painting above the fireplace. It’s of a striking young man with shoulder-length dark hair and cloudy blue eyes. He wears a cream tunic beneath a brown leather breastplate, and a swath of red fabric flows behind him from both shoulders. In his hand is a familiar, wavy-bladed dagger.
Shadow Striker.
The painting doesn’t look nearly as old as the subject’s clothing suggests. His attire seems like it’s from another era entirely. Ancient, even. I can’t help but wonder if this is an artistic rendering of Lucian, the creature who founded the Arcane Society generations ago.
“Handsome, isn’t he?”
I jump, and turn to find Imogen standing behind me, arms crossed, leaning against the back of a red velvet sofa. I can’t tellif her expression is openly hostile or just mildly curious. She has that kind of resting face that’s hard to read.
“Who is he?” I ask, ignoring her comment.
A hint of a smirk tugs at her lips. “Oh, I think you already know. Our founding father himself.”
So I was right. Lucian.
I glance back at the painting, studying it more carefully. Now that I’m looking, I notice a faint dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones. It’s subtle, but it’s there. The detail on the painting is astounding. There’s no way it’s as old as Lucian himself.
“Was the model one of the later Society members?” I ask, curious to know when it was done.
“Oh no. Lucian himself sat for that portrait.”
My eyebrows lift. “The painting can’t possibly be that old.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter whether I believe her. “It’s amazing what the right wards can preserve.”
We’ve had relics come through my family’s shop before, items that were supposedly centuries old, but they were always faded, worn down by time. This painting looks fresh, the colors vivid. If someone told me it was painted last year, I wouldn’t doubt them.
“Do you know that Talon’s mother, Jade, is our magistra? Essentially the head of the Society?” Imogen asks, abruptly changing the subject.
I tear my gaze from the painting. Her expression is unreadable but not cold. If anything, there’s a flicker of calculation in her eyes, like she’s weighing my reaction.
When I simply shake my head, she goes on.
“You see, Talon’s family has held the reins of the Arcane Society for generations. It’s been expected that he’ll take over for her someday. Not to say that any of the members are more important than the others, but if they were . . .”
She arches a brow and lets that hang in the air, like she expects me to piece it all together myself.
“I get it. Talon is special.”
She pushes off the couch and moves toward me, forcing me to take a step back. “Oh no. I’m afraid you don’t get it at all.”
Imogen isn’t much taller than me, but with her spike-heeled boots she looms nearly half a foot above. I tell myself not to flinch, not to be intimidated, but it’s hard. She clearly doesn’t like humans, and I know she blames me for Talon failing to retrieve Shadow Striker. The way she looks at me now, it’s like I’m the reason everything is falling apart.
“You’re about to cost Talon everything. But not if I have anything to say about it.”
There’s a gleam in Imogen’s eye that makes my heartrate spike and an internal alarm start blaring. Years of training and sparring make it second nature to drop into fight mode. I shift into a defensive position with hardly a thought. But Imogen doesn’t come at me the way I thought she would. She stays rooted in place, while a familiar inky sensation invades my mind, slipping past my internal barriers and burying claws right into my brain.
Compulsion. She’s a vampire.
