Page 1 of Cosmic Power

ChapterOne

Luther watched the shifter dangling from the basement ceiling with tired eyes, exhaustion flowing through every ounce of his body right down to his dark, twisted soul. It had been three days. Three days, seventy-two hours, 4,320 minutes and 259,200 seconds since she had been taken from him. And he felt every excruciating moment of it. The absence of her soul, her beauty, that sass he both loved and hated all at the same time.

In all of his 2,283 years on this Earth, he’d never felt such an unbearable ache in his chest. Even Leilani—the one he thought would be his Eternal Life Mate—even her devastating betrayal all those years ago didn’t hurt as much as this did, didn’t enrage him to the point where he felt like he was going to explode from the inside out and take out everyone around him with him.

Zamorra…with her sparkling silver hair and magnetic, piercing blue eyes that he swore could see deep into his cruel soul and that made him feel more alive than he’d felt in over 2,000 years. It didn’t matter that she had only come into his life a short time ago. Her soul called to his. The fact that she was a shifter meant nothing to him, though he had known it would mean everything to others.

The knowledge that she was out there somewhere withhim, Barnabas Baxter, was enough to make him snap, his anger so palpable he had momentarily lost control and almost destroyed his million-dollar mansion in his fit of rage when he discovered she was missing.

Despite what his Elite Guards insisted, Luther knew without a shadow of a doubt that Zamorra did not abandon him, let alone her tiresome uncle—Void Vatali—or attack and kill his people. It was clear that whoever had ambushed him that night and stolen his Garnet Ring (which Luther knew had to be a vampire, since only a vampire could command the power of the Garnet Ring) had used it to compel his warriors and plant false memories in their heads. There was only one vampire out there who would dare cross him in such a way.

Leilani.

But without solid proof, there was nothing he could do as retribution. His maker would require unequivocal proof before allowing him to take his revenge. The cameras he had hidden throughout his mansion showed exactly what happened that night, who betrayed him, but with technology being what it was it would not be enough for his maker. Anyone could edit videos to show whatever they wanted.

Luther had known before he even stepped onto his property that something had gone horribly wrong. The soldiers meant to be patrolling the grounds lay lifeless, their blood staining the grass a bright red and sinking deep into the soil beneath.

When he walked inside, he was bombarded with a variety of different scents. Some he recognized instantly—like Leilani’s and Barnabas’. And others he had never encountered before. His Elite Guards and Margaret were wrapped head to toe in silver and blood coated the walls and pristine marble flooring.

They all claimed Zamorra had betrayed him, turned her back on them all and fled into the night, but Luther knew better. He noticed the signs of compulsion; the gaps in their minds when he probed further, the irregularities in their stories. Their minds had been meddled with, their word not to be trusted until the false memories were purged from their minds. The only way to do that was with his Garnet Ring, which was no longer in his possession.

Luther was dreading having to tell his maker that little bit of information. His maker was the one who entrusted him with the ring to start with. He was not looking forward to the punishment his maker would unleash on him once he found out. It would be gruesome (not to mention painful).

Rage pulsed through his body and he adjusted slightly in his seat, his dark eyes flashing bright red. Someone had bested him, stolen from him. And when he found them, he was going to destroy them. Mind, body and fuckingsoul.

The shifter in front of him groaned, swinging from side to side as he fought against the iron shackles around his limbs. Luther watched him struggle with mild amusement. What he had planned next would surely improve his foul mood, if only for a moment. Unleashing his darker side always eased the anger boiling inside him. Helped keep the beast at bay.

Luther got to his feet, slowly buttoning up his suit jacket as he approached the bulky male dangling upside down. Even though it was a thousand degrees in this shit hole and hot as all hell, he still wore his pristine black three-piece suit. It was imperative that he always look the part, always look impeccable.

His Elite Guards—Ophelia, Maddox, Axel and Darius—hung in the background watching him cautiously, their expressions marred with worry. Like Zamorra, Roman was gone, disappeared into the night. The blood Luther found coating his lounge room floor that night belonged to him, yet there was no body to accompany it. If anything, that information made it even clearer to Luther that something strange was afoot. Though he trusted no one, Luther knew Roman wouldneverbetray him. There was too much history between them. Too much that Roman owed him.

Luther ran his eyes over the shifter in front of him, noting the way his face reddened from the blood rushing to his head. He circled him slowly, letting his prey squirm uncomfortably to try and keep him in his sights. Two bodies hung either side of him—one on his left, the other on his right—both beaten and bloody beyond recognition. Both their heads were no longer attached to their shoulders. Instead, they hung parallel to their lifeless bodies by giant, rusty fish hooks piercing straight through the back of their heads and out through their gaping mouths. Their blood flowed down into the buckets sitting directly below them on the floor. Every time the buckets reached capacity, Darius and Maddox blurred ahead to trade them for empty ones.

He might have learnt nothing from those now-dead shifters, but at least their blood would be put to use. No need to waste fresh blood just because it came from his enemies.

Burnt flesh hung in the air, the stench of blood making Luther’s fangs slip from his gums.

Luther gripped the iron band around the shifter’s mouth and ripped it free, making him gasp in shock. He coughed violently, his entire body trembling and his breathing coming out short and fast.

“Who the fuck are you?!” he croaked, his voice strained.

Luther wasn’t surprised to hear he did not know who he was. This was not his territory after all, not his home. It was Draego’s—the Vampire Regent of America. Luther had travelled across the oceans, chasing Barnabas all the way to his home and now here he stood, in a dark, dingy basement somewhere in the middle of New York City, torturing another werewolf shifter in the Shadow Pack to try and find Barnabas’ exact location.

He held no authority here, no power (metaphorically speaking, of course). He was just a powerless vampire here, bound by the ruling Council of Order in America like everyone else. Technically, proper protocol dictated he wait for the Regent meeting that was held once a month to rectify any grievances he had (i.e. the fact the Shifter Regent of America stole a servant of his houseandhis Zamorra). But Luther was not a patient man. He would not wait. He would handle this himself. Now.

Gold streaked through the shifter’s light green eyes, the creature lurking beneath his skin itching to be released, but the iron wrapped around his body prevented the shift it so desperately wanted. He took notice of the bodies hanging by their feet at his side and his face paled, fear drenching his scent.

Luther thrived on that fear. Craved it. Enjoyed it. It exhilarated and excited him.

Luther smiled evilly. “I’m only going to ask this once,” he whispered menacingly, darkness dripping from his deep voice. He raised his index finger and watched as his nail lengthened into a sharp black, six-inch claw, a smirk gracing his lips. “If you answer to my satisfaction, I’ll let you go, if not…” his crimson eyes flicked to the headless bodies dangling around the room and he shrugged carelessly, “then I’m sure you can guess what your fate will be.”

The shifter thrashed wildly, wincing in pain from the iron, and tried his best to escape his bonds. Luther sighed and placed his claw at the base of the shifter’s throat in warning, making him freeze instantly. Luther cut into his skin with barely a flick and blood immediately dripped into the empty bucket below him.

“My patience is non-existent. Either you answer me or I move onto the next prisoner. Your life means nothing to me.”

With gritted teeth the shifter growled, “then ask what you want to fucking ask.”

Luther retracted his claw and lowered to his haunches so he could look him dead in the eyes. He cocked his head, a lock of his dark hair falling over his face. He let the silence drag on for several minutes, enjoying the way the shifter squirmed uncomfortably. Luther could admit to himself that he loved watching him suffer.

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