Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

greater leverage than a loved one.”
    Of course, Lothaire might kill Chase’s female the first time she mouthed off to him. Regin the Radiant could try a fey monk’s patience.
    “Your plans are sound. And Dorada?”
    “My oracle searches for her. So far she has not strayed near you.”
    He noted her evident relief, but didn’t remark on it. “Now that I have you here, you can spend the night with me. Sit.” He pointed to the settee.
    When she crossed the room to follow his order, he traced to his closet to politely don a shirt, as a good male might.
    She called out, “How did you know it was I instead of the mortal?”
    Lothaire’s hands stilled on a button. He’d known because Elizabeth was . . . prettier.
    He’d kid himself no longer—the two females were not one and the same. The goddess caked her face with makeup, covering those charming freckles on her nose. And she walked stiffly, not with that sensual roll of her hips.
    Elizabeth’s eyes were brighter. She smiled on occasion.
    No, no. Saroya looked and walked differently because she was a goddess . She would comport herself as one. Not commonly like Elizabeth.
    When he returned, Lothaire answered, “Surely, I would know my own Bride.” He sat in the desk chair; Saroya perched on the very end of the settee, as far from him as possible. Even Elizabeth hadn’t done that, and she feared him. No matter. “Speak with me, Saroya.”
    “About what?”
    “Whatever is on your mind.” Earlier, he’d sat with the mortal, matching wits with her. For a time, their bandying had distracted him from other concerns. Could he expect the same from Saroya?
    “Very well. I want servants.”
    “I can trust no one but Hag.”
    “Then give her to me. Make her my servant.”
    “I doubt that would work out as you intend. Some immortals do not make good slaves. Alas, she’s one among them. Besides, I need her talents as an oracle.”
    “This disappoints me deeply, Lothaire.”
    “It is temporary. We make sacrifices now to be rewarded later.” Silence followed. “And is there nothing else on your mind?” That sounded harsher than he’d meant it to.
    “My thoughts are consumed with the ring.”
    Another bout of silence.
    As a male whose existence had almost always been solitary, Lothaire wasn’t used to casting about for things to discuss. “What’s your favorite memory, Saroya?” As good a question as any, he supposed.
    “Why would you ask this?”
    “Just humor me.”
    She gazed at her nails. “Once, for amusement, I chose a pair of my vampire acolytes, a male and his Bride, and threatened the lives of their two offspring. Of course, the parents would do anything to save them. So I made the father vow to the Lore that he would eat his female, bite by bite—
starting from the toes.” Saroya sighed. “Afterward, he tried everything to get out of his vow, to circumvent it. At the very least to ease her suffering. But his vow compelled him, and her pesky regeneration ensured that this went on for decades. In fact, he was still at it when I was cursed.”
    Those unbreakable pledges to the Lore . . . Immortals depended on them, even as they dreaded ever being trapped by one.
    Saroya shrugged. “I assured my acolytes that I would raise their offspring while they were otherwise occupied. But I fondly recall drinking them to the quick anyway.”
    Lothaire’s shoulders knotted, any relaxation from earlier vanished. How good a mother would Saroya be . . . ? “You harm the young? You will no longer.”
    “You think to order me again, Lothaire? Understand that I’m agoddess—I have no sensibilities about age. My acolytes were merely organisms I used as playthings. Young, old . . . age matters naught.”
    “If you target the young, then your enemies will target your own.”
    She blinked. “I have no young.”
    “But you will. I will.” Damn Elizabeth for planting doubts.
    “If such is your wish, vampire. I will endeavor to be biddable to you. That’s what you want, is it not?”
    I might want a woman who will take my orders—and then do everything but. He pushed that thought aside. “Say something droll, Saroya,” he commanded.
    “What?”
    “Are you quick of wit, glib of tongue?” As Elizabeth continued to be. You’re the flyweight to her heavy. . . .
    “Lothaire, I enslave others to be those things, so that they may entertain me.”
    Silence once more.
    He kept recalling that night in the woods with Saroya, how well he’d gotten along