Chapter 16
Kaiden
The tap, tap, tap, of the inquisitor’s cane—which is not only solid gold but also adorned by garish angel wings—reverberates over the low sensual music as he enters my club, spine rod-straight.
His upper lip curls in blatant disgust when he passes the two wolf shifters guarding the inside door.
My teeth grind as I shove down the urge to incinerate him on the spot for that disrespect alone.
Alec and Zayn are loyal to a fault, and ten times the man he is.
He swivels his head to take in his surroundings, crinkling his nose like he’s smelling something foul.
The suit he’s wearing is ivory, embellished by thick golden embroidery at the lapels and sleeves.
A shiny bow decorates his long, dirty-blond hair, which is tied at the nape.
But the worst part of the entire ensemble are the shoes: suede loafers that match the suit.
I’m surprised my eyes haven’t started bleeding at the sight.
“Is this guy for real?” Malik snickers at my back, where he’s standing beside Emily at the bar.
“Right? I swear all he’s missing is a minion,” Emily whispers back on a low chuckle.
Before he reaches us, the inquisitor snaps his fingers. A gangly young man with a large briefcase spills through the open door. His short, white-ish blond hair is sticking every which way, and sweat dots his forehead.
“Never mind,” Emily adds on a muffled laugh.
I have to bite the inside lining of my cheek to stop the one bubbling its way up my throat.
However, despite the levity my friends bring, I wish I didn’t have to bear the presence of this pompous snake.
Hell, I would even take the Narnia marathons Malik has forced me into countless times over being here.
He always says my TV is better than his before he parks his ass on my couch.
Which is a lie. Not only did I gift them—Malik, Dominic, and Logan—the three apartments on the level beneath my penthouse, but I also made sure they got the same electronics, too.
The real reason he does this is because they were his little sister’s favorite, and there are days when his grief is suffocating.
So even though I would rather stab myself in the eyeballs with a ballpoint pen than go through six and a half hours of that torture again, I would never refuse him. Not after he lost her so tragically.
The inquisitor doesn’t even spare a glance at the teenager who looks as if he’s about to piss himself any second now. “Has the witch arrived?”
“N-no, sir. She sent a text, letting me know she’s going to be here in five minutes.”
“Tardiness is unacceptable, Sebastian. I’m cutting her pay in half for the insolence. Write it down.”
“Yes, sir.” He swallows thickly, then murmurs barely above a whisper, “My name is Simon,” before scribbling on a notepad from his pocket.
Simon’s remark falls on deaf ears as the inquisitor regards me over the bridge of his aquiline nose.
“Black.” Pure hatred flashes in the confines of his irises.
His attempt at intimidation is pathetic because not only is he two heads shorter than me, and dressed like a damn peacock, but I can tell he practiced it in the mirror.
“Barnabas,” I say. My smile is all teeth and sharp edges. “Welcome to Sin. May I offer you a drink?”
Malik coughs to cover his snort at hearing the inquisitor’s name, and Emily wheezes, “This keeps getting better and better.”
Barnabas cuts them a searing glare, then says, “I am here because you are under investigation by the Aureal Council, demon. Not to debase myself with debauchery.”
I lift a nonchalant shoulder. “Suit yourself. Simon?” He doesn’t hear me because he’s busy staring at the succubi and incubi dancers finishing up their practice in the gilded cages above our heads, slack-jawed.
Maeve is not among them. After the shit she pulled when she dropped into my lap to make Iris jealous, I offered her two options: to work at a new club that’s opening in Tokyo or a trip back to Hell. She chose the first.
When I repeat the question, Simon whirls his head toward me and turns beet red. “Y-yes. Wat—”
Barnabas interrupts him. “He’s not having anything. Now, let’s get down to business. I don’t want to spend all day here.”
As soon as he finishes saying that, a petite middle-aged woman hurtles through the door. Her sandals slap against the onyx dance floor in her hurry to reach us.
Barnabas twists his thin lips. “Ms. Jones. Finally.”
“I’m so sorry. Traffic was crazy.”
“Hm.” He turns his beady eyes on me. “You said there was a fire here last Saturday. Quite convenient for a fire to damage the server holding your security footage on the same night a lightborn disappeared in your establishment. You wield hellfire, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t use hellfire to start it, if that’s what you’re implying.” This is not a lie. That night, I sensed Iris’s abject terror. My inability to teleport long distances forced me to make two stops before reaching the club’s back alley.
I couldn’t get there fast enough.
The second I saw Iris lying in a pool of blood, I snapped and lost control of my illum.
Icy flames engulfed the outer wall faster than I could take my next breath.
Only the fear that it could spread and hurt her broke through the white-hot fury.
I drew it back just in time. The wall didn’t collapse, but the server, the computers in the surveillance room, and two high-top tables melted.
Luckily, nobody was harmed. However, the acrid smoke overtaking the club and the sprinklers activating produced a mass hysteria.
Which played in our favor because the madness that ensued is the perfect excuse for not knowing what happened to Erik—everyone was too busy running for their lives.
Also, by the time the firefighters arrived, we were gone from the back alley, and I had already smashed Erik’s phone.
“That remains to be seen. Ms. Jones, do your job,” Barnabas orders. A smug smirk lifts the corner of his lips.
The witch huffs at his rudeness but nods before making her way to the wall covered in soot at the back of the club.
She places her palms on it and starts chanting.
Waves of light magic spread from her touch.
When she strolls back to us, she says, “Hellfire wasn’t the catalyst. I don’t know what it was, though. I have encountered nothing like it.”
Barnabas’s face falls. “I assume you prepared a room where I can question your employees,” he grits out through clenched teeth. He was banking on the witch, declaring me the culprit to make a quick arrest. That’s why he brought four Aureal Knights, who are waiting outside the club.
Well, tough luck, motherfucker, ’cause you’re not making any arrests today.
Barnabas already interrogated me yesterday in a more official setting where all the Aureal Council members could watch.
I could feel Grayson’s venomous gaze drilling holes in my head through the two-way mirror for the entire three hours.
Adramelech’s escape gave me the perfect alibi, though, because aside from those closest to me, no one knows I am only half demon and can teleport.
That’s how I joined the Obsidian Conclave when it was still under Mammon and climbed to the top—by hiding my real heritage.
Surveillance footage from my residence showed me entering my basement before the fire started and Erik vanished, and not exiting until much later.
Grayson insisted I must have had something to do with it because everything that had happened was too convenient.
I’m sure it also rubs him the wrong way that not only did I push back on the Council’s decision to hold the questioning for my dark creature employees somewhere else, but also for Grayson to attend.
My argument was simple: Erik’s family members shouldn’t be involved because they lack the ability to be objective.
Lightborn already treat dark creatures like second-class citizens, and I will not allow them to bully my employees.
Besides, they don’t have any evidence aside from the camera footage of the ATM Erik passed on this street and his phone location. They’re grasping at straws.
“Follow me,” I retort before striding to the bathroom hallway where the rooms the vampires in the Conclave use to feed are, alongside my office.
I punch in the security code, then open the door for Barnabas, Simon, and the witch to enter.
They wait for me to lead the way through the corridors until we reach the conference room next to my office.
I flick the lights on before they file inside.
Barnabas snaps his fingers. “Steven, set up the camera.” He turns his pinched face toward me. “The bartenders and bodyguards are first, followed by the dancers.”
“Very well,” I say and take a seat at the head of the table.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he snaps with vitriol.
“What does it look like? Settling in for the questioning,” I drawl as I lean back in the black leather chair and raise a mocking eyebrow. “The Celestial’s Treaty annex contains no law forbidding my presence during these interrogations, as long as my employees face no accusations. I know my rights.”
He white-knuckles his cane. “I told you to set up the camera, boy,” he barks at Simon, who has been watching our exchange wide-eyed. This must be the first time he’s seen someone defy the inquisitor.
Simon flinches and almost drops the briefcase as he struggles to open it. The witch mutters a whispered “asshole” under her breath. I take out my phone and shoot a text to Malik while Simon is busy arranging the tripod.
Me: Send Emily in, please. And then tell Leo he’s next. Can you also let the dancers know they have time to eat before they come in? They can order whatever they want. It’s on me.
Malik: Sure. Should I also fix the wall?
Me: No. That can wait until Captain Dickbag is gone.
Malik: ’Kay.
Emily strides in after a few minutes, plopping down on the chair to my right. The witch sits next to her while Simon starts the camera.
“State your name and species,” Barnabas tells Emily.
“Emily Dawson. I am a wolf shifter pertaining to the Silverfang pack.”
The inquisitor’s lips turn down in contempt.
My fingers curl into tight, eager fists beneath the table in response.
It would be so simple to teleport to where he’s leaning against the wall and snap his neck.
Do it, my demon side urges. But I can’t.
So I bury the alluring violence beneath that titanium wall.
“Are you under a magical oath of secrecy?” he asks.
“No,” Emily replies, tucking a stray ash-brown curl behind her ear.
“Ms. Jones. Verify the statement.”
“I will need to touch you,” the witch tells Emily.
When Emily nods, the witch closes her eyes, then her fingers circle the wolf shifter’s wrist. She opens them. “She’s telling the truth.”