24
Making decisions for the good of the entire immortal world was arduous, to say the least, when one couldn’t care less about that world.
Constantine had a million ways to better spend his time than overseeing a table of creatures.
Half of them were pushing for genetic tests hoping to save their asses, while the other half feared that disturbing the temple might unleash an ancient curse worse than the current regeneration issues.
Constantine would probably be dead before he grew old, and was already cursed anyway, so neither argument could win him over.
He found Helena Nyavolska in the Radiology Department. The nymph was sitting behind an enormous desk, threatening a young creature that she’d lock him up in the magnet’s tube, whatever the hell that meant, if she ever caught him late for his shift again.
“Scram!” Helena shooed him. “To what do I owe the pleasure, necromancer?”
He strolled in, surveying her sly smile and red hair pulled up in a tight bun. This woman smelled like trouble from afar. But who was he to judge?
“You want to conduct a genetic test on a creature from the Temple of the Dead Immortals?” he said. “I am giving you my approval, but keep it between the two of us, and the few other trusted creatures you choose to take with you.”
“Concerned Mikhail might blow a fuse if he finds out?” the nymph asked with a composed expression.
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “I’ll manage Mikhail. But as far as everyone else is concerned, the proposal was shot down and forgotten.”
Helena tilted her head to survey him, eyes gleaming. “Am I to understand that you don’t want the Council finding out?”
“Precisely. If the Council accepts it officially, the news will spread through the Hospital like wildfire. How are you supposed to go on a secret mission if the entire world already knows about it?”
“ Lovely .”
“Think carefully about who you wish to take with you. And don’t do anything stupid. I have no wish to clean up after you.”
Helena smiled. “That won’t be necessary, necromancer.”
Why was it hard for him to believe that?
***
Approving Helena’s insane plan left a somewhat bitter aftertaste. But Constantine knew from his own experience that when everything was going to shit, the dumbest thing one can do is keep worshipping one’s old angels. If they haven’t got you out of the mess by now, they never will.
It was too hypothetical, but if Helena were to discover something with her trip to the Temple of the Dead Immortals, Constantine planned to use the information as a bargaining chip for Mikhail’s freedom.
Presiyan was uncompromising, but would he be so if given the opportunity to live a life with normal regeneration?
Constantine glanced at his golden watch. His date for the night was waiting in a rental apartment downtown. He threw his grey jacket over the shirt and headed for the lift. The thought of what was to come caused a slight twitch in his groin. He was hungry for yet another dose of debauchery.
Dose , because as of late, that was the way to describe it.
He used to love sex, but after losing his necromancer abilities, every orgasm served as a pathetic attempt at receiving a somewhat stronger sensation.
Unfortunately, the experience was often short-lived and insufficient.
And overcompensating with quantity didn’t improve said experience.
Tonight, even in a state of abstinence, his brain wasn’t as enthused as his cock. The lift doors slung open but instead of heading to the parking, he swerved towards the gym.
Once inside, he leaned against the wall, as had become his habit whenever he visited. He drooled over Diana’s ass, tightly packed inside her purple shorts, then moved his gaze onto the toned muscles on her stomach, the delicate waist he could crush with a single motion of his hand…
That someone would crush with a single motion of their hand…
Constantine frowned, crossing his arms. He never interfered in other people’s business. He had his sins, but unlike Mikhail, he’d never fooled himself into thinking that he could atone for them by rescuing a few desperate lives.
Taking Mikhail’s place on the Council must have provoked in him a sense of responsibility for the creatures under the Hospital’s wings. What other reason could there be for his jaw to clench every time he thought about Diana’s participation in the tournament?
He waited another moment before saying, “You hit like a girl.” Diana’s next attacks on the punching bag were definitely not girlish. “That crooked jab will make some of the more serious players in the Al-Hatib laugh.”
Her jab wasn’t crooked. It was perfect, executed with an ideal position of the elbow, body, and chin. But the immaculate fighting technique alone wouldn’t save her from decapitation – if the rumours about the identities of some competitors in the tournament were true.
She backed away from the bag with a sigh. “What do you want, Constantine?”
He shrugged. “Just to chat.”
“We never just chat. We’re not friends.”
“Maybe it’s time we changed that, Diana.” Constantine gave her a slow smile. He couldn’t help but recall how vulnerable she had been in his arms when he’d consoled her after her brother’s death.
Diana placed her palm on the punching bag. “Maybe it’s time you left.”
His gaze drifted down her body. “Can’t I just watch?”
She lifted her upper lip, revealing a glimpse of small, sharp incisors. “What’s there to see?”
“You.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’d let you fuck me?”
His lips twisted into a smirk. The way she said “fuck me” tempted him even more. Especially given he’d been thinking about it for a while now.
“Fuck you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll spank you first, for that filthy mouth of yours.”
“Perv…” Diana shook her head and resumed her training.
Constantine stepped closer. “Come on. Show me what all that sparring with a sandbag has taught you.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “What?”
“Attack me, dove.”
“You want me to fight you?”
“I want you to kick my ass and prove you belong in the Al-Hatib Tournament.”
Diana sized him up, her eyes running from his head to his toes. She smirked. “You’re not afraid to get your suit dirty, necromancer?”
“Generally, yes , but I’m more afraid I’ll die of boredom watching your pathetic attempts to scratch me.”
Her eyes flared – his words had gotten to her, as he’d hoped.
She took a deep breath, and her outline blurred in front of his eyes.
Her figure retained its elegance, but the muscles on her bare arms, abdomen, and thighs became more defined, shifting into a state of readiness for battle.
The complexion of her face grew paler, while the pink of her lips deepened into a darker, burgundy hue.
Her vampire fangs were small and sharp, barely noticeable.
“Interesting,” Constantine said, attempting to keep his tone level. But he couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming her form, impressed with her ease of transforming. “You’ve been tapping into your secondary form?”
“Of course. Everyone else at this tournament will, and I’d be dead meat if I’m not able to. Luka’s vial helped me tremendously, and I don’t intend to let my secondary form go to waste. I have to be able to train without it and with it.”
She charged at him with a right cross aimed at his chin, but Constantine parried it with ease.
Diana followed up with a quick jab from her left fist, only to be repelled again.
She repeated the attacks, each one failing to land.
Frustrated, she lifted her leg, aiming to drive her foot into his stomach, but Constantine stepped back, dodging her kick.
“Are you just going to defend yourself?” she snapped, launching another jab.
Constantine blocked it with his forearm, then countered with a powerful sidekick that took her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling to the floor. “No.”
Diana blinked. Scrambling back to her feet, she charged at him with everything she had.
A shower of fists and kicks rained down on him.
He avoided attacking, allowing her to think he wasn’t fighting back because he believed her too weak.
It would enrage her further and bring her to the state he wanted her in.
When she began to pant, he made a gesture for her to stop and feigned a yawn. “That was satisfying. Now that our warm-up is done, how about we move on to something more interesting?”
Constantine took off his jacket and tossed it to the ground, while Diana assumed a fighting stance.
Instead of attacking her, he unbuckled his belt, laying it down beside the jacket, followed by his shoes and watch.
Then his clothes and skin began to dissolve into an invisible void.
For a moment, his bare organs and muscles remained, until they, too, vanished, leaving nothing but bones and two black wings protruding from his spine.
The live skeleton was his secondary necromancer form. A form containing most of his strength. Only…
Constantine moved his bones around, but he had no idea of their position. He… was blind. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t feel anything.
The skeleton had lost its perception, its connection to the world.
Panic gripped him. He summoned his human form back, his clothes reappearing as his flesh did.
How had he not foreseen it sooner? What a fool he’d been to think Mada’s curse would affect just his outer-body travel.
The skeleton interacted with the world through Constantine’s special necromancer abilities.
If they were gone, the skeleton was blind, deaf, disoriented, weak, useless… A prisoner of nothingness.
Diana’s figure solidified before his eyes. Her pupils were dilated, and her breath came in short bursts.
Regaining his composure, Constantine focused on her.
Despite his alarming discovery, the point of this transformation had been to give Diana a taste of what she might face in the Al-Hatib Tournament.
Whether or not there would be necromancers among the contestants, those fighting for Hekate’s mirror would be just as formidable.
If Diana wanted to beat them, she had to maintain her composure when she faced them.
“My skeleton is nothing compared to what you’ll face in Al-Hatib. If you can’t stand before it without your legs giving out, you’d better give up right now,” he warned.
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of your skeleton, nor of anything else.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He twisted his lips with effort.
“I was ready to fight your skeleton…”
“Next time,” he said, waving off the idea. “Let’s continue the old way.”
Diana hesitated before launching into a series of kicks. Her persistence paid off, allowing her to break through his defences a few times. By the end, they were both panting.
With much of her aggression vented, Diana tossed him a half-smile while she dabbed her forehead with a towel. In contrast, Constantine’s mood had only grown fouler.