5. Lazarus
The flight stretches on and on, in a way that gnaws at my patience.
The hum of the engines is a dull, monotonous drone that feels like it’s boring into my very brain.
Every blink brings her face into focus. Her smile, her dimples, the way her hips swayed, the way she coiled around my brother like a fucking serpent.
I clench my fists, the leather of my gloves creaking under the pressure.
Anger simmers beneath my skin, a volatile energy I know is dangerous right now because I need clarity, control, not chaos.
“You’re off your game,” Antonio says, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts.
I turn my glare toward him. “And whose fault is that?” I snap, though I know the accusation is hollow.
Antonio isn’t the architect of this mess. No, that honour belongs to Konstantine too. He’s fucking up at home and abroad, and it’s not going unnoticed. Chapter Lords are running amok, alliances are crumbling, and the Order is teetering on the edge of collapse while he’s balls deep in that witch.
Yet I can’t shake the feeling that Antonio could have done more to rein this particular problem in.
Antonio leans forward, his expression unreadable. “Gunther,” he says, the name heavy with implication. “He’s the one who defied orders, married a Founder. He thinks he’s above the rules…”
“Why do you think we’re running this little mission?” I snap back. It’s not like I routinely fly to England and back for a simple jolly, is it?
“He’s a cancer, Lazarus. And cancers need to be cut out.”
I frown, my jaw tightening. I know what he’s not saying. What he’s implying I do. “Konstantine didn’t order it.”
“Konstantine isn’t thinking clearly,” Antonio counters, his voice low, but there’s no one to overhear us.
We don’t have cabin crew today. It’s just me, him, and the pilot, and he’s holed up in his cockpit behind a nice thick door.
“…if he were, he’d have given the order himself.
But he’s too distracted, too consumed by his own indulgences. ”
I open my mouth to argue but he’s right, at least on that. Konstantine is too focused on his own personal pleasure right now to do anything properly.
“We can’t.” I reply. Ending Gunther would cause chaos, it would cause a power vacuum we are not able to fill right now.
“Someone has to act.” Antonio persists, “First one Chapter Lord, then there will be others. They will see Gunther has not been punished, they will see that there are no consequences to any of it…”
“There will be consequences.” I state. Am I not flying there right now to dish out those very consequences?
“It is not enough. You marking Gunther is not enough. He married a Founder, he has conspired with the Esau. He has not only defied me as a Guardian, but he has spat in all our faces while doing it. Someone has to restore balance.”
I look away, my gaze drifting to the window. The clouds below are a sea of grey that makes me want to just jump out and disappear into them. “And you think that someone should be me?”
“I think you’re the only one who can do it,” Antonio says, his tone softening. “You’re the only one I trust to see it through. But don’t do it for me, Lazarus, do it for your father, for his memory, his legacy.”
The words hang in the air. I know how he would act, how he would move against such a fool as Gunther.
I exhale sharply, letting him think he’s played me when in fact, I’ve played him in this. “Fine,” I say, the word clipped. “But this isn’t for my father. This is a favour to you, and some day in the future I will collect on that.”
Antonio nods, a flicker of recognition in his eyes because we both know he too works on favours, on promises, on unspoken blackmail.
I move like a ghost, my footsteps silent, my breath steady.
The air is thick with the scent of decay, both literal and metaphorical as I slip through the corridors with practiced ease.
The evening light filters through stained glass windows, casting fractured colours across the polished marble floors.
I am a shadow within shadows, a predator stalking its prey.
Gunther is ahead of me, his bulk unmistakable even in the dim light. He’s a man who has let himself go, his once-imposing frame is now bloated, his face ruddy and puffy. He mutters under his breath and I can hear the jumble of incoherent ramblings and Aramaic he has no right to speak out loud.
I follow him into the storerooms, the shelves lined with dusty boxes and rotting food. He stops in front of a large window, his reflection staring back at him with a mixture of contempt and madness.
“You think you can control me?” Gunther sneers at himself. “You think you can dictate my actions? I am in charge here. I answer to no one but me.”
Fuck me, the bastard really is mad. I thought it was just rumours, something spread to try and explain his brutality and his treason, but now I see it for what it is.
As I step closer Gunther spins around, his eyes wide, almost manic. For a moment there is silence, a tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
“You are in charge, are you?” I say, my voice calm and yet mocking all the same. If he is mad then that too is a sin, and one he will pay for dearly. “You have failed as Chapter Lord. You thought you were above the rules? That you could defy our Guardians? Our Order?”
Gunther’s fear quickly turns to anger as his face contorts into a mask of rage.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing here?” He pushes me back with more strength than I would have guessed he had.
“I don’t have to answer to you anymore. I can do what I want!
I marry who I want, fuck who I want, kill who I want too. In this country, I am Grand Master.”
“No one is above our Grand Master,” I say, my voice cold and unyielding. “For our Grand Master is a living god.”
Gunther laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that echoes through the storeroom. “What are you going to do? Mark me? Excommunicate me? Drag me to Oblivion?”
I pull the dagger from my belt, the blade gleaming despite the dim light. “No,” I say, my voice a whisper. “Your sin is too great. Your trespasses demand a blood price, and I am going to make you atone for it right here.”
This will change everything. This will unleash chaos, but I know it’s necessary. I know it’s the only way to send a message, and the only way to put Antonio Macrae firmly in my pocket.
The first slash is quick and precise, a shallow cut across Gunther’s chest. He screams as I move with practiced efficiency, each cut deliberate and calculated.
But all that anger, all that pent-up frustration, it’s like it’s suddenly unleashed like a tidal wave and it feels so fucking good to get it out. To purge. To prove that I too am not helpless, powerless. I may not be Grand Master, but I am still my father’s son, I am still the blood of the order.
Gunther collapses to the floor, his blood already rapidly pooling around him.
I step back, feeling no satisfaction. Instead there’s a sense of unease, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. The British Chapter has been unstable for years now. Killing their Chapter Lord will not resolve it, but it will bring all the nasty little players out of the woodwork.
It will shine a light on all the deviants who think they can get away with subverting our ways.
And it will prove to us who is truly loyal and who is not.
The problem is I know my brother is not strong enough to sort this. Whatever chaos I have created here tonight will linger, will fester, perhaps for years. In my head, I wonder if this will be a wakeup call for him, for Konstantine. Maybe this is what he needs, a good kick up the arse.
I turn to leave, pausing as I reach the exit to look back at where his body is still lying, twitching slightly, “Goodbye, Gunther,” I murmur. “See you in hell.”
But those barely leave my lips as a man appears from the shadows, his movements almost as silent as my own.
He kneels beside Gunther’s body, his hands moving with zero hesitation while I watch in stunned silence.
Can he see me, or does he simply not care?
He takes my dagger, replaces it with another, then disappears back into the shadows at the other end without a second glance my way.
My stomach knots. Clearly there is something else going on here. Have I been played? Is this Antonio’s doing, or something else entirely? I grit my teeth and it hits me then, that I am not the only monster walking these halls tonight.
No, apparently hell is empty and all of us devils are here tonight.