his chin. He didn’t need the reminder.
He’d been furious when his servant had returned to the house without the female that Zak had personally selected. That didn’t mean, however, he was prepared to accept defeat.
“Charles paid for his mistakes.”
“Perhaps, but—”
Zak narrowed his eyes as the words deliberately trailed away. “Say what you have to say, Anya.”
“You should have chosen another female.” She was the only creature in the world with the nerve to lecture him, although her tone was carefully devoid of censure. “It’s too risky to take the body from the police morgue.”
“It took us twenty years to track down Calso and another six months trying to find a way past his security.” He curled his lips in disgust. “Did you want to throw it all away because you have cold feet?”
“Not cold feet,” she denied in petulant tones. “But I’m not going to be happy if we’re forced to move again.”
With a deliberate motion, Zak pushed himself out of the chair, the swirl of his power tugging on Anya’s hair in icy warning.
The witch had saved his life when he’d been burning on the stake. She was also the one who’d managed to stumble across the means for his ultimate triumph.
But he’d been born during a time when only the strong survived and he didn’t believe in democracies.
He was in charge.
Which meant he didn’t confess just whom he’d encountered while he was in Leah’s mind. Or that he’d all but thrown down the gauntlet to those fools who cowered behind the walls of Valhalla.
He was done waiting for his unjust rewards.
“There will be no more running.”
Belatedly realizing she’d crossed a dangerous line, Anya took a step backward. “No, of course not,” she hastily purred, lacing her words with a spell of soothing. As if her magic could actually sway a man with his powers. “Soon you will have endless followers who will be worthy of your greatness.”
“So you have promised for the past—” He deliberately paused. “How long has it been, Anya?”
Her lips tightened. “Nearly three hundred years.”
Zak grimaced. He had a vivid memory of the night he’d been captured by the local villagers and burned at the stake. Hard not to. It played and replayed every night. Like his nightmares were stuck on one channel.
The next hundred years had been spent in a protective cocoon of magic Anya had wrapped around his burnt body that had barely clung to life, followed by another tedious century of regenerating his physical form. Time that was fuzzy in his memories.
Thank the gods.
The past hundred years had been devoted to restoring his former powers. And more importantly, to locating the key to unlocking the ancient secrets to his ultimate destiny.
“My patience is at an end,” he informed the witch.
“I understand, I truly do, but our enemies are searching for you,” Anya attempted to soothe. “It’s too dangerous to draw such attention to yourself.”
Zak stepped forward, the overhead light catching in his faceted eyes until they shimmered with blinding glitter that filled the room.
“Is there a reason you want me to wait?”
“I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks.” Her chin tilted. “I have devoted my life to you.”
“You have devoted your life to the hope that I will make you a queen.”
He watched her shrug. “So what? I’m a woman with ambition.”
“Just make certain you’re a woman who is prepared to travel to the temple.”
“I will be prepared,” she promised with an arrogance that could rival his own. “So long as you don’t get both of us killed before you can get your hands on the coin.”
“Careful, Anya. You aren’t the only means of taking me where I need to go.” He smiled. “Understood?”
The very gentleness of his threat made Anya grasp the small amulet hung around her neck even as she hurried toward the door.
“Bastard.”
“So they say,” he murmured toward her retreating
He’d been furious when his servant had returned to the house without the female that Zak had personally selected. That didn’t mean, however, he was prepared to accept defeat.
“Charles paid for his mistakes.”
“Perhaps, but—”
Zak narrowed his eyes as the words deliberately trailed away. “Say what you have to say, Anya.”
“You should have chosen another female.” She was the only creature in the world with the nerve to lecture him, although her tone was carefully devoid of censure. “It’s too risky to take the body from the police morgue.”
“It took us twenty years to track down Calso and another six months trying to find a way past his security.” He curled his lips in disgust. “Did you want to throw it all away because you have cold feet?”
“Not cold feet,” she denied in petulant tones. “But I’m not going to be happy if we’re forced to move again.”
With a deliberate motion, Zak pushed himself out of the chair, the swirl of his power tugging on Anya’s hair in icy warning.
The witch had saved his life when he’d been burning on the stake. She was also the one who’d managed to stumble across the means for his ultimate triumph.
But he’d been born during a time when only the strong survived and he didn’t believe in democracies.
He was in charge.
Which meant he didn’t confess just whom he’d encountered while he was in Leah’s mind. Or that he’d all but thrown down the gauntlet to those fools who cowered behind the walls of Valhalla.
He was done waiting for his unjust rewards.
“There will be no more running.”
Belatedly realizing she’d crossed a dangerous line, Anya took a step backward. “No, of course not,” she hastily purred, lacing her words with a spell of soothing. As if her magic could actually sway a man with his powers. “Soon you will have endless followers who will be worthy of your greatness.”
“So you have promised for the past—” He deliberately paused. “How long has it been, Anya?”
Her lips tightened. “Nearly three hundred years.”
Zak grimaced. He had a vivid memory of the night he’d been captured by the local villagers and burned at the stake. Hard not to. It played and replayed every night. Like his nightmares were stuck on one channel.
The next hundred years had been spent in a protective cocoon of magic Anya had wrapped around his burnt body that had barely clung to life, followed by another tedious century of regenerating his physical form. Time that was fuzzy in his memories.
Thank the gods.
The past hundred years had been devoted to restoring his former powers. And more importantly, to locating the key to unlocking the ancient secrets to his ultimate destiny.
“My patience is at an end,” he informed the witch.
“I understand, I truly do, but our enemies are searching for you,” Anya attempted to soothe. “It’s too dangerous to draw such attention to yourself.”
Zak stepped forward, the overhead light catching in his faceted eyes until they shimmered with blinding glitter that filled the room.
“Is there a reason you want me to wait?”
“I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks.” Her chin tilted. “I have devoted my life to you.”
“You have devoted your life to the hope that I will make you a queen.”
He watched her shrug. “So what? I’m a woman with ambition.”
“Just make certain you’re a woman who is prepared to travel to the temple.”
“I will be prepared,” she promised with an arrogance that could rival his own. “So long as you don’t get both of us killed before you can get your hands on the coin.”
“Careful, Anya. You aren’t the only means of taking me where I need to go.” He smiled. “Understood?”
The very gentleness of his threat made Anya grasp the small amulet hung around her neck even as she hurried toward the door.
“Bastard.”
“So they say,” he murmured toward her retreating
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