Rehv’s dark nature seethed, a jailed criminal impatient for probation: Bad acts and power plays were a constitutional compulsion for those of his father’s blood, and part of him wanted to create the void…and step into it.

He cut into Montrag’s self-important driveling. “Spare me the propaganda. What exactly are you suggesting.”

The male made elaborate work of putting down his teacup, as if he wanted to appear as if he were corralling his words. Whatever. Rehv was willing to bet the guy knew exactly what he was going to say. Something of this nature wasn’t the kind of thing you just pulled out of your ass, and there were others in on it. Had to be.

“As you well know, the council is to meet in a couple of days in Caldwell specifically for us to have an audience with the king. Wrath will arrive and…a mortal event will occur.”

“He travels with the Brotherhood. Not exactly the kind of muscle you can easily work around.”

“Death wears many masks. And has many different stages on which to perform.”

“And my role is…?” Even though he knew.

Montrag’s pale eyes were like ice, luminescent and cold. “I know what kind of male you are. So I know exactly what you are capable of.”

This was not a surprise. Rehv had been a drug lord for the past twenty-five years, and though he hadn’t announced his avocation to the aristocracy, vampires did hit his clubs regularly, and a number of them were in the ranks of his chemical customers.

No one but the Brothers knew about his symphath side-and he would have kept it from them if he’d had the choice. For the past two decades he’d been paying his blackmailer well to make sure the secret was his to keep.

“That is why I come to you,” Montrag said. “You will know how to take care of this.”