Possess Me at Midnight

“Splendid,” Blackbourne continued into the silence. “Let Mathias d’Arc’s name be registered in the scrolls. If there are no more nominees, then—”



“I nominate Isdernus Rykard.”



Bram’s voice rang loud, clear. It sent a shiver across Ice’s skin. He felt everything from surprise to outrage pouring from the others. Or maybe that was his own nervousness.



Blackbourne reared back. “Rykard, the mad one?”



“If it makes one mad to fight against Anarki who killed his sister, then yes.”



“He’s not Privileged,” Camden argued. “He does not meet the qualifications.”



“I propose a change to the Social order, then. How can we effectively govern all when only one class is represented among us? If Mr. d’Arc is correct, and the Deprived are planning an uprising, might we not quell their anger by nominating one of their own?”



“This is quite abrupt,” Spencer argued.



“So is replacing a Councilman who’s been brutally murdered in his own home.” Bram sent him a tight smile.



“Eh … indeed.” Spencer’s shoulders sagged.



“Honestly, I see no reason to refuse. It would be bad press during these difficult times if word reached the Deprived that we refused to consider a change in the Social order to possibly include one of their own. Imagine the fever to rise up then.”



“I assure you,” Mathias spoke suddenly. “I can quiet them.”



“The way you have the ‘rogue’ elements of the Anarki, sir?”



Bram’s question was perfectly pointed. And with it, he took his life in his hands. Neatly, Bram had boxed Black-bourne and Spencer into a corner.



“Clearly not,” Tynan added. “or my grandfather would be with us.”



With that, Bram called for a vote. Given that they had no logical argument, as they were suddenly espousing change, though they’d eschewed it for centuries, the Council elders all agreed, some clearly more reluctant than others, to change the Social order to allow Deprived Council representation.



“Any other objections to Rykard’s nomination?” Bram challenged.



Dead silence.



Ice swallowed a lump of nerves. A blast of amazement whooshed over him. The nomination to the Council seat that should have been his two hundred years ago was now in his grasp. It should have been sweet victory that the very man responsible for his defeat years ago was now his unwilling champion, but he couldn’t spare a thought for petty irony now. Revenge wasn’t sweet—or even his motive. Gailene’s memory and Sabelle’s love … nothing else mattered. Putting the past to rest. Getting his future on track.



One step closer . . .



“Shall we schedule the official vote for, say, three days hence at my estate?” Blackbourne queried. “That will give each of us time to carefully consider our votes.”



And give Mathias a time and location where he could devise a plan to kill every Council member and instantly rule all of magickind? Give everyone a glimpse of his magical signature that would display to all the fact he had issued a Call to Sabelle?



Ice gaped across the table from Bram, ready to stand and protest. The other three wizards at the table beat him to it.



“I think times may be too critical to wait,” Bram argued. “Everyone is present, and I see little reason for the delay.”



Heart stuttering, Ice listened as the others grumbled their agreement. That suddenly, it was time to vote.



“I vote Mathias d’Arc,” Blackbourne, the eldest, said, not surprisingly.



“As do I,” Spencer chimed in.



Bloody hell. Ice had held out some hope, no matter how little, that Spencer had been swayed to vote with them. But clearly not.



“I vote Rykard,” Sterling MacTavish told the others.



“Become Rion’s lapdog, have you?” Spencer taunted.



“It’s better than being Blackbourne’s bitch.”



Despite the tension in the room, Ice laughed. He’d never known the MacTavish clan well, any of them, always avoiding them because of their associations with the Rions. But now, he somewhat liked the outspoken wizards.



“I vote Mathias.” Camden’s voice shook as he entered his vote, and no wonder, with the evil man himself sitting there.



Again, Ice wished he could pour himself through the little mirror and attack Mathias, make him twist with pain and writhe in agony as he deserved. Instead, he clenched his fists and glanced at Sabelle for support. She smiled and nodded.



“One more vote for Mathias d’Arc decides it,” Black-bourne reminded.



As if anyone needed to hear that.



“He won’t have my vote,” Bram vowed. “Rykard will represent the Deprived well. He knows them, will listen, and can carry our message to them, smooth relations, as it were.”



Blackbourne snorted. “Your opinion. This is not the time for commentary. O’Shea? Keep in mind that a vote for Rykard sends us to a dreadful tie that should be avoided at all costs. No Council has ever had to enforce a challenge to dispute a tie.”



Tynan cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to say, then, that my first official vote as a Council member will bring about something dreadful, but my vote is for Rykard.”



“Bloody stupid—” Blackbourne cursed, then huffed, as if getting himself under control. “Well, then. Tomorrow, an hour past dawn, both candidates will present themselves at the gate of my estate for the challenge. God help you both.”



With that, Blackbourne severed the connection. The others followed suit. Ice paused, unease skittering through him. “Challenge?”



“Indeed.” He exhaled, looked at Sabelle with regret, then shook his head. “I never imagined Blackbourne would actually enforce this. I thought for certain he would devise something else. It’s his right as Council elder to do so.”



“But he chose not to, so what happens next?” Sabelle demanded.



Bram swallowed. “Tomorrow morning, you will appear at Blackbourne’s estate as instructed. You will battle with Mathias there for the right to the Council seat.”



“What sort of battle?” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”



Bram sucked in a sharp breath, then looked at Ice with apology. “A battle that ends when one of you surrenders or dies.”



CHAPTER SIXTEEN



“YOU’RE NOT GOING, SABELLE.” Bram reiterated as if that was the end of the conversation, then sipped coffee.



Predawn gray gathered outside, and Sabelle felt the internal tick-tock of time passing down to the hour when the challenge for the disputed Council seat would take Ice away from her—possibly forever. Her gut cramped into a thousand knots, and she yearned for three minutes alone with Ice. To touch him, reassure herself. She wanted to Bind to him so badly. All night, she’d considered doing just that. But almost as if he’d known what was in her mind, her brother had monopolized Ice since the Council vote, discussing the challenge, developing a strategy, analyzing Mathias’s potential weaknesses. Now, time slipped through her fingers, and the panic that she might never see Ice alive again froze her.



“You’re not,” Ice agreed with Bram, approaching from behind, coffee in hand.



She turned to Ice, close enough to smell the musky-pine scent of him … yet so far away. “It’s taking all I’ve got not to plead with you to call off this challenge and withdraw your nomination. If I had known when I suggested your name what this fight would come to . . .”



Ice’s face closed up. “I can’t withdraw. Mathias can’t be allowed to help govern magickind. I will not fail Gailene by taking the coward’s way out.”



Even at the expense of your life? But yes, she understood that he valued his sister’s memory more. That, after two centuries of grief, he needed this closure, this revenge. “I know, so I’ve said nothing. But I beg you, do not leave me here to bite my nails and wonder. Let me come with you and help.”



“Only Councilmen and candidates attend the challenges.” Bram shrugged as if that settled the matter.



“Along with their mate or source of energy,” she pointed out. At their shocked expressions, she smiled. “Yes, I had a little chat with Sterling last night. Most helpful.”



Bram cursed. “Too clever by half.”



Ice sat in the chair beside her at the long table and shook his head. “I won’t put you anywhere near Mathias. I know the atrocities he’s capable of. The energy I have will be sufficient.”



“To fight off one of the most powerful dark wizards ever? Look at the spell he felled Bram with. It nearly killed him.”



“Because I was unprepared,” her brother protested. “He caught me off guard. I had no time to put up a defense. Ice will shield himself.”



Sabelle banged her fist on the table. “Stop mollycoddling me and use your brains! If Ice has to fight a prolonged battle, no one can help him but me.”



“I’ll siphon and use the anger of others.”



An ineffective energy source, and they all knew it. The power he gleaned from another’s anger would waver quickly once he and Mathias were locked in mortal combat. But pointing out the obvious wasn’t working. Both men were too protective, thinking of her, not the greater good. She had to change tactics.



Facing Bram, she leaned across the table. “What happens if Ice falters and loses this challenge because he had insufficient energy?”



“He won’t.” Bram ground his jaw.



“But if he did, what would happen?”



Sabelle knew the answer already, but wanted to hear Bram admit it. “Mathias would win the Council seat.”



“He would.” She nodded. “And then … ?”



Bram stared into his coffee cup, lifted a shoulder. “No one knows for certain.”



“But we can guess, can’t we? At best, he’ll ramrod policies through using Blackbourne, Spencer, and Camden, who are all either corrupt or afraid of their bloody shadows. None of that will benefit magickind. At worst, he’ll start destroying his opposition, likely beginning with you.”



“He won’t succeed.” Fire burned in Bram’s blue eyes.



“You don’t know that.”



“Well, I—”



“You don’t!” she insisted. “And what happens if Mathias loses this battle for the Council? What will he do then?”



Her brother paused, frowned, looked across the table at Ice. “No one knows.”



“But one thing we do know is that he would have to abandon hope of controlling the Council, at least for now. If Ice wins, you’ll have a four-vote majority. If he loses, you’ll have chaos and likely bloodshed. Given the stakes, it seems foolish to merely hope that Ice has enough energy for this fight. You and I know I am the only one who can serve him.”



Bram frowned, gritted his teeth.



“I will prevail,” Ice vowed.



She reached out to him and grabbed his hand. “You’ll want to, but consider that Mathias can’t do anything to harm me, not with so many Councilmen looking on.”



“Don’t be certain of that,” rumbled a new voice from the doorway.



Sabelle looked up to find Shock standing with arms crossed over his chest, decked out in his usual leather, sunglasses, and bad attitude.



“Who the devil let you in here?” Ice exploded from his seat.



Sabelle stayed him with a light touch to his arm. “I did. I rang him earlier—”



“Are you trying to help Mathias?” Bram’s voice boomed off the cavern walls. “Tell him where we’re hiding now that he’s destroyed my house?”



“Piss off!” she shouted. “I’m looking for help where I can.”



“I don’t have much for you,” Shock said. “You can count on Mathias having a plan and discounting the rules, if need be.”



“Exactly. Which is why I think we need to be smart and prepared.”



“Who’s to say that he won’t take every word you say back to Mathias?” Bram stood. “How do you know Shock isn’t a traitor?”



Shock shrugged. “You don’t. But I can hear in your thoughts that you and Ice have discussed the challenge and battle tactics all night. You think you’re prepared. Don’t be surprised if he does something … unpredictable.”



“Which is why I think we should be prepared to do the same,” Sabelle added.



“I don’t trust you.” Bram growled at Shock.



“I don’t care.” Shock turned from him, then looked at Ice. “If you want to emerge from this alive, don’t come prepared to fight. Come prepared to fight dirty.”



Shock turned and headed for the door when Bram lunged at the mysterious warrior’s back. “Whose bloody side are you on? Why come here at all, unless it’s to spy on us for Mathias?”



“Do you really have time to worry about my motives?” Shock shot back, then headed for the door without another word.