Page 96 of Anatomy of the Immortal Species

Amelia stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over her hair and face. Viktor’s words about loneliness, love, and vulnerability kept replaying in her mind.

Leaning her back against the cold tiles, she deliberated her choices. She could accept her journey was intended to be a solitary one. After all, life had taken away everyone she had ever cared about. That meant sealing off her heart, clearing her mind of any thoughts that might expose her, and suppressing her body’s desires. It seemed almost feasible, with Mikhail absent.

The other option? Find a way to free Mikhail and fight for his love.

But what would happen when it was time for her to take the ring? Could she persuade him to give it to Ana himself?

Amelia stepped out of the shower, still without a clear decision. She reached for a towel and, out of the corner of her eye, caught sight of something in the mirror.

She froze, eyes widening.

What is that…?

With her back to the mirror, she glanced over her shoulder.

Her entire back, from her neck to the base of her spine, was marked. Two vast wings spread across her shoulder blades. Between them was the snout of a lion. Below, on one side of her spine, was a skull. On the other side, a hand with sharp nails gripped her vertebrae. Further down, a face with vampire fangs beside another, with two contrasting halves. And below, a wolf’s snout. The designs intertwined with intricate details, uniting the various elements into a single, cohesive image – the Council’s tattoo.

But why was it appearing now, months after her joining?

Amelia’s eyes darted back to the mirror, and she recoiled in shock.

Her eyes were silvery-white. And she could see… everything.

36

The human woman on Constantine’s lap wouldn’t be getting the ending she hoped for, despite being his type. Low self-esteem, compensated for with debauched behaviour, unbelieving her luck that she’d landed on his lap. It wasn’t hard to guess her reasoning. She saw a tailored suit, a gold watch, and an expensive bottle of whisky, and believed that selling herself to him would make her feel as valuable as the rest of his possessions.

Yes, she was exactly his type, Constantine mused, stroking her thigh. Women like her weren’t seeking love – they craved validation in the form of material things. Andthat, he could provide. He always reciprocated somehow, whether it was a human or an immortal on his lap, an insecure novice or a haughty superstar.

This one reeked of inexperience. Her mini skirt and the way her fingers clung to him spoke of desperation and a fear of being easily replaced.

Constantine disliked disappointing women, but he had no choice in this case, seeing as the real reason for his presence in this joint had just taken a seat at the bar across from him.

The Tribunal had six cardinals chosen by Presyian and who answered straight to him. They were his executors, often referred to asthe six hands of justice. Their identities were shrouded in secrecy, their real faces hidden behind masks.

After months of digging – and a favourhe’d be repaying for at least a century– Jaguar had uncovered information about oneof them. They called him Mor, and he was one of the elusive six. Who would have guessed his favourite nightclub was in Students’ Town?

And that was how Constantine had ended up here. The brief encounter with the human female was a spur-of-the-moment distraction, something to keep his mind off Diana and the Al-Hatib Tournament while he waited for Mor to appear.

The female licked Constantine’s ear, bringing his attention back to her.

“Let’s do this some other time.” He tapped her thigh and moved her off his lap.

She tried to cling on, her hand reaching for his zipper, but Constantine was already standing. He pulled out a few notes from his wallet.

She rose on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “I would have done it for free.”

Perhaps he’d been wrong about her. The approval she sought wasn’t measured in material things – she wanted attention. But tonight, he wasn’t in the mood to offer anything but money.

“Let it be an apology for your wasted time,” he said, then moved over to the bar.

Constantine took the seat which had just emptied beside Mor and gestured for the bartender to pour him whatever the cardinal was drinking.

“Cheers.” He clinked his glass against Mor’s.

The man gave him a side glance. “Two immortals in a human bar? You know no codex compels us to chat, right?”

Constantine smiled. Mor was a lycanthrope with straight black hair falling over his forehead and dark eyes beneath handsomely shaped black eyebrows. His features had a somewhat boyish, even romantic appearance that clashed with the image of a Tribunal cardinal. In his modern blue jeans and white shirt, he could pass for an average student. Rumour had it Mor wasthe most benevolent of the six, which was why Constantine had spent months tracking him down.