Page 9 of Bottoms Up (Mythic Beast #4)

Ten days later

Dark Haven: Senatus headquarters

The rotunda was silent, save for the hush of air and the weight of waiting.

Though it sat just across the Mississippi line from Memphis, the Senatus headquarters bore little resemblance to anything American.

Polished marble floors gleamed beneath carved wooden ceilings.

Crimson banners draped the walls, interspersed with ancient weapons — not decor, but memory.

Everything here whispered of age, of blood, of rules written long before the founding of this continent.

The chamber was empty but for four figures.

Jupiter stood regal, perfectly still in a charcoal suit and gold-threaded vest that might’ve been looted from the Louvre. His dark eyes revealed nothing.

The Prince of Darkness leaned against a marble column, boots crossed at the ankle, clearly amused by the whole affair.

Deep, ruby red eyes burned under dark lashes.

A blood-red dress shirt tucked into inky crocodile-skin pants that clung indecently to thighs and an impressive package.

Moments later, he was sprawled barefoot in a high-backed, ornate chair that hadn’t been there before — all coiled elegance and deliberate arrogance.

Even without a shapeshifter’s nose, Kirsten could scent the smoky brimstone still curling off the Prince of Darkness’s skin, but she’d been to Hell and back more than once, so she didn’t cringe or wince.

She’d learned the art of the poker face from her vampire friends over the years, so she stood quiet, poised, unreadable.

Her red hair coiled into a bun at the base of her skull, her pantsuit flowed around her in muted earth tones, and her deep forest heels were planted firmly on the marble floor.

Nathan stood behind her and just off to the side — close enough to protect, distant enough he couldn’t be accused of hovering.

He was still as stone, dressed in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit over a black shirt, presence sharp as claws.

His gaze swept the room like a lion surveying his territory: calm, calculating, carnivorous. Power simmered just under the surface.

Power radiated from every direction, sunlight and smoke. Yin and yang.

They all waited for the fifth to arrive.

No one moved. No one asked his boss where he was. No one offered to retrieve him.

No one wanted to waste a power-play on impatience.

A door at the far end of the room burst open.

Xaephan didn’t walk so much as glide, long legs eating the distance with a lazy grace that made heat gather in places it shouldn’t.

His dark, honey-bronzed skin gleamed under the lights, obsidian hair pulled back from high cheekbones, every step coiled in sensual threat.

But it was his eyes that changed the air, flickering from molten gold to soul-snaring brown, laced with shadows of the darkest fire, like he already owned every sin in the room.

He wore a loincloth, wielded like a weapon he knew damned well would add to the painful arousal of everyone in the room. The Lord of Lust’s powers affect everyone — wanted or unwanted, the body responds.

He stopped in the center and focused on Kirsten.

“Chère, it’s good to see you in the flesh again.”

She shook her head and gave him a wry smile. “I wish I could say I don’t feel the same, but we’d both know it wasn’t true.”

“You spoiled all my plans by becoming the Erlkonigin. What a pity.”

Kirsten turned to Jupiter. “I think we’re all here?”

Jupiter nodded and stepped forward. “You’ve made your demands. We’ve reviewed them. Here is our counteroffer.”

Xaephan’s mouth curled, no longer his habitual smirk. “Imagine my surprise,” he said, voice velvet and smoke, his Cajun drawl caressing every syllable. “I was promised a negotiation. Instead, I find a tribunal.”

“No one promised you anything,” Jupiter said, voice and expression flat.

The Prince of Hell chuckled, already half-reclined on his conjured throne. “Well, I did say it would be fun.”

Kirsten shifted forward without moving closer to him. “We have terms.”

Xaephan’s gaze raked her slowly — not lewd, but invasive, appraising — like his eyes could strip her down and catalog her weaknesses. “You and I can discuss terms anytime you like, Chère.” His attention slid to Nathan. “Still letting others speak for you?”

“Still using lust as a deflection?” Nathan replied. Calm. Icy. Arctic. “Try again.”

Xaephan’s smile didn’t shift, but the fire behind his eyes flared. “I’m here for my son.”

“Your son —,” Nathan paused as if to regroup, glanced at Kirsten, and back to Xaephan. “Killian remains where he is.”

“That,” Xaephan snapped, “was not the agreement.”

“There was no agreement other than a time and place to meet, and an agenda,” said Jupiter. “Your son tried to kill someone protected by no fewer than seven sovereigns — including you .”

“He was manipulated.”

Jupiter lifted his brows. “He’s lucky to be alive after so many attempts on Kirsten’s life.”

“I can contain him,” Xaephan bit out. “It won’t happen again.”

“She survived him,” Kirsten said softly. “He’s only alive because…” She shook her head and trailed off.

Xaephan started to respond, but the Prince of Darkness raised a hand, lazy and theatrical. “Enough. You want your son, they want Silver left alone. The torc is presumed dead, and even if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t hand it over.”

“To be precise,” Nathan said, “the coin is now a torc without sentience, no longer in play, and Silver is off-limits for the next one hundred and forty-four years unless she initiates contact.”

Power rippled off Xaephan like a heatwave. The air shimmered, threatening combustion. “Return Killian to me, and hand over Freya’s necklace in whatever form you’ve bastardized it into.”

“That portion of Freya’s necklace is dead,” said Jupiter, echoing Nathan from earlier.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jupiter said coolly. “You aren’t getting it whether you believe me or not.”

“Or Silver,” Nathan added. “That door is closed.”

Xaephan turned to him slowly, no longer smiling. His voice dropped, thick and lethal. “Silver is destined to be mine. It’s only a matter of time.”

“She never was.”

“And what is she to you, Lion King?”

“Protected.” His voice dropped, cold and final. A single eyebrow lifted. “And untouchable.”

Silence stretched.

The Prince leaned forward. “Let’s talk trade.”

Xaephan didn’t look away from Nathan. “I’m listening.”

“The Senatus has… options ,” the Prince said, lazy and dangerous.

“A few mythologicals scheduled for auction. Nasty little bastards with sharp teeth, bad attitudes, and poor decision-making skills. The kind who make excellent slaves in Hell once properly broken and trained.” A shrug.

“Or pets, should they have no useful skills.”

“One high-value creature and eleven mundane,” Jupiter said. “A dozen souls.”

Xaephan’s eyes flicked to him. “For what?”

“Some promises from you and your boss,” Nathan said. “You walk away. No contact with Silver for the next one hundred forty-four years — no emissaries, no loopholes, no visits in dreams.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

Jupiter’s voice turned to granite. “Then your son dies a painful death, for starters.” He stepped to the table, unfurled a thick parchment across it.

“In exchange for your non-interference with Silver for the next one hundred and forty-four years, and acknowledgment of the torc’s destruction, you will receive the aforementioned dozen beings from the Senatus’ containment vaults — seven wolves, a bobcat, a buffalo, two bears, and a basilisk. ”

The room went still while Xaephan considered the offer.

“Creatures slated for auction,” Xaephan said at last.

“They are,” Kirsten confirmed.

His gaze cut to her, then back to Jupiter. “There’s a phoenix. Add it. And the two strapping eagles. Make it fifteen.”

“The phoenix and eagles won’t survive Hell,” Kirsten said, and then gave a tiny shake of her head. “One of the eagles raped a young deer shifter — he can go, but I won’t send beings into madness if their crimes don’t warrant it.”

“Such a softy,” Xaephan’s voice was velvet and venom, equal parts amusement and derision. “You’d save them and put your friend at risk?”

“Silver would be livid if she found out I sent two people into madness when their offenses don’t justify it.”

Fire flared in his eyes for an instant before vanishing, replaced by charm. “The Concilio has a hydra in their dungeons, about to go on the auction block. Add it, along with the eagle you agreed to.”

Kirsten and Nathan couldn’t promise anything from the Concilio dungeons. The room was silent. Everyone was still. Even the air stopped moving.

The hush stretched for minutes, until Jupiter finally said, “We can make that happen, but we need guarantees you won’t break the contract.”

“My word will have to do,” said Xaephan.

“How about this,” Nathan said, “if you break the contract, Killian dies a painful death, and your boss locks you in his innermost dungeon for twenty-one years. That’s the limit your office can survive unattended, correct?”

“One more thing,” Kirsten said. “Sweetcheeks here will owe one favor to whoever Xaephan trespasses against, should his underling step out of line.”

The Prince of Hell gave her a conspiratorial wink and shook his head.

“Sure, why not. I’ll have his ass for twenty-one years, a small price to pay for having the Lord of Lust at my beck and call for a couple of decades.

” He looked at Xaephan. “Go against me in this, show your ass by flaunting the rules, and you’ll have a hell of a time in the depths of my dungeon.

Twenty-one years. Inner circle. No conjugal visits. ”

Xaephan blinked, uncharacteristically rattled. “You’d put yourself in debt?”

The Prince of Hell drummed his fingers against the ornate armrest, his voice suddenly low and deep, lacking the humor and charisma of earlier.

“We get along because we stick to our own sections of Hell, but the next time I’m dragged to a mediation because you can’t follow the fucking rules, you may find yourself in my dungeon before the damned thing even starts, and you’ll arrive at the tribunal in chains of hellfire. ”

Xaephan’s hands curled into fists.

And then, slowly, he smiled. “One hundred forty-four years,” he said, voice silky. “And what if she comes to me?”

“Then it’s her choice,” Jupiter said. “But if you so much as shadow her dreams before that…”

“Chains,” the Prince purred. “Steel or hellfire. Dealer’s choice.”

Xaephan stepped back, tilted his head, and nodded.

“I accept.”

Jupiter retrieved a heavy document from thin air, tan parchment with gold writing. Xaephan grew a claw on his thumb, pressed it into the tip of his pointer finger, and signed his name in blood. The Prince of Darkness followed, with Jupiter last, as witness.

Xaephan turned to Kirsten. “Someday, Chère. You are destined to be mine — just like your little pet hermaphrodite.”

Nathan gave him an insouciant look, as only a cat can manage. “Not likely.”

* * * *

The Tennessee River, a few miles downstream from Chattanooga

Silver took a long sip of wine and leaned against Julian’s shoulder, letting the breeze on the top deck of the Southern Belle tangle through her hair. Lights shimmered off the dark water below, and the call of a saxophone drifted lazy and low from a deck below.

Julian handed her another wing, the good kind — spicy, crispy, perfectly messy. His fingers brushed hers, cool against her warm skin.

She smiled, licked sauce from her thumb, and leaned into his side.

Blissfully unaware a battle had just been fought for her safety.