With his broad palm hovering possessively at the small of her back, Sorin guided her out of the dining room and down a long hallway. Like the casino a dozen stories below, Ebarron’s mansion fortress was opulent and awe-inspiring. Rare art decorated every wall space and corner. Intricate parquet flooring gleamed beneath her feet.
Sorin led her deeper into the sumptuous Incubus stronghold, his warm hand at her spine generating heat she felt like a brand. They passed a large banquet room filled with other Incubi and several beautiful women, all dressed in sophisticated clothing and conversing in hushed, serious murmurs over a generous spread of food and wine.
Most of the females were Nephilim, Ashayla noted, as more than a few heads turned to look at her in question or surprise as Sorin shuttled her past the open doors without a word of excuse or introduction.
As for the males in the room, they all bore the golden good looks of the Ebarron line, though none seemed quite as commanding a presence as Sorin. A fact that only made sense, considering he was the Master of his House. She wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of Incubi politics, but she’d learned enough here and there to know that each of the nine surviving Houses was ruled by the strongest, most capable male of their line.
Not to mention the most ruthless.
Sorin smoothly guided her along the length of another labyrinthine corridor. No one was in this part of the fortress, and each step seemed to carry them deeper into a world she was unprepared to face. Was he taking her to his bed now? Or did he have some other game in mind?
Ashayla awkwardly cleared her throat. “Where are you taking me?”
His voice was dark velvet beside her. “You’ll see.”
She braced herself as they finally paused in front of a set of ornately carved double doors. The dark wood was emblazoned with the Ebarron griffin and a fluid script written in a language she assumed would date back to the first generations of Incubi, eons past.
Sorin opened the doors without preamble and swung them wide. “After you.”
She glanced into the darkness, confused. Then she heard a soft click behind her as he turned on the switch and light flooded the massive treasure room.
Ashayla whirled on him. “All the rumors say this room is located beneath the casino.”
“Of course they do. Who do you imagine started those rumors?”
His smile was unreadable, somewhere between pride and cautious scrutiny as he gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Ashayla walked inside, not even sure she was breathing as she took in the sight of thousands of rare works of art and sculpture, busts and figures made of precious metals and cases of glittering, priceless jewels. Scores of vibrant tapestries and rolls of parchment scrolls filled another part of the expansive room.
“It’s incredible,” she gasped.
Sorin’s reply was matter-of-fact. “Yes, it is.”
She gaped at him. “It’s an obscene fortune.”
“Yes.”
He started walking ahead of her, heading toward an opened clear case at the far end of the massive collection. When he stopped in front of it, Ashayla glanced down at what it contained and her breath caught in her throat for a different reason.
“Gran’s pendant.”
She’d only seen it a few times when she was child, before her mother pawned it. But she would recognize the tear-shaped, light blue cabochon stone and the modest silver chain anywhere.
It was right there in front of her now. Close enough to touch.
Close enough to take.
Did he mean to give it back to her now?
She looked up at Sorin in question.
If she thought she might find softness in his eyes, that hope vanished the instant her gaze met his. His voice was equally unyielding. “Tell me what this pendant really means to you, Asha.”
“I did tell you, numerous times. It belongs to my gran—”
He made a sound of impatience in the back of his throat. “I don’t think it does. It’s an unusual piece. An unusual stone, if not particularly remarkable. And a chain made of silver? Everyone knows that material is one of the most toxic to the Incubi.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s been in my family for generations. It would still be with us, if my mother hadn’t pawned it. If she hadn’t been…”
“What?”
Ashayla shook her head. When she tried to avoid his gaze, Sorin reached out, his fingertips light under her chin as he guided her eyes back to him. “If she hadn’t been what, Asha?”
“Desperate for money.” The words crept up, bitter as bile. “Desperate for her next fix.”
Sorin frowned. “She was an addict?”
What was the point in trying to deny it now? Her mother was gone, dead long ago. Ashayla nodded. “From before I was born, according to Gran. My mother might have been Nephilim, but she had her own kind of demons inside her. Gran said my mother was a little mad, even before her addictions took hold of her.”