“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Trevor’s voice sparked a note of frustration in Aidan’s chest. The man standing before him didn’t even have the nerve to sound angry. He just sounded defeated. No—worse—he sounded disappointed. Bloody Water mages and their bloody emotions.
“I had a bad dream,” Aidan replied.
Even though Aidan was American, his voice had taken on the semblance of a Scottish brogue from three years of being stranded here. Too much time hanging out with Trevor. Too much time shagging Trevor.
As he stared stoically at his co-commander, however, he knew that there wasn’t such a thing as too much when it came to that. Trevor towered above him—not that that was surprising, since most people towered above Aidan’s 5’5” stature. Years of using Water might have paled Trevor’s skin, but his eyes held no watery softness.
“This isn’t a joke, Aidan,” Trevor said.
“And that’s why I’m not laughing.”
Trevor’s room was next to his. He had been there, at Aidan’s door, moments after the fire—and Vincent’s screaming—had stopped. One glance at the ash and destruction, at the body still smoldering on the floor. One glance, and Trevor’s hand had gone to his mouth in horror. Aidan would never forget the way Trevor’s eyes had flickered from the body back to him. He would never forget the low, shocked tone in Trevor’s voice when he’d dragged Aidan back to his office.
Aidan wondered if someone had been sent to clean up the mess, or if this whole incident was just between the two of them.
Something in Trevor’s face told Aidan that this wasn’t going to be swept under the rug. Although whoever was left in my room could easily be swept under a rug. He bit down the thought and suppressed a giggle.
“You killed a fellow Hunter,” Trevor growled.
“I didn’t do anything,” Aidan replied. Despite himself, his words shook. Not out of emotion, but out of dawning truth: the Sphere of Fire had opened unbidden in his sleep. One could only access the Spheres with concentration. Even after being attuned to Fire three years ago, he’d only been able to use the elemental power by reaching for it. He’d never heard of a Sphere opening on its own.
As if it had a will. A consciousness.
He could only imagine what sort of sentience a Sphere like Fire would have. The thought filled him with awe.
“You expect me to believe Fire opened on its own. Killed on its own.” Trevor’s voice rose and grumbled with anger, his fists trembling. “Vincent is dead because of you!”
Aidan took a step back.
He’d seen Trevor sad. He’d seen Trevor frustrated. They’d led armies together and suffered as many defeats as they had victories. But he had never seen Trevor struck so suddenly by rage.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Aidan said. He hated how his voice sounded small. Hated how he felt like he no longer had the upper hand. It didn’t suit him.
Instinctively, he wanted to reach for Fire, wanted to coax the Sphere to life from the embers in his chest. If only for the strength. If only for the assurance that it was—and would always be—there.
That would definitely not be a wise idea.
“You’re right,” Trevor said. He stepped back. Leaned heavily against the desk. “It’s my fault.”
“Because you’re the one who sent him in to wake me up?”
The moment he said it, he knew he’d pushed Trevor a centimeter too far. Those strong eyes widened, fists slammed back against the desk.
“Because I knew you were dangerous!” Trevor yelled. “And yet, I kept you around anyway.”
Aidan had pushed him too far, but that didn’t keep Aidan from pushing his co-commander further. He hated pity. He hated self-deprecation. Both were weaknesses and he refused to empathize with those who wouldn’t fight.
“Then I guess his death is on your conscience,” Aidan said.
The worst part was, that did the trick. Trevor practically deflated against the desk, and Aidan felt the tables turn.
“I should have you executed for this.”
“Like hell,” Aidan said. “Scotland’s army follows my lead. Kill me, and you’ll never overtake Calum.”
Trevor didn’t say anything, not at first. The guy stood there, staring at his feet, and Aidan knew he wasn’t just thinking about the truth in Aidan’s words. They were so, so close to overthrowing the Howl that ruled Scotland. Calum was one of the Kin, one of the six original Howls that had taken over the world and turned it to shite, and he lived in his castle in Edinburgh like a damned king, ruling over them all.
Aidan had spent the last year devising a way to overthrow the bastard. Trevor wouldn’t toss that away, not when so much was at stake.
But as he stared at his co-commander, Aidan knew that the logic of victory and defeat wasn’t the deciding factor. He could see the faint glow of the Sphere of Water churning in Trevor’s stomach, and that told him everything he needed to know.
Every human carried the five Spheres within them. One for each element—Earth, Water, Fire, Air, and Maya—all lined up along the spine, all invisible to the layman unless attuned to a Sphere. To the majority of the population, the Spheres were simply energy centers, vortexes that kept the body and mind functioning.
Then, maybe four years ago, someone had learned how to tap into the Spheres. Had taught mankind how to use the Spheres residing within to manipulate the elements without. A few simple tattoos, a hell of a lot of concentration and willpower, and bam. Magical fucking powers.
The modern miracle, ads proclaimed. The ability to heal any ailment with a touch of Earth. To change weather patterns with Air. To coax crops to grow with Water. To win wars with Fire.
Magic should have been the end to world hunger and poverty.
Obviously, it didn’t take long for mankind to weaponize it.
Cue the creation of monstrous Howls and the Resurrection and the end of civilization. Cue the need for Hunters like him. People trained in magic who could fight back against the evil mages who followed the Dark Lady, and the monsters those necromancers created.
Howls were human, once. But necromancers learned how to tap into the host’s Spheres, how to drain them to the point of exhaustion, and further. To the point where the Sphere didn’t create energy, but consumed it. The process twisted the human host into something otherworldly, a creature craving whatever Sphere had been drained. Howls were just the blanket term for these monsters. Kravens were born of Earth and needed flesh. Bloodlings, Water. Incubi, Fire. And Breathless, Air. So far, no Howl had been born of Maya. Yet.
But there were subtler drawbacks of magic. Case in point: Trevor, who—whenever he used Water—became a mopey pile of emotional rubbish. Aidan knew that his co-commander was drowning in a dozen emotions. Worrying what the others would think. Terrified he’d fail Glasgow’s—and the rest of Scotland’s—population. Wondering if maybe he was the reason Vincent was dead, and maybe it was he who should be executed, rather than Aidan. Trevor felt personally responsible for every bad thing that happened within the Guild.
It was a vicious cycle Aidan knew all too well.
And so, he used it to his full advantage.
“Without me, Glasgow will crumble in a week.” Aidan took a step forward, letting the low cinder of his words fill the space between them. “The soldiers love me. They would die for me. If you kill me, they’ll lose trust. They’ll lose fear. And an army that doesn’t trust and fear its commander is an army destroyed. Would you really let the last hope this country has of survival die out because of one accident?”
Aidan felt his lip curl in victory, even before he let his final words hammer home: “Kill me, and you won’t just have my blood on your hands. You’ll have executed your entire country.”
Trevor swallowed. Hard. And Aidan crossed his arms over his chest. He knew Trevor. He’d be angry and sad and confused, but he would never kill unless absolutely necessary. He would never kill someone he loved.
No. Trevor wasn’t a threat. Aidan just had to let this blow over, so he could figure out what had actually happened in his bedroom that morning. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to question why Fire had done what it had. He didn’t want to mistrust the only thing he had faith in—himself.
But there, lingering in the corners of memory, were traces of a dream that made his breath catch and his heart hammer with fear and need. He knew, somehow, that the two were connected.
Not that he would place any weight in dreams.
“You’re right,” Trevor whispered, breaking Aidan from his thoughts. “I can’t kill you.”
Aidan smiled. He began to turn. He needed to go find a new bedroom, and clothes that didn’t smell like smoke and burnt Vincent.
“But I can’t let you stay.”
Aidan stopped. Confidence flickered.
“You’re dangerous, Aidan,” Trevor said, looking up. “It’s safer for...for everyone if you left.”
“What?”
“I’m exiling you. Leave Glasgow. Leave Scotland.” He made eye contact, and even though Water boiled in Trevor’s gut, his next words were hard as steel and harsh as flame. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“You can’t—”
“I am.”
High-pitched ringing filled Aidan’s ears, and with it, a burn in his chest. Fire wanted to open. Fire wanted to burn this room—no, this whole damn Guild—to the ground. To prove that no one denied Aidan Belmont.
“I gave my life to this Guild, to this bloody country!” The words didn’t feel like his. They were too weak. Too pathetic. “You can’t just force me away.”
“You should have thought of that before murdering a comrade,” Trevor replied. Sadly.
The ringing increased. Fire opened in his chest then, and flames curled around his hands, burned against his knuckles. His mouth opened, but he didn’t hear what he said. He couldn’t hear anything against the ringing, against the char and the burn. He couldn’t feel anything besides anger, the need to make someone pay.
And then, strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. Jerked him around.
“Aidan,” Kianna said. Or maybe mouthed. “Get a hold of yourself.”
He wanted to kill. He wanted to burn Trevor to cinders.
But he couldn’t kill Kianna. Would never.
He shoved her aside and fled.