Chapter Thirty

Rhys woke by degrees. Had he been dreaming? He hoped not. For a moment he’d felt Luka in his heart and mind. Joined with him. It had been…amazing. The power…

It thrummed through him still, fire and energy and joy, overwhelming. But there was something else, a tension in the room. He rolled to his back, peering at the ceiling as he tried desperately to clear his mind of a lingering fog.

He’d been wounded, he remembered now, stabbed in the shoulder by his brother. He struggled to sit up, the blankets falling to his waist, and swung his legs over the side of the couch. Luka stood in the center of the room with Ravan and Tarian, and a cold dread crept over him. This was it. Aethan and Lorin were coming, with Rhys weakened when Luka needed him the most.

Clenching his teeth, he pushed up from the couch, and swallowed a moan as pain radiated from his shoulder. He swayed, and closed his eyes against the swell of dizziness, hoping it passed swiftly. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He gulped air, pushed the pain aside, and stumbled forward a few steps, but had to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling.

He sensed Ravan’s ward then, thrumming in the air as Aethan attacked it. Rhys had felt the bite of Aethan’s power often enough to recognize the dark malignancy that ate at light and hope. The air grew taut, a pulled bowstring, then snapped, the ward was failing. Ravan made a strangled sound of pain but recovered, the three of them spreading out to face the door. Rhys rounded the table, desperate to join them, when something smashed into the door, the crack of wood resounding in the small room. Silence settled, fraying Rhys’s nerves.

The fire snapped, making him jump. Another crash at the door and it splintered, falling away in chunks of heavy wood. Aethan stepped over the pile, arrogant, assured, though Lorin took a moment to shove the boards aside before joining him. Rhys sucked in a breath. Lorin’s face was battered, hardly recognizable, dark bruises circling both eyes and his jaw, scratches scoring his neck. The attack had been vicious, brutal, done in a fit of uncontrollable rage. Punishment.

Lorin stood to Aethan’s left and slightly behind him, a position of servility, his place with his father. Unexpectedly, Rhys’s heart contracted, hurting for a half brother he had despised and feared, and now pitied. He willed Lorin to look at him and was surprised when he raised his head and met Rhys’s gaze, his eyes stormy with misery and shame.

“Lorin,” he whispered hoarsely and held out his hand.

Lorin shuddered and took an involuntary step toward him, but stopped, confusion sweeping his face. Rhys wanted to go to him, but Aethan’s cruel laughter froze him in place.

“You will hold your ground, Lorin.” Aethan gave him a scathing look. “You had your chance and failed, miserably. It’s my fault. You always disappoint me. Why had I expected anything different on this occasion?”

A dark flush stained Lorin’s face, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, though Rhys caught the flash of anger in his eyes. His brother clenched a hand around the knife hilt at his belt and Rhys had the sudden thought Aethan was treading on perilous ground without being aware of it.

“You should go, Aethan. You have no business here,” Luka put in and Aethan’s attention snapped to him. Luka had sounded calm, though energy surged under the surface of his words in a twisting coil, waiting to spring forth. How did Aethan not feel it? Or perhaps he did, but his hunger for power had gone beyond reason. There was that terrible light in his eyes…

Aethan curled his lips into a cold smile. “Give me the Well, witch. I will not ask you twice.”

“Don’t be a fool, Aethan. You cannot wrest it from me without great damage to yourself.”

A cock of the head. “Truth, Luka. But what of the child?” Aethan flicked a hand, and instantly Tarian made a strangled sound and clutched at his throat, eyes widening in terror as if he couldn’t draw breath. He dropped heavily to his knees, grasping for Ravan’s tunic. Ravan reached for him, but Lorin was the swifter, a knife flashing in his hand as he lunged forward and slammed the hilt against the side of her head. She crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.

“Kill her,” Aethan commanded dispassionately.

Lorin hesitated, indecision sweeping his face.

Aethan turned on him with a snarl, vibrating with instant rage, “I said kill her! Fool! Useless offal. You insist on defying me, first with Rhys and now this whore. Get from my sight.” He darted a look at Rhys, eyes wild. “Perhaps I will take your brother instead. The better son. Prettier, who doesn’t go limp at my touch.” He ran a contemptuous glance over Lorin. “You are less than nothing. Go.”

Lorin paled, bewildered, in pain, lost without the bindings of Aethan’s power. “Father…” He met Rhys’s compassionate gaze. “What do I…”

“Come to me—”

“Ha!” Aethan’s scornful laugh cut off Rhys’s words. Lorin flinched, knuckles whitening around his knife hilt as Aethan’s hateful words dripped poison into the tense silence. “You think anyone could want you after the things you beg me to do to you, your own father? The way you moan and writhe at my touch? Depravity. You’ve fucked your brother—” He snapped a command. “On your knees, cur. The only place you belong.”

Lorin made a strangled sound, a mixture of fury and anguish, and swung the knife at Aethan. Power crackled instantly in the air, and several things happened at once, as they often did with magic in play. Aethan flung up his hands to ward off the knife just as Luka moved, a wave of energy surging from him toward Aethan. Aethan was the quicker, power slamming into Lorin, sending him flying back against the wall with a terrible crunch of bone. He swung to Luka, hands outstretched. Their power collided, Luka stumbling back as Aethan stepped forward.

Rhys caught Luka in his arms. Already weakened from the torturous day, Luka swooned under the crushing attack, and Rhys could do nothing but watch in helpless horror as Aethan reached for him, his gaze frantically searching for any weapon at hand.