by S. D. Grimm
He started walking up the hill.
“Ethan?” She ran to keep up with him.
He stopped and faced her. “If he won’t go, I will. I have to protect Ryan, Chloe. He’s my brother, too.”
“I know.” She grabbed his shirt in her fists. “You can’t go. Not alone.”
“Chloe.”
“No, Ethan. Please talk to Logan first. We’ll save Ryan, but Logan will let us take an army or something. He’ll—”
“Okay.” He patted her hand. In truth, it didn’t matter what Logan would say. Ethan was going after his brother no matter what. If Belladonna could feel where he was, he’d take the fight right to her.
“Don’t you dare brush me off, Ethan. I will come with you whether you approve or not.”
“I will not lose another sister.”
She cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not your sister.” She stormed ahead of him.
He sighed and followed. Logan stood with a woman who looked very much like Melanie and Serena. She must be Rebekah.
Rebekah’s hands flew to her mouth. “Ethan,” she whispered.
She recognized him?
Logan followed her. “How could you—?”
“I would know this face anywhere. It’s yours, but younger.” She smiled at Logan. “With my eyes.” She extended her hand toward Ethan.
He tucked his chin, backing away from her. She stopped.
Serena came up beside him. “She tells the truth, Ethan. She’s our mother.”
Tears dripped from Rebekah’s eyes as Serena embraced her.
When Serena stepped back, she smiled and opened her arms for Ethan. Gratefully, he hugged her. His sister. It felt right.
Rebekah moved closer, cautiously. “The last time I held you, you were so small. But never helpless.”
Ethan let her hug him. As soon as she did, he wrapped his arms around her, and it felt natural. Ethan glanced at Logan; it would be easy and difficult at the same time to think of him as his own father.
Logan chuckled. “I should have known, kid.”
Ethan shrugged.
Logan put a hand on his shoulder, and Ethan caught sight of Jayden, standing beside a tree, listening on the outskirts. Her head tipped up and she stared at him, looking so small and unsure.
Jayden.
He moved toward her, but she practically shrunk behind the tree. Doubt slowed his footsteps. Hadn’t she been clear that she loved him? Not exactly. She’d never admitted it. His heartbeat quickened as he remembered their first kiss. She had not been clear about anything.
He reached her and pressed his palm against the tree she hid behind. His hand aware of every feeling, his body aware of the air between them.
Jayden’s eyes slowly met his. “You’re . . . not my brother?”
He laughed and it sounded foreign to his ear.
All he wanted to do was touch her. Taste her lips on his again. “You’re hiding.”
“I—I’ve been thinking a lot.”
“About?”
She nodded toward the circle of people still hugging and laughing tearfully, and Chloe standing all alone. He had to find a way to go after Ryan.
“About what Quinn said.” Jayden paused, and her gaze darted to the ground.
Ethan placed his finger under her chin. How easily she looked at him. Her eyes were so vulnerable. His heart swelled. If he let her go, would she return to him? “Hey, don’t worry. No pressure from me, ever. I don’t care about silly traditions. You choose who you want.”
“Traditions.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were the brightest, boldest blue. “Thank you, Ethan.”
He swallowed and dropped his hands to his sides. “All I want is for you to be happy.”
Her lips parted and she stared at him. Her eyes glistened. She closed the distance between them, and her body heat pressed against him. Gently, she linked her hands behind his neck.
Did they have to be so incredibly soft?
A smile formed on her face. “Ethan, I’ve loved you since you pledged to protect me.”
His heart hitched on a beat. “You . . . ?”
She slid her hand up the back of his neck, sending shivers all over his body. His pulse pounded as she pulled him closer. His arms had somehow made it around her. She tilted her chin up and leaned toward him. His lips met hers. And he tasted her, felt her, breathed her. She hugged him tighter. There wasn’t space between them, but she kept nudging his body closer to hers. Did she sigh? Creator in heaven. How he had ever believed Jayden was his sister was beyond him.
“Ethan!”
Chloe’s voice snapped him out of everything, and he let go of Jayden reluctantly. She stepped back, as breathless as he, and her lips were bright red. Her cheeks flushed. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and her eyes sparkled.
Chloe tugged his shirt, and he spun to face her, leaning his arm on the tree and hoping she caught his glare.
She stared at him, eyes wide and wounded, and trembled. He softened his expression.
“Ryan.” Her voice shook.
He touched her shoulder briefly, then walked past her and toward Logan. Jayden and Chloe followed.
“The Mistress went to the palace,” Rebekah said.
“How can you be sure?” Logan asked.
“That’s where everything Idla prepared is. The army, the potions, the spells. The Mistress will go there to regain her strength.”
“Then we need to stop her before she gets stronger,” Ethan said. “We have to go to the palace. We need the Wielder. And we have to rescue Ryan.”
Logan held out his hand as if to stop Ethan from rushing into things blind. “We still need the fourth Deliverer.”
“Logan, Ryan won’t last—”
“Where was he sent?” Rebekah asked at the same moment Ethan started pleading for his brother’s life.
Logan placed his hand on Ethan’s shoulder, then he turned his attention to Rebekah. “The fourth was sent to Nivek. With the Gray family. Quinn doesn’t know—”
“Grays?” Chloe’s voice was soft in the open air.
Logan turned to her, his hand on Ethan’s shoulder tensing. “You know them?”
Eyes wide, Chloe slid her hand into her dress pocket and retrieved a small journal. The leather binding was barely holding it together. She handed it to Logan.
He took the book, his gaze on Chloe’s unwavering expression. He passed his hand over the worn leather cover and opened it. Ethan peered in. The handwriting inside was that of a person not yet familiar with a pen; the letters were large and sloppy.
Chloe’s unsteady finger drew his attention to a drawing nestled in the front pocket of the inside cover. “My father handed me my mother’s dress when he told me to take my sisters and run. I didn’t know it was her dress right away. It was wrapped around the fruits and bread he gave me. But I found that in the pocket.”
Logan took the sketch gingerly. And Ethan’s heart squeezed. A handsome father and a pretty mother, a babe in her arms, and a young girl, clutching her mother’s dress in one hand and her father’s finger in the other. A pretty family. A happy family. A family he knew.
“I was five,” Chloe said. “I remember holding still for such a long time.” Her eyes met Logan’s. “Turn it over.”
He complied. In a delicate hand, the names were written on the back:
Thomas Gray wife Jane Gray and children Chloe and Ryan.
“It’s the only reason I knew what our last name was before father changed it and we moved. He was always changing our last name when we moved.” Chloe’s voice was soft and dry. “Ryan is the only one without red hair. The only one without green eyes. He’s taller than my father ever was.” She paused and looked at Ethan. “Father told Ryan to take Jayden and leave. He knew how important both of them were, didn’t he?”
Logan handed the journal back to her. He rubbed his hands over his face. “This whole time?” Anger grated his words. “I
had all of them! Drawn to their Protectors, she’d said. All the paths were shown to me, and I was blind.”
“Ryan?” Jayden stepped closer. “Ryan is my brother?”
“Ryan,” Serena said his name softly.
“I had him under my protection, and now he’s in the palace!” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. “How am I supposed to get him out of there without starting a war? We’re not ready to—”
“Don’t stall the war.”
Logan turned at the sound of Kara’s voice.
The assassin stood there, arms crossed and hip thrust out. “The Mistress has been planning her escape for a long time, and as one of her trusted employees, I know quite a bit about her plans.”
Ethan unsheathed his sword and rounded on Kara. She moved on his advance, but Jayden stood between them.
She faced Kara. “Tell us.”
“You can’t trust her.” Rebekah stared at Kara as if she’d seen a ghost.
Kara shot Rebekah a grin. “So quick to trade loyalties?”
“You were never on my side.”
“Really? How did you get out of the palace?”
“Connor—”
“Pushed you out a window?”
Rebekah’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s right.” Kara crossed her arms. “Thea told him to do that. You got out because of her. Franco killed my sister. I want him dead.”
“I’ll tell you if she lies.” Serena walked up to Kara and looked into her eyes.
“All right.” Logan widened his stance. “Tell us what you know, assassin.”
Kara offered a petite smile. “The Mistress gave Idla the power to taint hearts and make an army. They are in the palace. She put poison into their veins and used a potion to bind their blood to the poison. They all bowed to her will because she spelled them and used a tool to control them. Franco has this tool now. He calls them the Black Blood Army and most of them are young. Could you fight them, Logan? Knowing they could be saved?”
“How?” Ethan sheathed his sword.
“The answers to reversing the spell are in the palace.” Kara shrugged. “If you want to win, strike now before her power has returned, before her army is at full strength. Go in, get the last Deliverer, and then be ready to strike. You know the prophecies: A sorceress will come with power to destroy all the Creator has built. She’ll break the land and the people’s hearts and bring death to those who’d oppose her. But hope will be found when the Deliverers rise through fire, through ash, and heal the heart of the land. Through blazing fire and torrent of rain, the forest shall fall and rise again.”
Jayden cocked her head. “I didn’t know that last part.”
Kara smirked. “Maybe you should read more.”
A twinge shot through Ethan’s chest. “Belladonna will know we’re coming.”
The burn in his chest wasn’t just from Belladonna’s scar. Everyone he loved was now in danger.
Chapter 13
Destroyer
Connor stood in the middle of the moonlit meadow in his wolf form and breathed in. His power tainted the air. Zapped beneath his skin. Begged to be set free. To destroy.
His wolf howl had hopefully scared away all the creatures in the area. He bowed his head. Closed his eyes. And felt the force fill him. It trickled into his paws at first, then flooded his senses. Fiery and electric. A rushing wave or a swirling funnel cloud. Too painful to hold in for long.
Still, he held tight until he could hold back no more, then he opened his eyes and stared at the decaying tree on the other side of the meadow.
Force seeped out of him and slammed into the tree. The ground screamed and the tree cried out. Then silence. Nothing but dust and shards of dead bark and the barren meadow. The whole earth between him and the tree was scorched and dry. Dead.
A wasteland.
And he fell to the ground, exhausted.
Two small eyes stared back at him. A tiny creature staggered toward him—young and innocent—and dying.
Oh no. He nuzzled the little fox cub with his nose, and it whimpered as it burrowed into him. Why did they follow him? All the creatures were drawn to him, and when he used his power someone always died. As the last pulse of breath left the kit’s lungs, hot tears dripped over Connor’s muzzle.
He could never use his full power. Never.
“You should eat something.”
Connor didn’t look up from the book in his lap as Madison entered his room. She crouched near him, and he smelled fresh bread. And fruit. His stomach begged him to eat. When he didn’t reach for the bread, she held it over the book.
It really did smell good.
He took some and looked up at her. “Thank you.”
Her eyes opened wide and she sat back.
“What is it?”
She shook her head and stared, mouth agape. “Your eyes . . .”
“What about them?”
“They seem . . . hotter? Is that the right way to put it? They look, reddish. Like heated gold.”
He slid the book off his lap slowly, then rushed to the mirror. Red. Not good. Never good. Please not red. He looked in the mirror.
“It’s probably lack of sleep. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her voice trailed him.
The whites of his eyes were red all right, but Madison wasn’t imagining it. She couldn’t have been. How would she know? Sure enough, there it was. A sliver of red leaked away from the irises, leaving them golden and peculiar. Nothing that belonged in a normal human being. He slumped against the doorframe, head in his hand. Red eyes meant his power was growing. He didn’t have much time.
“Connor, I think you should rest. Maybe get some . . .”
He looked up to where Madison sat on the floor, hands around an open book. The same one he’d just been reading. Her fingers didn’t curl around the edges of the cover; her palms were open, as if she wished the book would take free will and jump off of her lap. Yet her eyes remained glued to the pages. What had he been read—oh. Oh no.
He stood, remembering the forgotten bread in his hands. It was warm now. Not still warm. Warm again. Because he’d made it warm. Just like he’d let his eyes glow red.
And now Madison was about to put the pieces together.
Her face scrunched up, as if the details on the pages disgusted her. As if she couldn’t imagine anyone being capable of the evil described in that chapter. He closed his eyes. Hot against his eyelids. He breathed. The power crackled below the surface, but he wouldn’t be able to unleash its true fury. Not until he’d made contact with the Whisperer.
At first, he’d thought that meant he should stay away from her forever.
A Wielder’s powers are his burden.
The book had spoken true, but he could keep the burden small as long as he never touched the Whisperer and completed the circle.
But now? Now he felt that if he didn’t touch her soon, his power would rip him apart trying to free itself. The small fits and bursts he’d let out weren’t enough anymore. If the circle didn’t complete, it would fry him alive.
He opened his eyes, and Madison still leaned over the book. This time her fingers curled around it. Not in ownership, in disbelief. In disagreement that the Creator would make such a creature.
There is a time for peace and a time for war. A time for growth and a time for death. A time to heal and a time to wound.
To wound.
Wound.
Connor crushed his eyes closed and saw the lifeless eyes of that trusting fox. “Madison?” His voice cracked.
“Did you read this?” Her words rushed out on a breath.
He knelt next to her. “Many times.”
“Many?” She looked up at him. At his golden eyes.
He saw the rhetorical question on her face: How could the Creator make such a monstrosity? She sat back, and the book thumped onto the floor between them. Her mouth opened.
Breathe. Please.
Air darted into her lungs. “Oh.” She pitched forward and hug
ged him.
Hugged? He wrapped his arms around her.
“You’re the Wielder?”
He nodded against her shoulder.
“Connor.” She slipped back from him and smiled. “The Creator chose such a kind-hearted person to be his weapon.”
Kind-hearted? Kind—? “I’m sorry, what?’
She cocked her head. “You know what a Wielder is capable of, don’t you?”
“Destruction.” His mouth was so dry. “Death bringer, they called him. Why would you call me kind-hearted? Didn’t you read the passage?”
Her hand touched his cheek. “You don’t want to use your powers.”
He jerked back from her. “Of course not.”
“That’s why he chose you. He knew the weight it would be on your heart. Don’t you see? If he’d chosen someone lesser, someone like Franco, or someone bent on revenge, or—Connor, you were chosen because using the power would break your heart for the people, the land. You won’t use them unless you have to.”
He stared at her as her words swam in his head. If he had to open the door of death, it would kill everything in its path. Kill. Destroy. Destruction. Desolation. Death. Wielders were rarely forgiven for what they had to do. They burned books about themselves because if the people knew what they were truly capable of, they would hunt them as soon as they were born and kill them.
That was why he had to go through life alone.
Lone wolf.
Wolf without a pack.
A Wielder’s burden is his own.
Connor stood. “I think you’re right. I could use some air.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” She touched his chest.
He swallowed and stared at her . . . hand. Oh no. Not . . . how had he missed that? Typically he could ignore a girl who started batting pretty eyes his way, and that was enough to stop her advances. Madison—he needed her. Heavens, he liked her. She was a friend. A real one. Like Luc. “Madison.”
She backed away, blinking. “I should have known.”
His skin chilled. “Known what?”
“You’re just a genuine, nice person. Aren’t you, Connor?”
He tried to deny it. Wanted to apologize for not returning her feelings. Opened his mouth to speak, but all he could do was shake his head in denial.
