My chest heaved violently. The words kept coming anyway.
“It doesn’t matter that she might have feelings for me!” My hand slammed against my own chest hard enough to hurt. “She’s his Flame.His.”
The humor drained from their faces so fast it was almost painful to watch. Gone were the teasing smiles. Gone were the ridiculous jokes. Now they just looked at me, and somehow that was worse.
Pity, I could fight. Disappointment, I could ignore. But the sadness in their eyes? That nearly gutted me. They were looking at me like a dog who had been abandoned in the freezing rain.
“Fuck,” I muttered, aggressively scrubbing both hands down my face.
I turned away from them, inhaled once through my nose, then forced my shoulders to loosen.
“It’s fine,” I said roughly. “Everything’s fine.”
The lie tasted awful, but I swallowed it down like it was candy before pointing vaguely toward the ceiling.
“Olivia’s with Rack.”
Saying it out loud twisted something sharp beneath my ribs.
“But I saved her,” I added quickly, forcing the words forward like they meant something. “She’s alive. That’s what matters.”
Right?That was a good thing. Focus on that.
I straightened abruptly and pointed toward the blade on the table.
“But what I actually need help with is?—”
I stopped and really looked at the blade. It was moving, not a lot, but just a faint vibration.
It was faint, but definitely moving.
Narrowing my eyes on the table, I stepped toward it, trying to make a statement, when Easton said some shit then went into the backyard.
Behind me, chairs scraped sharply against the floor as my grandfathers crowded closer.
The second they did, the blade vibrated harder. A low hum started filling the room.
I looked between the weapon and the four ancient monsters standing around me.
Their magic, their bloodlines. Of course!
Being the descendants of the originals, their magic was older, stronger, tapped into the original source. Even if most days they used that power for pranks and emotional terrorism.
“Maybe it’s reacting to your magic,” I muttered, leaning closer. “Something purer, maybe. Closer to the original source.”
Nobody answered, and that made me look up. All four of them had gone still, and they were staring at Syris, real fear etched onto their faces.
Syris stared at the blade with disgust, his lips twisting up like this was a personal insult to his existence.
“Where did you get thisvile thing, Calix?”
The words came out measured and low, carrying a strange heaviness. I blinked, trying to make sure this was in fact my grandfather Syris, the over-the-top one who never took anything seriously.
This wasn’t his usual easy going attitude. This was hatred. Strong and immediate.
“Calix.” My head snapped toward him again. His hands hung rigidly at his sides, fingers trembling hard enough that I immediately noticed it. “I asked you a question, young man.”
My spine straightened automatically as I reminded myself that I was a fucking Syndicate boss. I didn’t need to take shit from my grandfather. Crossing my arms, I met his stare head-on.
