Could he do this? Could he strike down the male who’d sired him?
Less than a month ago, even two weeks ago, he might not have dared.
But the world would be better off without males like Arran Zephryus. Arran didn’t care about his family’s wants or wishes. He had one goal in life: capture as much power as he could for himself and ensure everyone who bore his name got in line to maintain it.
Cael had barely been able to stomach it when he thought he had no other options.
But now, hedidhave options.
And he was ready to fucking exercise them.
Arran laughed. “What are you going to do about it,boy? Kill me?”
“With the greatest pleasure.” Cael snapped his gaze toward the dagger in his father’s hand. “And with my bare hands. No weapons. No back-up.” Viktor and Tomas, having dispatched the last two surviving members of the Cynn Drakan on the field, ambled over. “Just you and me. You always preferred fists anyway, right?”
Arran sniffed, wiping the blood from his nose on the back of his wrist, then held up a hand to halt Viktor and Tomas. “You want to wrestle with your father, huh? Will that make you feel better? Make you feel big and tough for your little human slut? You’ve never beenhalfthe male I am. Even before you lost your wing.”
Cael focused on his breathing. He would not let Arran bait him any longer. He’d taken his father’s cruelty to heart too often. Believed it to be the way of the world.
But Xenia had taught him otherwise.
He grinned, a broad, dazzling smile full of joy. Despite the day’s evils. Despite the day’s violence and bloodshed. Despite the daunting road ahead.
Cael smiled, and he laughed.
Then he rushed for his father.
He caught Arran unaware, knocking them both to the ground. Viktor and Tomas stood off to the side, nervous glances bouncing between them. Unsure if they should intervene.
Arran twisted himself on top of Cael, who blocked his face with his forearms as Arran smashed down with massive fists. Cael swiped out his wing, slicing the talon across Arran’s neck and drawing a line of blood.
Arran roared, clapping a hand over the wound, and Cael took advantage of his father’s distraction to buck his hips and throw him off.
Arran shook out his wings and shot Cael a crazed smile. “Got some fight left in you after all. Maybe you’re more like me than I thought.”
“I amnothinglike you,” Cael spat as he tackled his father to the ground.
And beat him bloody.
Cael was a tempest of rage and joy and instinct that Arran could do nothing to counter. One blow delivered for each and every time his father had dared to lay a hand upon him.
Arran’s face was a swollen, pulpy mess as he garbled out a wet laugh beneath his son. “You don’t have the fucking balls to kill me, cripple.”
Cael wrapped his hands around his father’s neck and squeezed. “Wanna bet?”
Arran’s choking gasps severed as a force stronger than a battering ram crashed against Cael’s back.
His brothers dragged him to standing and held his arms behind his back.
“Get off,” Cael yelled, struggling against their hold. “Get off!”
“You’re not worthy of the name Zephyrus,” Tomas hissed. “Father should have ended you as soon as he saw your pathetic wing.”
“A disgrace to our family, to Brachos,” Viktor echoed, ripping Cael’s arm back so violently he might have dislocated it.
Arran staggered upright, wiping the blood out of his swollen eyes, then cocked his arm back and smashed his fist into Cael’s stomach. Cael braced, but it still emptied the breath from his lungs. He would’ve doubled over if Viktor and Tomas hadn’t been holding him upright.
Arran pummeled Cael in the face. Broke his nose, cracked his cheekbone, smashed his jaw. Blood poured from Cael’s nose, his limbs sagging in his brothers’ grip. Arran pulled back for another blow, and Cael spat at his feet, cackling.
