I make the decision then—one that may cost me. I bind her to the bed with what I can find. Scraps of clothing. A scarf. Enough to keep her from harming herself.
I need time to understand what this means, and I know exactly where to find the answer. But there is no time. Not with something coming. I have to face it. Determine what kind of danger we’re in first.
I don’t know if she can hear me, but I speak the words anyway. “This is just so you don’t hurt yourself. I promise I’ll untie you the moment I’m back.”
Dread builds as I stride down the hallway and out of the house. I may not live through what’s coming, so there’s no telling if that’s a promise I can keep.
Something else is at work here, and if I’m going to help her, I need to understand it. I need that damn book. I need to find the crossed-out pages and learn what the mark on her skin means. But before I can do any of that, I have to meet this threat head-on and deal with it.
The moment I step outside, the pressure bears down harder against my own.
I draw on the edges of the forest, then send a wave of power through the trees. A violent gust tears outward, ripping through branches, leaves, dirt, and stone. Like a force of nature, it surges in every direction.
A warning.
Stay the fuck away.
Because this—after everything I’ve already pulled from the god—is the least of what I can do. If it comes any closer, I will level this forest. I will feed every ounce of that power—and everything left in me—into it, until nothing remains but a rotting husk.
If it means protecting her, I’ll take everything this world has to offer.
Calm. Brother. It’s me.
“Pollock?”
Relief rises—only to be smothered by doubt.
This power… I don’t know it. It isn’t his. Which means this could be a trick.
I’ve not seen my brother in many years, and though I’ve searched, we’ve not been able to communicate.
I want to believe what I hear in my mind.
But instinct holds me still.
Also, our history has taught me better than to place too much trust in the bond between us. I did once, and it put me in an early grave.
He appears on horseback, still some distance away, and moves through a break in the trees, leisurely.
On Cali.
In full Horseman regalia.
Under the stain of the moon, he could be mistaken for Kahill at first glance. No longer white, but like everything else around us, he is painted in red.
“Stop right there.”
Cali slows, and he raises his palms. “Peace, Brother.” There’s exhaustion in his voice and the way his shoulders curl forward. It’s as if he’s in pain.
My hands lift as well without thought, power gathering at the ready, coiling just beneath the surface.
“I said stop. Don’t come any closer.”
“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. Is that any way to greet your twin?”
“Show yourself.”
He lowers his hood until it falls back against his shoulders. The metal mask beneath it remains in place.
