The past few days had stretched slow and taut, each breath tighter than the last, as he replayed the events in the cave, over and over.
A sharp breeze cut through the cart’s cracks. Castiel shifted, dragging his focus away. He let his head rest against the frame, eyes drifting shut. But behind his lids, Aethonian-blue eyes still stared back at him.
His fists clenched.
It was better this way.
The creak of the wheels shifted—the horses’ steps growing heavier. His brow furrowed faintly. His head tilted, listening. The wind hummed over the dunes, but beneath it, another sound whispered at the edges of his senses.
Hoofbeats. Light, distant, but unmistakable.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. He let his eyes fall shut again, head lolling against the cart’s side.
Perhaps they wouldn’t keep him waiting much longer.
Then, like the snap of bone, an arrow carved through the stillness.
The cart jolted, the force enough to throw him forward as wheels bucked over uneven ground. Horses screamed, reins snapping taut. The sharp ring of steel followed—blade meeting blade in brutal succession, the shouts of men splintering the quiet like glass against a rock.
He didn’t move, only listened.
One. Two. Three. Bodies hit the sand with heavy finality. More followed, each thud a brutal punctuation to the symphony unravelling outside.
His lips curved slightly.
Finally.
By the time the latch clicked, Castiel already knew who it would be.
A slender man filled the doorway, wreathed in the soft glow of dawn. A rapier—slick and dripping—rested against his shoulder, crimson droplets trailing lazily down the crystal to darken the sand beneath his black boots, oddly still gleaming despite the desert trek. Copper curls caught the first light of sunrise, glinting with the deceptive warmth of embers, but his smirk was as chilled as the breeze.
He leaned against the doorframe, letting the moment stretch.
“Well,” he drawled, amusement curling in his tone. “I was hoping they’d put up more of a fight.”
Castiel flexed his wrists uselessly against the ropes, his gaze flicking over the crumpled bodies outside before settling on the man.
“I thought you had better things to do than slaughtering foot soldiers, even Alpha ones,” he said dryly, “Lucen.”
His brother’s smirk widened as he stepped inside, the sword dragging softly against the doorframe.
“Come now,” Lucen murmured, crouching just enough to catch his eye. Castiel barely had time to tense before the blade slid beneath his chin, cold as a winter’s breeze, the steel’s kiss sharp against his skin. He felt the faintest shift as Lucen twisted the hilt, the edge grazing just enough to promise pain.
A thin line of blood beaded along his jaw.
“You’re lucky I came at all, little brother. Some wanted to leave you to your fate.” Lucen’s smirk sharpened. “As did I.”
The sword stung, but he met Lucen’s eyes squarely.
“Thank you for coming,” he intoned.
He lifted his wrists in silent request. The blade moved in a flash—sharp, clean, and the ropes fell away in loose coils.
“You could’ve done that earlier,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders.
“I could have,” Lucen agreed, sheathing his sword with a soft hiss, “but then I’d have missed the entertainment.”
Castiel stepped down from the carriage. The sand shifted beneath his boots, still cool in the early hour.
