He was alive, but barely.
The storm had broken him in the way only his own power could.
Dax was already beside him, kneeling amid the rubble with his hands hovering over Cole’s body as though he did not know where it was safe to touch. Malakai arrived a moment later, his expression tight with fury and fear.
Before any of them could move Cole, quiet laughter drifted from somewhere beyond the collapsed brickwork.
The heretic’s voice threaded through the night like poison.
“You see?” he whispered. “You cannot stop me. None of you can.”
Rhen turned toward the sound.
Through smoke and driving rain, the male stood at the far end of the ruined street, untouched among the destruction. Black-red power gathered around him, drawing the remaining shadows inward until they climbed his body like living smoke.
Rhen looked beyond the ruined flesh and borrowed power with the sight bound to Charon.
The mark was there.
Not silver. Not incomplete. Not written as promise, bargain, or binding.
Damnation.
The old law had already named him.
He took one step toward him.
The power sustaining Cole flickered.
Rhen felt the disturbance across the ruined street, a sudden weakening in the force holding his brother’s damaged body together.
It stopped him more effectively than any chain.
Dax dropped beside Cole and pressed one blood-covered hand against his chest, his senses reaching beneath scorched flesh to assess the magic guttering inside him. His expression changed.
“Rhen.”
The heretic’s smile widened.
He had not remained to finish them. He had remained to make certain Rhen understood what the ambush had cost.
The darkness folded around him.
“Choose carefully, Charon.”
His smile sharpened through the rain.
“Your missing club-keeper chose badly.”
Then he was gone.
The darkness folded around him.
“Choose carefully, Charon.”
His smile sharpened through the rain.
“Your missing club-keeper chose badly.”
