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I sat up. One minute dreaming. The next wide awake.
My son’s voice echoed through my room. Or maybe, through my head.
My breath shook as I threw myself out of the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed.Fuck.
Pushing my hair away, I put my face in my hands. Sweat covered my shoulders and chest, and the cool air raised a chill all over me.
Fuck.
I should be grateful. So much time had passed since the last time I heard my boy’s voice. But in my dreams, he was just as clear, as alive, as if he were next to me.
The problem was—if I tried to recall it an hour from now, that voice would be gone.
The moon hung bright in the dark sky, illuminating the moors. The wind was wild.
I hadn’t left my window open. This old cottage, with its rotted sills and ancient glass, was no match for an angry Yorkshire gale.
I stood to shut the curtains when a distant pair of headlights caught my attention. My sight was perfect, so even though it was quite far away, I could decipher its make and model.
Pollux?
Grabbing a shirt from the floor, I hurried out of my room. Paris’ door was closed, though a slice of light was visible beneath the edge. Barely audible over the wind was the quiet pluck of guitar strings.
I reached the front door just as Pollux got out of his car.
“What happened?”
He stretched like he’d been inside the cramped vehicle too long and strode toward me. “This is the kind of news that requires a drink.”
Human alcohol had no effect on us, so I wasn’t sure what he expected to get out of its consumption.
“I might have a beer. Or tea.”
He huffed a laugh as he ducked under the eave to enter. His gaze went to the top of the stair where Paris now stood. He was just a looming shadow except for the golden haze the light made around him.
“Paris.” Pollux turned toward the small kitchen, dismissing my brother like he always did.
“Why are you here?” I followed him, watching as he opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of beer. It was probably as old as the fridge.
He popped the top and took a long swallow. “I met a historian.Thehistorian. The one you told me I shouldn’t worry about.”
Footsteps shuffled down the steps. I glanced over my shoulder to see Paris had joined us. His long blonde hair hung in lank strands around his face, and his clothes appeared to be the same ones he’d worn when he last left his room about a week ago. Dark purple circles shadowed his dull blue eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. Again.
“What historian?” He looked from Pollux to me. “What is he talking about?”
Pollux smiled, but not with humor. It was a bitter, angry smile. “Didn’t your big brother tell you, kid? Someone found part of the seal. It’s our end of days.”
“Hector?” Paris crossed his arms over his chest. Despite being shorter than me and Pollux, my brother was still a prince, and had retained his regal bearing. Though he displayed it less and less.
“It isn’t anything to worry about.” Yet my son’s voice…Papa.How long had it been since I’d dreamed of him? Was he warning me? Could it have been a sign that the old gods were strengthening?
“I’m not a child to keep in the dark.” Paris’s voice rose.
“No?” Pollux asked. “Are you saying the last millennia had nothing to do with a stupid little boy who stole another man’s toy?”
In a flash, I placed myself between the two men. A hum ran through my brother’s body—power begging to be released—while Pollux stood as still as a stone.
“She was your sister,” Paris hissed. “And you should have been the one to keep her safe. What kind of man lets his family be treated as you let her husband treat her?”
