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“They were strong,” Romulus murmurs, and it is only because I know him so well that I hear the hint of uncertainty in his tone.
“You will be stronger,” I command. “Now focus.”
He says no more, only keeps his eyes tightly shut as strained concentration overtakes his face. The vein in his forehead begins to pulse as the white-blue runes appear and vibrate in the stillness, flying in the air between his open hands like a vortex.
The stale air begins to stir in the room.
Well, he has lasted longer than the single moment he did before in the dining hall. Surely, that is a good sign. The runes whir faster and faster, and the concentration on Romulus’s face becomes more and more strained.
I have seen such a look before—but only when Father was first training him, testing him by pushing back against him in the other plane where scrying is done.
The other presence is there with Romulus. It is only because Romulus is prepared and is shielding himself that he is able to maintain the runes, I know without being told. Even so, his face grows redder and redder. He might be managing, but only barely, it seems.
“Hold it!” I shout amid the growing roar of the air being whipped up by the flying runes.
But he only manages it for another moment before the controlled concentric circles tear apart, stray runes flying outward, smash me right in the face, and send me crashing against the flagstone wall. Dammit! If there is one thing I have made sure of about this dungeon, it is that it is strong. The walls are reinforced flagstone, two feet thick. And I feel every spine-crunching inch of those two feet as I’m slammed into them, wings first.
The bones in my wings don’t snap or fracture, but if I were any less the monster that I am, I’d be broken to pieces.
But lucky for me—and Romulus—considering the growl of fury I can’t help from escaping my chest as I climb back to my feet, I’m all but made of steel inside. I don’t take kindly to being knocked on my ass even if he didn’t intend it, and considering the source, I’ll never really know, will I?
“Well did you see anything?” I growl.
And I immediately don’t like how pale he is as he scrapes a hand down his face.
Or how, the next moment, his heads spin on their axis, and I’m eye to eye with Remus instead of the twin who just scried for me.
“What did he see?” I bark.
Remus looks around at where we are in surprise and obviously isn’t happy about being back in the place he was caged, if the way his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare are any indication.
“First get me the fuck out of here and then maybe I’ll be more in the sharing mood.”
I grab him by his shoulders. “Tell me what the fuck Romulus saw.” If this bastard knows my consort is in danger and fucking around with me—
But Remus just gets in my face while I still hold his shoulders. “I guess you don’t actually want to know because you aren’t moving the fuck out of the way.” He smiles.
I roar in his face but pull back and storm out the door into the small hall and up a few stairs. Remus sweeps past me and halfway up the stairs back to the upper levels. But I snatch the base of his wing to stop him, spinning him back to me.
There’s fire in his eyes at my daring the move, but I’m not fucking around here. “Is she in danger?” I demand.
His shoulders lift, and at first, I think he’s going to continue being his asshole self. But then he pauses and says, “I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.”
“Well fucking look,” I bark.
At first, I think he’s going to keep being a little fuck, but in the dim unlit stairwell, I see the silhouette of his head tilt at an angle.
And then he exhales in a rush. “Fuck.”
“What?” I rush up the stairs so that I’m at his level. “What is it?”
“You were right. All Romulus’s training came back, so since he’d shielded himself, when he encountered… the other…” Remus shakes his head, eyes going distant.
“What?”
“He saw through its eyes.”
“So? What did he see?”
Remus’s eyes come to me, and for one of the few times in his life, he looks serious. “Looking through the other one’s eyes, he saw this castle. The angel was right outside, looking in.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
ABADDON
I’m up the stairs in a shot, bounding and then flying the rest of the way when that feels too slow—all the way to our bedchamber.
But my consort is not asleep in our bed. The covers are pulled smooth in the funny habit she has of straightening bedclothes, I try to tell my hammering heart. She has not been kidnapped straight from my bed by an avenging angel whose name I do not even know.
