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“Bit of a hypocrite, aren’t you? Isn’t that what you do, brother? The reason you’ve been able to rule Tyron is because they’re all bloody terrified of you. Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do with my talent?” He stops and turns. “You?No one person should have as much as you have. You’re fuckingdangerous.”
Before I know it, I’ve moved. I’m standing right in front of him, my face just inches from his.
Is he mad?
Is he intentionally trying to provoke me?
I draw on every last ounce of my self control.
Then I raise my hand and slap him,hard.
For a moment, Ansar just stands there, staring back at me, a look of perfect incredulity crossing his face.
“Just as I know little about you, you know next to nothing about me,” I say quietly. “Don’t presume to think you know me. And do not justify your actions with presumptions. Things are not always what they appear. And I amnotresponsible for our father’s actions.”
Ansar’s mask slips. For a heartbeat, I see uncertainty and fear; shock and disbelief.
He’s losing control.
Down here,I’min control.
In the cold; in the darkness, I’m in my element. I can feel the subtle changes in the air; the faint tremors that run through the tunnel walls. I can see perfectly well, and I canhear.
The trickling of water. The slithering of small creatures that have never seen the light of day.
I can feel her aura; trapped, stifled, fractured.
She’s been waiting. She’s ancient and powerful, but she’s been unjustly held captive by lesser men with treacherous devices.
They can’t let her go, because they’re weak. Avaricious. Ambitious.
I slap my brother again, just for good measure. Just hard enough to leave a red welt on his cheek. Perhaps I’ve broken something.
His left hand flies to his cheek. He staggers backward. “You fuckingbastard.”
“I’ve been called much worse,” I say mildly, even though I’m still seething inside. I could have so easily taken Ansar’s head off just then.
The crimson threads no longer surround his left hand.
“If you touch me again, I’ll kill her,” he snarls, holding up his right hand—the one that’s still adorned with glowing crimson threads. “Just one of them needs to unravel, and her soul will be sucked into the afterlife.”
Try it.
I can feel her aura, and now I canhearher.
Her heart beats.
Mine doesn’t. Not right now. It only beats for Finley.
Her mother’s heartbeat is glacially slow.
I don’t really need Ansar anymore.
I just need to follow that sound.
Ba-bump.
If only he’d release her life-threads.
