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And he’d been so close to looking a little deeper, to finding the truth. Saint couldn’t tell him. He’d never believe it unless he discovered the truth for himself. Saint was always going to be the nyk they should all fear. Mikalis had made that the truth, so itbecametrue. How could he tell him that Mikalis found the broken ones, the ones so desperate that, when he offered them his hand—when he saved them—he knew they’d devote their lives to him.
Mikalis manipulated every single Brotherhood member.
“All right, I’ll make a deal with you, Octavius.” Saint offered his hand. “I will help prove your innocence to Mikalis. We’ll find whoever betrayed him. You certainly can’t clear your name alone, not with the entire Brotherhood against you.”
“It wasn’t me. I’d never betray him, or them.” He eyed Saint’s hand as though it might bite him. “What do you get out of this?”
“One last chance to prove I’m not the big bad wolf you all believe me to be.”
The sun had almost risen, and its endless drain began to sap the strength from Saint’s veins. Octavius would be feeling it too. They’d both have to go inside to avoid the worst of its effects.
Octavius took Saint’s hand. His grip was firm, warm, and confident, even though his hand seemed slight, his fingers lithe. “All right, nyk,” he said. “But ifyoubetrayme, I’ll make sure the full weight of the Brotherhood comes down on you, even if it costs my life.”
“Oh, I do not doubt it, Little Wolf.” Saint let the handshake linger, enjoying the touch more than he’d expected to, until Octavius grew impatient and shook him off with an almost-growl.
“You have delicate hands.”
The little wolf’s growl turned threatening. With a laugh, Saint left him there, sitting on the trunk. He’d come back inside and out of the sun soon.
“Saint?” he called.
Saint turned and raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Why would I believe your version?”
There was only one easy way to answer that. Saint turned his back on Octavius and stepped onto the porch. “Mikalis is my sire.”
* * *
Mikalis is my sire.Those four words could be enough to create ripples that would undo Mikalis. Saint wanted that—as vengeance, out of spite—but also… he didn’t. Vengeance and spite were not how he’d planned to enjoy his last few weeks of freedom before things gotmessy.
He closed the blinds and paced the room while Jay slept.
If he were the nyk Octavius thought him to be, everything would be so much easier. He wouldn’tcare. Do not care, do not drink from the vein, do not reproduce.
As though any of them could choose not to care. The members of the Brotherhood were hypocrites, all of them. Or more accurately, Mikalis was, and he shaped his devoted little puppets to be better versions of himself.
Maybe Saint should have told Octaviuseverything. No. It didn’t work like that; he had to discover it on his own. And now they had an opportunity. Octavius would get Saint inside the Brotherhood. He’d have to, to root out the real traitor among them, the traitor who had released Saint before all of Atlas had imploded.
Why release him?
Octavius had asked that very question.
Saint sat on the edge of the chair beside the window and listened to the noises of the motel waking up. Doors slamming, footfalls on the timber porch, cars pulling up or leaving. Octavius would be next door, probably resting. He’d need it too. They’d pointlessly torn into each other as enemies just because Mikalis had made it so.
So why release Saint? Why not just keep him locked up while Atlas collapsed around him? What would a traitor gain by keeping Saint alive?
Perhaps the nameless figure working against Mikalis sought to create maximum damage and had assumed freeing Saint would do that. Or, they wanted Mikalis distracted. Both options amounted to the same outcome. Had they thought Saint would try to kill Mikalis?
Nobody else would be allowed to hunt Saint. Mikalis wouldn’t trust anyone, not even his closest ally, Storm.Definitelynot Storm—Mikalis knew Storm and Saint had a history. Mikalis wouldn’t wantanyof them knowing his secrets.
It was likely the real traitor wanted Mikalis focused elsewhere while they put other plans into motion. Plans that had potentially been in motion for a long time, if Mikalis had been caught unawares. Plans that would tip the scales in the favor of the nyktelios?
Saint could feel it, had felt it for months now. A pressure at the back of his mind, building to critical mass. Sometimes it was a thumping in his head, like a banging drum, calling to him. The nyks, as the Brotherhood called them, were winning.
Mikalis no doubt felt it too, could sense the impending disaster, yet he still hunted Saint.
Because he knew Saint had the weapons to ruin him.
