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It was worse than having to sleep in an empty bed.
Worse than being the forgotten brother.
Worse than the fear he would never have a chance to be openly happy with the one he loved.
It was worse because it was real—not something he could change, or that might go away. The bond had gone dark, and it felt like Bertram’s entire soul was going dark with it.
He was too late.
He was too late, and now Sorin was dead.
Bertram didn’t remember how it was he overcame that suffocating nothingness and closed the distance between himself and Sorin any more than he remembered slamming the butt of his gun into the back of Sebastian’s head, but suddenly, there he was, and there was Sebastian turning to see who had attacked him, snarling, his deadly sharp dragon’s teeth punching through to replace his human molars as he prepared for a fight.
Kill, Bertram’s dragon hissed, seething in rage at the sight of the one who had harmed their mate. Maim. Destroy. Devour.
Bertram was barely able to hold it back.
Hands shaking, he pointed his gun at Sebastian. “Stop now,” he growled, “or I’ll shoot you, and I’ll keep on shooting until you die. Do you understand me, brother?”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, looking far more like the eyes of a dragon than of a man, but he did not test Bertram’s patience. He didn’t bother with him at all. Once he saw who was there, he shoved Sorin aside, revealing that Peregrine was there on the ground with him, alive, but clearly in distress.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” piped a new voice from the entryway. It was Everard. “Sebastian, why are you half dragon? Bertram, put down that gun. You will not shoot our brother. What on earth is the matter with you?”
Bertram did not turn to face him. He kept his gun trained on Sebastian. “Step away from the omega right now,” he commanded, the ice in his voice leaving no room for warmth.
Sebastian did as he was told, abandoning Sorin to tend to Peregrine. With him gone, Bertram saw the impossible—Sorin’s chest was moving. He was breathing. Not all hope was lost, but Sorin wasn’t safe yet. One of his arms was bent at an unnatural angle, and he was heavily bleeding where Sebastian had raked his claws through him. If he was to live, he needed immediate medical attention, and Bertram didn’t have enough magic in him to ensure he got the care he needed.
But someone in the room did.
With Sebastian no longer an immediate threat, Bertram turned his gun on Everard.
“Heal him,” he ordered, leaving Sorin’s side to press his gun firmly against Everard’s back.
While he did, Peregrine, now in Sebastian’s arms, clutched at his pregnant belly and winced. “It hurts,” he said through clenched teeth. “Sebastian… the baby… she’s coming.”
Sebastian looked like he was about to demand assistance from Everard, but stopped short when he noticed Bertram had already put him to work. Their eyes met as Everard poured magic into Sorin, and Bertram saw for himself how cold Sebastian’s expression became.
He had not put a bullet through his brother, but he had injured him all the same.
Bertram wished there was a way he could make Sebastian understand, but there was no time to unwrap hundreds of years of history in the span of a few seconds. The best he could do was hope that Sebastian would understand what he meant when he said, “We are equal now, I suppose.”
Bertram was referring to the night outside Beirut when, in defense of Sorin, he had accidentally injured Peregrine, not knowing he was Sebastian’s mate. But Sebastian did not pick up on his meaning. His expression only grew colder.
Forgiveness would not be easy to come by.
Sebastian was not a creature of nuance, and now that he saw Bertram as a villain, his mind would not be easily changed.
“Take your mate and do for him what you can,” Bertram told him, knowing Sebastian was waiting for him to cede custody of Everard so he could heal Peregrine. “Everard will stay with me until Raven is healed.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, but he did not argue. He simply lifted Peregrine up and rushed him out of the room.
“Lower the weapon, brother,” Everard said as Sebastian fled, perhaps because he was tired of having a gun pressed against his back, or perhaps because without Sebastian around, he felt less sure of his safety. “I am healing him and have no intention of stopping.”
“Finish the job and I’ll lower the gun.”
“Is this who you are now? Forever Frederich?” Indignation overshadowed the uncertainty in Everard’s voice. “I am doing my job. This is well outside of enough!”
“You will understand one day,” Bertram said, although he wasn’t sure if that was true. “Please, Everard, just heal him enough so he won’t die. I won’t ask more of you than that.”
