Chapter 3 #2
“Stop!” I could feel he needed someone to blame, something to hurt before his grief destroyed him. “Let. Him. Go,” I demanded, moving more in front of Andris. “I will fight you, Farkas. And you will have to kill me too.”
Warwick’s gaze jerked to mine, his chest heaving, a noise working up his throat. It was a full fifteen seconds before he dipped his head, sucking in air, then dropped his hands and stepped back.
Andris bent over, coughing and gulping for air. Ling rushed to his side, trying to soothe him. I hadn’t noticed the group that had circled around us, many with guns pointed at Warwick, ready to shoot him if I hadn’t interceded.
Spitting on the ground, Andris slowly stood, still struggling to breathe, his hand on his throat. His voice came out low and harsh. “I didn’t order the bombing at the palace.”
“You had something planned.” Warwick’s shoulders drew back again.
“We did, but we got attacked before the mission even left here. And it wasn’t at the palace.” He hacked, clearing his throat. “We were going to plant something back at the old prison. A reminder we had eyes on him. That we could get to him again if we wanted.”
Warwick’s brows furrowed, doubt creeping in.
“It wasn’t us,” Scorpion growled.
Oxygen huffed through the Wolf’s nose, his head turning away.
“Is Zander really dead?” Andris looked to me.
I nodded in affirmation.
Andris’s face crinkled with grief, his throat bobbing as he absorbed the news. He gave himself a moment, then he lifted his head, the commander of Sarkis army back in control. A leader had no time to mourn the dead. They had to lead the living.
“We heard the bomb go off across the river. I’m sorry for your loss.” Andris dropped his hand from his neck, peering around. “But right now, we have our own worries, our own bodies to bury. I don’t have the time to care about Killian’s troubles.”
“Killian’s dead,” Warwick replied, emotionless. He might as well have dropped another bomb. Hearing it out loud knifed my heart, the emotion I was still holding at bay creeping up higher.
“What?” Andris stilled, his pink face blanching, though I noticed how healed his wounds appeared, when only hours ago he had been dead and buried under wreckage too. “Killian is dead? Are you sure? How do you know?”
“We were there.” I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, my mind still not allowing his death to sink in. “It was his private wing that was blown up.”
Killian seemed invincible. Impervious to death. He was the fae ruler. Beautiful in his cruelty. Sexy in his deceit. Powerful. Aloof, but under those formidable layers, he was also caring and, in his own odd way, kind of sweet.
“Az istenit!” God damn it! Andris ran his hand through his hair. Why did it look a lot less gray than I remembered? “How could this happen?” He started to pace frantically. “This is extremely bad.”
“I thought you’d want to get him out of the way,” I replied.
“No, I wanted to unite us.” Andris stopped right in front of me. “Killian was far more likely to change the status quo. With him gone, this country is even more unstable. Dangerous. Making it clear for—”
“For Istvan to come up and take hold of the power,” I finished for him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “With the fae side in disarray, trying to figure out who will lead, it opens up an opportunity for Istvan.”
“This was planned and coordinated to make sure it would take Killian down. Istvan wouldn’t leave it to chance. Which means—”
“Which means Zander wasn’t the only spy infiltrating Killian’s circle.” Andris pinched his nose.
Before the idea had fully developed in my head, my gaze was snapping over my shoulder, searching. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Andris asked.
My boots were already crunching over the debris, my head snapping around, spotting who I was looking for in the distance. He was tucked up against a bombed-out building, several guards surrounding him, his wrists cuffed.
“Did you know about this?” I seethed, rushing up to a person who held me so many nights growing up, who used to be my entire world.
Caden’s brown eyes tapered on me, his jaw clenching. He was covered in dirt, blood, and cuts. His eyes were puffy with exhaustion, but he pulled himself up when he saw me.
“Did you?” I hollered, my hands slamming into his chest, cracking his head back against the wall. “Tell me!” My fingers rolled into his shirt, throttling him.
He only glared down at me with disgust.
“Did you know your father was going to bomb Killian and us?”
Again, Caden didn’t answer, his jaw grinding tighter, his glare going past me.
“Tell me!” I slammed him repeatedly against the wall.
“No, I didn’t know.” His lip curled. “But even if I did, I wouldn’t have told you. We now have fewer fae and human traitors in this world.”
Red bled into my vision, and something snapped inside me, my fist finding its target. The night’s events, my heartache, and my grief severed my control. Fury fired my anguish, and I released it on Caden, striking again and again.
So much had happened tonight, and not just the bombings and deaths. My mother was a necromancer and was now alive because of me. I brought her back, along with Andris. And I wasn’t just connected to this mythical nectar . . . I was it.
I had no clue exactly what I was, but the moment I felt myself discovering it, it had been ripped away. And now all those things which hummed in my veins and whispered in my ear, telling me I was different, were dead, floating down the river with the rest of the carcasses.
I never felt more human and lost. Angry and scared.
“Kovacs.” Warwick’s hands grabbed for me, but I couldn’t stop. Anguish flowed from me like lava, burning and blackening what was left inside. Hollowing me out. “Stop.”
He yanked me back, holding me tightly to his chest. Heaving, my blurry gaze cleared on Caden. His half-conscious body slid to the ground, blood gushing from his wounds, red liquid coating his teeth, his eye blooming with bruises. His face was a bloody pulp.
Shock and horror knocked me back into Warwick.
I had done that. Caden and I sparred all the time, but this was different. I had never attacked him. Never purposely hurt him, especially when he couldn’t fight back.
This was the me who survived Halálház, ruthless and callous. The one who killed Aron in cold blood.
I never thought I was capable of turning that monster on Caden.
My body went limp in Warwick’s arms. The walls protecting me from the impending emotion exploded. But instead of crying, I went numb.
Drowning in my grief.
People wondered why I didn’t like my birthday.
It meant death.