Chapter 8 #2
Pulling a cloth out of my pocket, I wiped the bolt’s fiber from Jett’s finger, already bursting with blighted nodes.
Tossing the cloth away, I quickly palmed a syringe.
The mossy-green concoction squirted from the needle, sprinkling the floor in a spray of fine mist as I gently compressed the piston.
Jett protested weakly. “I don’t need—”
“Shut it,” I hissed under my breath.
Carefully piercing his skin, I injected the painkiller into his upper arm.
He flinched, grunting. The empty syringe clattered across the coffee table as I threw it away, swiftly pulling a second one holding the remainder of the rare elixir I’d previously pumped into Jett last night.
I stabbed the needle right into the revolting lesion.
His stifled scream tore loose, tearing apart the quiet.
I injected the elixir, tossing the syringe away.
Jett sagged against me as the potion flowed through his bloodstream, and I eased him into the chair nearest the Horned God.
Jett lay limply, his legs spread wide. But he pushed aside a sweaty lock of hair, tucking it behind an ear, and relief sank through me to see him make such a simple gesture.
It wasn’t instantaneous, but after a while, Jett’s quick, shallow pants became slower and deeper, and he didn’t shiver as much.
A faint touch of color bloomed on his cheeks, and the poison creeping like deadly ivy slowly faded.
I took what felt like my first breath when the frayed edges of dead flesh fell away, revealing pink skin underneath and fresh red blood beading the gash.
Sirro’s gaze greedily soaked up the healing tissue.
“Your unnatural healing… Such a blessing, and very rare.” Propping an elbow on the armrest, he rubbed his chin with a forefinger.
“Astonishing. What ran through your mother’s veins?
” His expression became strangely somber as he turned to look at me.
He spoke his words slowly, as if he were carefully selecting what to say. “I’m sorry for your…loss…”
Sudden fury whipped my blood into a frenzy. He must have read the demand in my gaze as my mouth parted to bark—Who the fuck took my mother?
Sirro knew I’d been there that night. Aware that my entire family knew she’d been abducted, not killed in a car crash.
The words tumbled from him unusually fast. “As I informed you all the day after your mother was taken, Lyressa doesn’t know who the other Horned Gods were.”
My fingers fisted. A likely story.
He held up his hand, apparently sensing I was going to protest. “Lyressa was ordered to accompany two of her brethren to assist with capturing Tabitha and…” he faltered, hesitating with discomfort before continuing, “disposing of her.” Because that was what Sirro had been led to believe, that my mother had been captured and killed.
“Lyressa didn’t recognize either of her companions nor learn their identities. ”
I couldn’t hold it in. I didn’t care if I was questioning a Horned God who could rip my tongue out for daring to ask. “And you believe her?”
“Who am I to question one of my own kind?” There was a direct warning running beneath his tone to leave it alone.
Whoever the hells they were, if Sirro was to be trusted, wanted to keep both their identity a secret and their reason for feigning her death.
“Not every Horned God is known to me. I have my own superiors to answer to. There are hidden circles within my world. Higher ranks and sects. Wheels spinning inside wheels.”
But was Sirro lying? Did he know who those Horned Gods were? The elemental being shaped from mist, shadow and wind, and that vile creature with red hair and a forked tongue who haunted my dreams.
And something else had always teased the back of my mind. Why hadn’t Sirro been the one to collect my mother?
I swallowed bitter mouthfuls of anger. Now was not the time.
Sirro leaned a little sideways over the arm of his chair to stroke his Familiar’s head like a beloved pet, his dark power caressing the wrinkled jowl and neckline of the crone. “Tabitha fascinated me. She really was someone quite special.”
Jett and I shared a swift glance, both of us wondering where Sirro was going with this. The Horned God didn’t look like he was playing a devious game. He looked like he had when I’d disobeyed his order and gone to aid my brother. Genuine.
Sirro continued smoothly. “I admired her grace. Her sense of worth and how grounded she was. As progressive as the Houses are, our world is steeped in tradition, and she was barely tolerated by the other Houses, but that didn’t bother Tabitha nor Varen.
” Sirro stared through the window framed by swathes of antique silks and brocade, at the squat towers jutting below the height of his penthouse, with their concrete roofs and industrial air-conditioning units.
“Instead, Tabitha rose to the challenge. She didn’t just assume the role of your father’s wife, with everything that came with being Matriarch to a House.
No, she fitted it perfectly, and refused to allow her humble beginnings to hold her back.
She used them to her advantage. So easily did she charm your entire household, when you’d think those closest to Varen would protest against his new fiancée, warn him against marrying her.
Yet she won them over…well, almost everyone.
” A soft smile played on his mouth, rounding his cheeks. “She certainly won me over.”
Surprise jolted through me.
Sirro shifted his position in his armchair, the leather hissing with his movement as he turned to look at me.
Though his eyes sparkled with delight, there was also a glimmer of cunning.
“Tabitha rose from a lesser family without rank to the oldest House in history. Imagine…a servant marrying the Head of a House. Practically unheard of. But you Crowthers…you don’t much care for formality and tradition.
Perhaps that’s why your family line endured while others fell to the wayside.
That, and your ruthlessness and familial loyalty. ”
He glanced at my brother, at the ragged edges of the wound knitting back together. “But this, Jett Crowther…is it you? Or is there something else running in your mother’s bloodline?”
Sirro reached over and tapped the bolt hidden beneath the rolls of scarlet cloth.
“This would kill a Horned God. Not straightaway, but we would eventually succumb to it. And its curse would outright kill one of you within the hour.” His mouth curved into a sly smile that sent an icy shiver scuttling down my spine. “But seemingly not a Crowther.”
Oh, fuck.
Suddenly, I realized we were in an altogether different kind of danger.
Before pure panic could sink its teeth into me, Sirro gestured at the wound. “Has anyone else seen this? Have you spoken to any of the other Houses about it?”
Jett blinked, his features slack, and turned toward me, as did Sirro, both waiting for my answer.
I shook my head.
“Keep it to yourselves,” the Horned God advised.
I frowned. Why would Sirro be lenient? Why the warning? He was practically protecting us by telling us to remain silent.
As if he read the question playing on my face, he answered, “Right now, let’s say I’m having a moment of generosity.
Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’d enjoy denying someone like Aldert Pellan,”—simply saying the man’s name made Sirro’s mouth curl in disgust, and the strands of power darken and pulsate with anger—“the chance to get his greedy, ambitious hands on your brother.”
He arched a brow at Jett. “He’d be the first to demand you be handed over. Dead or alive, it wouldn’t concern him. He’d put you on a gurney and skin you to the bone, dissecting your flesh to see how the blood gift worked.”
My brother swallowed.
My gaze slid over the roll of crimson fabric. “So, it is from the Gestelt Tree. It can end a Horned God.”
Sirro nodded. “Skalki’s tears of heartache became a torrent of hatred at having her dead mortal lover denied her, and that’s what fed the dormant seed and warped its growth.” His amused grin showed a sliver of sharp white teeth. “She was always melodramatic.”
The vast age he’d lived… Sometimes I forgot that when I looked upon his youthful body.
His finger traced the outline of the bolt beneath the velvet cloth. “A goddess’s abhorrence of her own kin forged the Gestelt Tree, and it is the only thing that can bring one of my kind down.” We both glanced up, our gazes clashing. “And now, here it is once more.”
Fuck.
Not that I minded—it could take down a Horned God. But we were their soldiers, and if it came to war, we’d be the fodder between them and this faction out to destroy our way of life.
“Children of the Harbinger?” I asked, prying for more information, wondering how much Sirro was going to spill.
“Time will tell.”
While he unrolled one shirt sleeve, he kept that eerie amber gaze locked on mine. I didn’t blink. Neither did he. It was a childish stare-off, but, fucked if I’d blink or break away first.
Unease coiled in my chest as I wondered what was running through his mind—what made his eyes brighten and gleam with interest. His widespread fingers brushed at the material, edging the sleeve of his shirt to his wrist, and then deftly fastened the cufflink.
His attention slid away, and I mentally sighed as he rose, his Familiar following his exact movements.
Fixing his other sleeve, he asked. “Can you make your way out of here, Jett?”
My brother’s voice still had a rasp to it but no longer frayed with pain. “Yeah, I’m alright.”