Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“Kill me, then.” Peregrine spat blood to the side. “It would at least prove you can do something besides brood and bark.”
“Maxen,” Drake warned.
He needn’t have bothered. “Death is mercy. I don’t deal in mercy. I deal in absolute ruin.”
“You should thank me,” Peregrine with a grin. “I spared her life.”
The next punch split his lip. “Spared? Don’t talk to me about spared.”
“You are quick to temper. Like him.”
Maxen froze. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Like who?”
Peregrine’s grin widened, grotesque with blood. “The man who sired you.”
Drake cursed behind him. “What the devil are you saying?” his brother demanded.
“Haven’t you guessed? I’ve the same bastard blood running through me as you and you.”
Maxen shot to his feet and took two steps back. “Impossible.”
“There it is. The look I’ve been waiting for. The one where you realize you can never win against me. Your brother. Your family.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Drake said darkly.
“You think you’re the only bastards that man sired? The late Duke of Crane planted his seed far and wide.”
“I hunted down all his offspring.”
“You missed one.”
Bloody hell, no. Maxen refused to believe it. Granted, he wasn’t na?ve enough to believe there weren’t any more. But Maxen had found all the ones who’d been disregarded. All the ones struggling to claw their way out of misery.
“How old are you?” Drake asked.
“Why, the ripe old age of thirty.”
Maxen’s mind raced. They were thorough. They had men all over Britain keeping score on that filth’s affairs. Serpent had been the last sibling they’d tracked.
“You said you spared Miss Turner. What did you mean by that?” Drake asked.
“It means someone wanted her dead.”
Maxen’s hackles rose again. “I thought you said you weren’t working for anyone.”
“I’m not.” Peregrine spit more blood to the side. “I’m working with him. Or was. I draw the line at killing, too, you know. But our uncle has quite the bone to pick with you lot.”
Bloody everlasting hell.
Uncle.
“Let me guess, you’re the reason he’s returned,” Maxen growled. “We missed you and you went to him? Why the devil didn’t you come to us?”
“Because I didn’t know you existed!”
“Maxen,” Drake said, shaking his head. He turned to Peregrine. “How old were you when our uncle found you?”
“Seventeen.”
So thirteen years ago.
“He got to you before we could,” Drake said. “He must have erased all trace of you.”
What the devil was this? What was he supposed to do with this claim?
Could he even believe a word from Peregrine’s mouth?
How many times had they been deceived by him over the years?
And all this while knowing who they were.
That they were blood. This could be another damn farce.
A trap. “You expect me to believe a word from your tongue? You reek of lies.”
Peregrine chuckled. “Believe me, don’t believe me, it changes nothing. Blood tells, Fury. You cannot scrub it away, no matter how many thrones you build in England’s gutters.”
Drake stepped closer, torchlight casting long shadows across his brother’s scarred face. “If you share our blood, why side with him? Why the devil would you cling to our uncle? You must know what sort of man he is.”
“Why, to get your attention, of course.”
“Attention?” Maxen bristled. “Stabbing from the shadows?”
“You yourself know what man he is. Appearances must be kept.”
“And he ordered you to kill Calliope.”
“He did.”
If he were to ever break their number one rule, it would be for his uncle. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying,” Drake accused.
“I’m not. Why do you think I allowed you to catch me?”
Maxen barked out a laugh filled with fury. “Allowed us? Such a damn show you put up. Why not come to us from the very start? When you first learned of our uncle’s temperament?”
Peregrine’s bruised mouth curled. “Because he offered me a place when the rest of the world offered only a noose. He gave me a name to wield, coin to spend, and men to command.” His face turned mocking. “I just didn’t know what price I would pay.”
“And what price is that?” Maxen asked.
“My damn soul, brother dearest. My damn soul.”
Maxen surged forward, his grip crushing as he grabbed Peregrine by the coat again. “Do not talk to me about your soul. I made something from nothing. And if you are truly one of us, you might have had the same had you not chosen the viper’s den again and again.”
For a single second, Peregrine’s grin faltered. Then he lifted his chin, blood streaking his teeth. “Ah, kill me, ship me off, I’m dead anyway, and so is your little bird if he finds her.”
Maxen was about to drive his fist into Peregrine’s face again when the door creaked open and Reaper’s voice cut through the chamber.
“Frère, we have visitors.”
Maxen’s head snapped over his shoulder. “Who?”
“A lady with some blasted flower’s name, a marchioness, and her bloody marquess husband.”
“So handle them,” Maxen snarled. “I’m busy here.”
“Can’t,” Reaper said grimly. “They claim your little mouse has been kidnapped.”