Blood on His Hands #2
“It’s not him, Atlas,” I said through gritted teeth, trying not to move my throat against the blade. “He’s being controlled. This isn’t Lazaros.”
Conflict flashed across Atlas’s face. His jaw clenched as his gaze darted between the dagger at my throat and his brother, every muscle in his body taut with restrained violence. I could see the torment there, the urge to attack held back by the danger to my life.
The dagger bit deeper into my skin, and I couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that escaped me before I bit down hard on my lip.
“No!” Atlas growled, and immediately his aura began to glow, white light bleeding across his skin as power rippled through the throne room.
“Oh brother, you finally have a weakness,” Lazaros giggled in my ear.
“Don’t listen to him, Atlas,” I said, forcing as much calm into my voice as I could manage while my arms trembled with the effort of holding the dagger away from my throat. “You need to stay calm. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The words felt foolish the moment they left my mouth.
There was a blade at my throat, no plan forming in my head, and the man I loved was standing a few feet away, looking as though he were about to unleash enough power to level half the kingdom.
Yet I had seen that glow before, so I knew exactly what it meant.
I was his anchor.
Which meant that if Lazaros got his wish, and I did end up bleeding rivers of crimson across the marble floor, there would be nobody left to stop what came next.
The transformation would consume Atlas completely, and the creature standing before me would no longer be a king, a warrior, or even the man I loved.
He would become something far more terrifying…
A vengeful God.
Movement beyond Atlas caught my eye.
At first, it was little more than a shift in the shadows gathered in the far corner of the room. But as I watched, they began to thicken unnaturally, pooling together as though the light itself was retreating from them. As if sunlight wasn’t welcome there.
Then, a figure slowly emerged from obscurity, tall and lean, his pale skin, an unwelcome contrast against the shroud of darkness that clung to him.
Wisps of eerie shadow drifted from his body like smoke, and a cruel smile curved his lips as though he had been standing there the entire time, quietly enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him.
My heart lurched.
“Behind you!” I cried, pushing harder against Lazaros’s arm. “Demetrios. He’s here!” The words left my mouth before another realization struck me.
Atlas didn’t even know Demetrios was behind this.
“Demetrios?” he hissed.
He reacted instantly though, trusting my warning despite the limited information he had.
His aura vanished in a blink as he tore a dagger from his belt, spun, and hurled it across the room with impossible speed.
A sharp thud echoed through the throne room, followed by a cry of pain as the shadows recoiled around Demetrios.
For a moment, the darkness seemed to fracture, exposing him completely as he staggered backwards, teeth bared, and his features twisted with shock.
The dagger had struck deep into his shoulder.
For a second, I could do nothing but stare, as I had half expected the blade to pass straight through him. Until now, I had believed Bronte’s lightning was the only thing capable of harming Demetrios, yet there he stood bleeding, very real, and very much injured.
Atlas’s gaze flicked between Demetrios and Lazaros.
“Go,” I grunted.
For a fraction of a second, I thought he might hesitate, unwilling to let either of them out of his sight, but then he stepped towards Demetrios.
Shadows immediately surged around him, swallowing his form as though they were alive.
The cruel smile vanished first, followed by the rest of him, until nothing remained but darkness. A moment later, even that disappeared.
The dagger clattered onto the marble floor.
At the same time, the blade at my throat slipped from nerveless fingers and hit the ground with a metallic clang.
Lazaros’s grip vanished so suddenly that I stumbled forward, unbalanced by the loss of support.
Before I could fall, Atlas caught me, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me firmly against his chest.
Relief washed through me so quickly that it almost made my knees give way.
Behind us, Lazaros staggered backwards.
One hand flew to his throat, dark blood still pouring sluggishly from the wound and coating his fingers. He stared at it in confusion before slowly lifting his hand into view. His gaze locked onto the blood staining his skin, then drifted to the discarded dagger lying across the marble floor.
Something changed in his expression.
The darkness clouding his eyes receded, peeling away before our eyes like a storm finally passing. Confusion replaced it.
Then came fear.
“Brother…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, rough and broken, no longer carrying the unnatural edge that had twisted every word before.
“What… what have… you… done?” He stammered out, and Atlas froze.
Lazaros looked down at his bloodied hands again before his gaze darted wildly between Atlas and me.
Horror slowly spread across his face as understanding dawned.
His lips parted soundlessly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.
A shudder ran through him.
Confusion.
Fear.
Disbelief.
All of it battled across his features as he stared at the blood coating his hands from the wound at his throat.
He looked like a man waking from a nightmare only to discover he was still trapped inside it.
My chest tightened painfully, as all I could feel was pity as I watched the realization dawn on him.
The way his eyes widened as the truth finally settled over him before he asked…
“What have I done?”