Chapter 42 The Rogue #2
I thrust my dagger into his shoulder from behind, pushing the blade forward to pin him to the side of the tree.
And he disappeared.
I jumped back, just as a dark chuckle drifted down from the tree above.
An illusion—the dark figure beneath the tree had never been real. The real Mordren was standing above me, poised atop the fallen branch right next to where the bulk of it had splintered away from the tree.
Reckless. I should have seen the illusion. But I’d been too eager, too hungry for Mordren’s blood.
And I’d underestimated him. The Mordren I remembered wasn’t devious enough to lay a trap.
But that was definitely Mordren towering above me, distinctive even when half-buried in shadows. He still stood at least a head taller than his slender frame should have allowed. Still wore that ridiculous robe with the wide, angular shoulders.
And he still had eyes that burned yellow-green in the dark. Like a cat’s. Almost an exact match to those belonging to that ridiculous feline that had always been at his side ten years ago. Hopefully that wretched creature was in a better place now.
“Radven,” he said, his voice coiling like smoke. “It’s been too long.”
“And yet you still hide from me like a coward.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flicker of movement that had to be my brothers, but they would hang back until I gave the signal.
And I wanted a better understanding of this situation first.
Above me, Mordren gave another chuckle.
“Come, my dear Rad. You of all people should understand why I’m wary of tricks.” His mouth was in shadow, but I could hear the slick smile in his voice. “You may enjoy sneaking up on a man in the shadows, but I much prefer a more open conversation.”
I stepped over to the trunk of the tree and leaned against it, my finger sliding along the edge of my blade. My stance was casual, but every muscle within me was taut, ready to strike.
“I suppose you consider firing upon an innocent town while you’re hiding up here in the woods to be an open conversation?” I drawled, my voice dripping with venom. “If you wanted to talk to me or my brothers, Mordren, all you had to do was ask.”
“I’ve missed our conversations, believe me,” he replied. “But for once, this isn’t about you or your so-called brothers.”
My muscles tensed.
“This is about that lovely girl the three of you found,” Mordren went on. “I would so love to meet her.”
Marigold. Innocent, na?ve Marigold, who tasted like nectar and was as delicate as a butterfly.
Pluck off the petals
Slice off the wing
The blood was starting to boil beneath my skin.
There were rumors about Mordren’s sexual proclivities—rumors that the Circle had tried to suppress for years but were still whispered along certain channels if you knew where to listen.
Rumors that made me want to slice off certain pieces of Mordren extra slowly.
But I kept my tone light as I said, “I’m perplexed as to why you believe blowing up Ring-Around-the-Hill will accomplish that.”
Again, I could sense his smile, even though I couldn’t see it. “It brought you to me, didn’t it?”
There was another flicker of movement in the corner of my eye, only this time, something was wrong.
I didn’t hesitate. With a twist of my fingers, I sent my dagger flying into the darkness to my right.
A yowl echoed through the woods at the same time my blade hit a tree with a hollow thunk.
A cat leaped out of the shadows. It darted straight toward me, and as it passed through a beam of moonlight I recognized its coloring—milky white with a large black patch on its left rump. Its yellow-green eyes flashed as it launched itself at me.
With a curse, I twisted out of the way. It landed on the tree trunk behind me, its claws digging into the bark, and it scrabbled up the tree toward its master, who was clucking his tongue.
“And what has my poor Cyllene done to you?” he demanded of me as the cat clawed her way up his clothes until she was perched on his shoulder.
She wasn’t an especially large cat, and the long, angular shoulders on his robe offered a natural place for her to sit, with her tail coiling around his neck almost like they were one being.
“I’m surprised that thing is still alive,” I muttered, slipping a fresh dagger out of my sleeve.
“Shouldn’t those nine lives have run out years ago?
” I didn’t admit that I was secretly glad I hadn’t hit her in the dark—I would happily pluck out the bastard’s bones one by one, but I drew the line at hurting animals.
Even ones who were essentially extensions of irredeemable shitheads like Mordren.
Peel off the skin
From the pitiful thing
Two pairs of yellow-green eyes stared down at me. Apparently Mordren was losing his patience with me, because there was an edge to his voice as he demanded, “Enough games. Where’s the girl?”
I shrugged, silently calculating my chances of hitting him where I needed to from this angle. I had to incapacitate him without killing him. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Because I can smell her essence all over you,” he snarled. His head twisted to the right. “And your brothers.”
There was no reason for Alastor and Oak to stay hidden anymore. Mordren knew exactly where they were.
My brothers emerged from the trees nearby, swords in hand. Oak in particular looked ready to leap up into the wild oak and cut down Mordren where he stood, but he managed to maintain control over himself. If he still had access to that beast inside him, though, it would have been a different story.
Alastor, by contrast, was rigid, calculating, and that actually made him the more dangerous of the two.
“You know how this works, boys,” Mordren said from above. “She belongs to the Circle.”
“She belongs to no one,” Oak growled, stepping forward.
Mordren didn’t even flinch. “I hear she’s a soft, pretty little thing. It shouldn’t surprise me she’s inspired your…baser passions. Some of you were always more beast than man.”
Oak, to his credit, managed to hold himself back. But I knew my brother, and I knew his control would only last for so long if he was continuously goaded in this way.
The goading was getting to me, too. Every word he said about Marigold, every vile, lecherous implication that dripped from his lips, made my skin bristle.
“Even if we knew where she was,” I said, “What possible motivation would we have for handing her over to you?”
“She must be a delicious little morsel, if she’s got all three of you so eager to protect her,” Mordren remarked, and I could practically hear his tongue sliding across his lips. “Tell me, do the three of you take turns or do you share her all at once?”
“Did you come here to spew drivel?” I said quickly, drowning out Oak’s snarl. “Because if you’re just going to keep wasting our time, we have no reason to keep you alive.”
“She’s a sorceress,” Mordren snapped, his eyes flashing. “I’m here because she’s ours.”
“Yours?” I continued to keep my tone light but deadly. But the truth was I was this close to saying fuck it and sending my dagger right through his bottom jaw. “Last we heard the Circle was broken.”
“The politics of the Circle are hardly your business.”
“You’ve made them our business!” Oak roared, his self-control finally snapping. He charged forward, sword arcing through the air as he leaped…
And it was only years of instinct that allowed him to twist out of the way of a focused bolt of power straight from Mordren’s hand.
Oak landed in a crouch, his sword still in hand and his eyes wild. Had he been able to transform, he would have already had his jaws around Mordren’s throat. Instead, he remained where he was, his muscles visibly shaking with the effort of holding himself back.
“Keep your beast on a leash,” Mordren barked. His yellow-green eyes darted back to me before he said, “Would you accept a trade for her?”
“Absolutely not!” Oak bellowed, and I could tell he was getting ready to spring again.
Several feet away, Alastor still hadn’t moved a muscle, but I knew that look in his eyes. He was burning with white-hot fury beneath his skin.
And while I shared my brothers’ sentiments, I wanted to see if Mordren would put his cards on the table.
Carve out the poison
I leaned against the trunk of the tree again. “What are you offering?”
He paused a single beat, and I could feel his smile widen in the dark.
“Your power. Returned to you.”
I went very still.
Sever each piece
Mordren’s yellow-green gaze shifted to my brothers, who’d gone just as rigid as I had. We hadn’t spoken of it, but I knew they felt it, too—the gnawing hunger where our powers had been. The tendrils of madness trying to fill the nothingness.
We’d been gods, and which one of us wouldn’t give anything and everything to have that again?
Suck out the bones
“This goes for whichever one of you brings her to me,” Mordren continued. “But my offer is good for one brother and one brother only. Bring me your sweet little plaything, and I will restore that which has been taken from you.” Again, I felt that smile in the dark.
It was a trick. Of course it was a trick. And yet…I didn’t believe him to be lying.
And then we will feast
I could be whole again. But at an unspeakable cost.
Because Marigold was an innocent. In too many ways. Even if Mordren didn’t plan to kill her, he would…destroy her. In every cruel, twisted way a powerful madman could break a na?ve, delicate woman.
And he made no attempt to hide it, either, as he said, “I promise I’ll take good care of our precious girl—assuming you’re willing to share her with one more.”
Before the final word even left his lips, Oak’s control snapped completely.
He launched himself at Mordren with a feral roar, his blade slicing through the air.
I sprang forward, too, my dagger twisting through the night fast as lightning.
Mordren was quick—but not quite quick enough.
In a flicker of shadow, he and his cat disappeared, but not before my dagger caught him on the shoulder.
Oak got there a split second later, his sword catching the hem of Mordren’s robe before taking a massive chunk out of the wood where the sorcerer had been standing.
Alastor hadn’t attacked. But he spun sharply now, as if he could sense the bastard slipping past him in the shadows. His sword was swift, but his blade met nothing but air.
“Remember my offer.” Mordren’s voice was everywhere and nowhere, as insubstantial as the wind. “Bring her to me, and your power is yours.”