CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
45
Draven
“Never thought I’d see your face across a table again, Xul.” Sitting across the table from the very brother I swore I wouldn’t share air with was about as awkward as a poltergeist at a tea party. Same went for Xul, judging by the way he sat there like a storm cloud had materialized into a human form. We were the three brothers: me, Xul, and Viktor, of course. All powerful, all respected seats on the witches’ council.
Xul knew what I meant. He rarely showed for these meetings, these damned rituals that bound us together. Always kept his distance. After everything that went down, after the blood that stained the ground a thousand years ago, who could blame him? Not like I craved his company, not a bit. Viktor, on the other hand, was a fixture. Always there, managing the estates, keeping the witches’ council running smooth as a politician’s lies. Perfect for the job.
“Neither did I,” Xul finally muttered, his voice a low growl. Legs crossed, arms folded, he threw me a look that could curdle milk. Obsidian eyes held a flicker of something – irritation, maybe even a sliver of that old rage. The fight with Victoria, the one that almost ended in a bloodbath. We swore it then, didn’t we? Never speak to each other again.
See, that fight wasn’t the kind settled with raised voices. It was steel meeting steel, rage a wildfire in our veins. Didn’t hesitate to shove my blade into his chest, fury clouding my judgment. He’d have done the same, no doubt. But brothers are brothers, and I knew pushing it too far wouldn’t end well. Not with Xul.
The bastard conjured a goddamn inferno, flames licking at our heels like a hungry beast. Demons danced in those flames, I swear I saw them.
Xul was a walking inferno, all dark magic and twisted spells. I was the sun, ready to scorch him to a crisp. He was the storm, supposed to drown me out.
He brought the flames to consume, and I answered with earthquakes, the ground splitting open, threatening to bury him alive. Die by fire, or be crushed by the earth – fitting ends, really.
Except for one thing: the damned fire clung to Xul like a second skin, and my magic wouldn’t touch it. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust wouldn’t work here. Makes a man laugh, doesn’t it? The sheer idiocy of it all.
Years passed. We never crossed paths, never spoke a word. Until now.
A metallic tang hit my tongue as I drained the last of the artificial blood from the goblet.
Leaning back in the plush throne-like chair, I couldn’t help but notice Xul perched stiffly on the opposite side. He looked like a man trussed up for his own execution. Hell, I hadn’t forced him here, but his face was a roadmap of barely suppressed fury – the kind that, if I wasn’t careful, might just turn into a smirk on my own lips.
An awkward silence stretched between us, thick with the unspoken. For him, it was probably laced with loathing. For me, it was a perverse pleasure. I raised the empty goblet, swirling the remnants of the crimson liquid before my eyes.
“I’ll try to keep this brief,” Xul finally growled, breaking the tension.
“Spit it out,” I countered, my voice a low rumble that could shatter the carefully constructed facade of calm he wore. There was a certain satisfaction in getting under his skin.
He sucked in a sharp breath, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “I’m only here because of my woman,” he began, deliberately emphasizing the possessive. “To see if you can reason with the rest of your brothers.” I liked the way he stressed the word “your,” a subtle jab at the brotherhood we shared.
“Reason?” I echoed, a sardonic edge to my voice. “And why the ever-loving hell would I do that?”
“Because you started this goddamn mess,” Xul spat, frustration simmering beneath his words. “So fix it.”
A sneer twisted my lips. “Still haven’t learned to talk decent, have you, Xul?” I retorted, forcing an air of power into my voice.
“Talk?” he roared, mirroring my tone. “Fuck you, brother. You started this whole bloody fiasco by breaking the law, and don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”
“I didn’t deny it,” I said, my voice flat.
“Being Lord doesn’t mean you can piss on the truce, Draven,” Xul spat, his voice laced with a simmering annoyance. He always did play the elder statesman, even though I was the eldest of the eight of us. “Sirens don’t break peace for a snack, so why don’t you stick to the goddamn law?”
He puffed up his chest, more like a ruffled rooster than a creature of the night. “Fix this mess, Draven. Reason with your brothers before the Fates’ prophecy comes true. That’s all I can say here.”
The Fates. Their cryptic pronouncements scraped at my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Xul was the only one cursed with the ability to see their pronouncements, those maddening pronouncements that always seemed to spell doom.
“First off, Xul,” I began, “I don’t give a flying damn about what the Fates have to say. Second, I do what I want, when I want. No questions asked. Third, the damn treaty says no interference. I don’t mess with your affairs, so stay the hell out of mine.”
A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in Xul’s chest. His teeth flashed in a humorless smile. “Of course you play the ‘Lord-knows-best’ card. You’re the one they all fear, Draven. But listen to me,” he leaned in, his obsidian eyes gleaming like chips of ice. “I won’t call you Lord, and I won’t call you brother anymore. You forfeited that title years ago. Now you’re just a miserable excuse for a Lord, one who can’t seem to live without his dead wife’s reincarnation.”
My jaw clenched. “Don’t. Push. It, Xul. We both know where that path leads.” My voice was a low growl, a threat barely contained. Viktor, ever the stoic, remained silent like a statue in the corner.
Xul snorted, a humorless sound. “Scared, are we?” His obsidian eyes, as cold and black as a moonless night, locked onto mine. “Don’t flatter yourself, Draven. I’m not afraid to dance this waltz again. I came prepared this time.” A flicker of electricity sparked at his fingertips, a promise of violence.
Anger, danger, and a simmering annoyance twisted my gut.
I wanted to lash out, to end him right here, right now.
But a sliver of reason held me back.
If it came to blows, I knew I wouldn’t hesitate. But the consequences... that was a price I wasn’t sure I was willing to pay. So I held it in. For now.
The goblet, drained of its sanguine contents, slammed harshly on the table. The metallic clang echoed in the tense silence, amplifying the animosity simmering between Xul and me. Our gazes locked, a tempestuous ocean of malice churning in their depths.
Viktor, ever the mediator, recognized the volatile air. His voice, measured and diplomatic, cut through the discord. “Fighting,” he began, as though quoting a well-worn proverb, “is not always the path to resolution. Mother would have said as much.”
The mention of her was a potent elixir, conjuring a torrent of memories. Mother, radiant and alive, holding her eight children close. Xulin and Viktor, undeniably the favored ones, basking in her warmth. Myself, perched precariously between their affection and the distant approval of both parents.
Viktor’s words, imbued with the echo of our mother’s voice, served as a balm to my simmering anger. “Remember, brothers you are,” he continued, his voice firm yet laced with an underlying plea. “Let bygones be bygones. Mother wouldn’t have tolerated this war. There would be peace, not anarchy. Think of her, emulate her strength. She wouldn’t have wanted her sons consumed by such hatred.”
A wave of bittersweet nostalgia washed over me. It was as if Viktor, with his unwavering belief in our mother’s ideals, channeled her very spirit.
Xul’s obsidian facade softened a fraction, and he leaned back in his throne-like chair.
I mirrored his movement, a deliberate cough escaping my lips, not to interrupt, but to quell the tempest within.
Silence enveloped us, thick and pregnant.
“Mom wouldn’t approve of the chaos that’s about to befall us. She wouldn’t be proud if she were to be here,” Viktor continued.
He spoke the truth. Our mother, a champion of peace and kindness, was the reason our father fell under her spell. When her life was extinguished by my uncles, a firestorm of grief engulfed him.
Driven by a potent cocktail of love and vengeance, he, a powerful mage, penned a tome of immense power – The Book of Styxfall, later corrupted and renamed The Shadows of Styxfall.
Unable to bear life without her, he burdened us with this legacy even after she was laid to rest.
Mother, the embodiment of peace, was the only force that teetered him on the brink of sanity, and with her death, that fragile balance shattered, plunging him into a maelstrom of violence.
“Viktor’s right,” Xul muttered, a veneer of nonchalance barely masking the steel in his voice. “Even with you gone, Mom wouldn’t find peace. But trust me, seeing you evaporate wouldn’t exactly make me choirboy of the year either. Minus one out of a hundred on the hate-o-meter, maybe. Just for her. And for the sake of goddamn peace,” he spat, the disgust in his eyes warring with a practiced indifference. Very practiced.
He didn’t advise. Didn’t need to. We both knew what “right” and “wrong” tasted like. “Just go fix your mess, Draven,” Xul growled. “Those mistakes. Past clinging like a burial shroud. Don’t know if you ever shook it off.” He didn’t need to say her name. We shared that past, a past I’d mourned for a thousand lifetimes, and it still wasn’t enough. “Don’t let it swallow you whole.”
Xul’s “advice” felt more like a twisted mockery. This wasn’t his style. It grated on me, a discordant note in our usual symphony of snide remarks.
“Maybe I have my shadows, Xul,” I countered, mirroring his sardonic tone. “But don’t preach about freedom when yours are still chained up tight. Sometimes shadows need... freedom.”
A humorless snort escaped him. “Let’s see who can outrun their shadows, then,” Xul muttered, rising from his throne-like chair. “This little visit’s about over, Draven. Stopping that FATES-ordained chaos is all you, anyway. Lord of whatever,” he added, stretching the word with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“But,” he added, turning back and fixing me with a hard stare, “that doesn’t mean my castle is off-limits. You’re welcome there, just like the rest of our… brothers.” He cast a pointed look at Viktor, who inclined his head in a curt acknowledgment.
As Xul turned to leave, a familiar figure caught my eye. Short brown hair, brown eyes, lost in a way that wasn’t lost at all. Elara!
I couldn’t resist a low rumble. “Looks like your shadow finally caught up, Xul.” His head snapped around, Elara already approaching behind him. Unlike most guests, she waltzed in and out of my manor as she pleased, a privilege I neither granted nor denied.
Xul stalked past his throne-like chair to meet her. Elara started to bow in respect, but Xul was quicker, grabbing her wrist. “What are you doing here?” His voice was a tightly leashed growl.
“Maybe I should ask you the same,” she shot back, mirroring his clipped tone in a way that almost made me snort. Elara always had a way of turning even the most serious matters into a comedic spectacle. “Didn’t you say you wanted no part in your brothers’ messes?”
“It’s settled now,” Xul muttered, clearly not appreciating the spotlight she was shining on him. Elara had a knack for making Xul, the stoic keeper of secrets, squirm. It was a sight I always relished.
“Actually...” Elara’s voice trailed off as she freed her wrist and sashayed towards the table where Viktor and I sat. Viktor’s brow furrowed at her presence – a secret I was keeping under wraps for now, no need to ruffle his feathers just yet. “Speaking of messes,” Elara continued, addressing all three of us, “something big just happened. And oh, goodness, I suppose I should bow to my—”
“Spit it out, Elara!” I cut her off, my patience wearing thin. Her bowing routine, especially after Xul had stopped her, was of no use. But the news she carried held more weight. Back then, Elara was my primary source of information.
Elara let out a huff. “The... the shadows of Styxfall,” she stammered, “there’s a crack.”
“A crack?!” Viktor scoffed, skepticism lacing his voice.
“It sounds crazy, I know,” Elara admitted, a hitch in her voice that wasn’t fear. “But I felt it. Like something shattered. Did either of you feel it?”
Xul, the goddamn master of time, nodded curtly. “I did. Draven?” His gaze pinned me down, demanding a response. Fuck.
Honestly, I was clueless. I’d have to dig deeper to know for sure.
Viktor, part of the witches’ council though he was, hated anything related to the Shadows of Styxfall. It reeked of Dad, and after Mom’s death, that reek had turned into a putrid stench. Before, Dad had been the cool, aloof patriarch. Now, he was a ghost that haunted Viktor’s every move. No surprise he remained silent.
Xul wouldn’t let it drop. “So you’re not entertaining the idea of Morwenna cracking one of the Styxfall mirrors?” He knew exactly how to push my buttons. My eyebrows shot up. “Playing dumb won’t fly, Draven. An impossible crack in the Shadows could very well mean the FATES were right.” The weight of those words settled on me like a shroud. “Chaos. Big, messy chaos.”
Then came a vampire guard, rushing in with fear clinging to him like a shroud. His body trembled, his head bowed. “My lords, your brothers… they attack!”
“Attacking?!” I echoed, incredulous.
“Forgot to mention,” Elara chimed in, ever the bearer of bad news, “Prince Vorax is kinda... leading an entire vampire army. More like a rebellion, really.”
I almost snorted. Vorax. The family nutjob. Even Mom had called him out on his psychotic tendencies. Now he was leading an army, a rebellion against my rule as Lord of the Vampires. The Vimics’.
Xul’s eyes narrowed. “So, Lord Draven, what’s the plan? Vorax is off his rocker as usual, and Aric, Cassian, even the damn twins, Malek and Rafael, are backing him. What do you do? Kill them to end the chaos, or let them kill you?” Xul was playing a twisted game, taunting me with his words. I saw through it clear as day.
“No one dies,” I declared.
“They despise you, Draven. That’s why they dare to storm your castle walls.” Xul sneered, twisting the knife further.
“And I can’t exactly blame them,” I admitted, a bitter truth rolling off my tongue. “I’ve made mistakes, plenty of them, and the bill’s coming due. But Aric, Cassian, Malek, Rafael… they wouldn’t take it that far.”
“Hate burns for you in their hearts, Draven,” Xul snarled. “Aric respects you, Cassian idolizes you, Malek worships the ground you walk on, and Rafael… well, Rafael tries too damn hard to be you, the almighty ruler. But Vorax?” He let out a humorless snarl.
“Don’t even get me started on him,” Viktor growled, his pale yellow eyes (the color of sunbaked parchment) blazing in his gaunt face.
Elara, ever the gossip, chimed in. “He killed my raven, you know. Deserved it, maybe, but not the raven. It was a gift.” Seems everyone had a bone to pick with Vorax.
“This whole mess is your creation, Draven,” Xul said, quoting me back with a sneer. “Like you said, not our problem.” Not that I needed him or his help anyway.
“So you’re not helping, then?” Elara’s voice held a hint of accusation directed at Xul.
“Nope,” Xul said curtly. “We’re leaving.”
“We? You mean you,” Elara corrected. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with Lord Draven.”
“Elara, we go,” Xul repeated, his voice tight.
“No, you go. Lord Draven needs my help, and besides, my loyalty doesn’t lie with you.” Her gaze flicked to me, a sad smile on her lips. “I may not serve you officially, Lord Draven, but you’re family. Even if you don’t see me that way.”
“I’ll fight beside you, brother,” Viktor declared, rising from his throne.
Elara’s stare drilled into Xul. I knew his loathing for me ran deep, knew he wouldn’t lift a finger to help me willingly. And honestly, I didn’t need their help. But the flicker of connection, a reminder of the time we were closer than blood, tugged at him. Thanks to Elara’s relentless insistence, a reluctant agreement finally escaped his gritted teeth.
“Fine,” Xul spat, the words laced with resentment. “Not for you, Draven, but because Mom wouldn’t have wanted this chaos… and you,” he added, his gaze shifting to Elara, his jaw clenched. “This isn’t over, Elarabeth Vance. You’ll pay for this defiance in ways you can’t even imagine.” Elara met his threat with a nonchalant eye roll.
“So, what’s the plan, brother?” Viktor asked as I rose from my seat.
A low rumble escaped my throat. “Stay alive.”