Chapter 12
Reagan
“Freddy has eyes on the room,” Heil said from the doorway.
The captain of Mountheim’s battle mages kept glancing to the floor below the railing, waiting for a signal from one of his squad.
Reagan paced the length of the room, acknowledging his own impatience. His access flooded his veins with a bitter promise.
“Did you leave the door unlocked?” he asked the captain again, who might as well have been a rock for all his deadly calm.
Heil had led his battle mages for over nine years now, since the previous captain died trying to protect the former rulers of Mountheim.
He inclined his head. “One of them’s suspicious, trying to convince the other two that they shouldn’t flee. I give it two minutes.” He crossed his arms and watched Reagan as if gauging his state. “You sure you don’t want two of us to go with you?”
Reagan smiled without warmth. “No. If it’s three against three, I can’t argue my disadvantage.” He stopped at the mantel, rolled his shoulders to burn off some of the tightness. “I’ll be just defending my lands, since they were stupid enough to cross.”
“I think they were heading to human territory,” Heil said, a sneer tracing his mouth.
His patrollers had finally spotted Caius, Dexter, and Goyle just outside Mountheim’s border. The three Scions who had been in the cabin were now held in a room inside the battle mage outpost. A few more minutes, and the Order’s minions would realise their cell was unlocked.
Reagan centred himself the way he always did before a hunt, drawing breath until his heartbeat was steady and his limbs thrummed with anticipation. In those moments he felt no real distance between himself and his familiar, both wanting to maim.
He couldn’t forget what he had seen in that cabin.
Jane’s skin seared with boot marks, the recent bruises, the dried red stain crusted at her mouth.
She had leaned her weight unevenly, as though favouring one side.
He had seen the signs that night, and Hildegard had confirmed that a rib had been recently mended.
Each night the memory set his teeth on edge, just like the reminder of that last trial he’d nearly failed, when impulse urged him to kill Caius and Varian outright in that cabin. Had he not been so desperate, he would have seen the crucible for what it was.
Fate’s last trial to him.
So he waited and today, Heil had called from an outpost just east of the human borders.
Reagan’s rage was a thing to behold if he let it out, but now it warred with dangerous calm.
He was no longer reckless to the point of damning himself to impulse.
No, he had thought long and hard about this, and even though his bloodlust was high, it quieted in view of the plan that would give the Scions the punishment they deserved and still abide by defence procedure.
He did not fear three against one. He was looking forward to it.
“Alright,” he said, motioning Heil closer.
The captain sighed but obeyed, stepping forward with visible reluctance, the black-stitched leathers he wore streaked with the residue of the woods. Heil was almost the same size as Reagan, and if he wanted to, he could do real damage.
“Make it good,” Reagan said, rolling his neck until it cracked.
“I don’t know about this, Reagan,” Heil muttered.
“You said—”
The captain’s fist connected with his jaw before he could finish, the impact rattling his teeth. Spit pooled in his mouth and Reagan cursed under his breath, turning towards the window to spit it out.
“Actually, that felt quite good,” Heil remarked, sounding far too pleased as he retreated to the doorway and peered outside, his attention fixing on the level below.
“Well, it appears we’re just in time. The room’s empty.
Remember, they have five kilometres before they can fling.
And judging by Freddy’s gesture, they’re running south. ”
Reagan’s hands flexed, his jaw pulsing as he drew on the stir of power that rose in his well, and he strode for the door.
“I’ll just nicely bring them back. We clean the damage and head to court,” he said, his voice feigning normalcy and calm.
Heil didn’t deign to respond, his features set in a mask of contemplation, seeing straight through him.
“What?” Reagan asked, out of curiosity for that expression. “Do you think I’m wrong?”
Heil’s eyes flicked between the treeline beyond the open corridor and his Lord’s face.
“You gave them a chance to sit and wait for judgement. If they had any sense, they’d know that was their best option.
” The captain’s mouth tightened as he studied Reagan.
“You would have just brought them to justice if they had stayed. Right?”
Reagan inclined his head, weighing the question. Would he just deliver the Scions to Malory? Would he simply escort Caius to a nice, civil judgement? The man who inflicted his torture. Her torture. Her broken rib.
“Does it matter?” Reagan asked, the words cool and final.
Then he flung, landing near the exit the Scions had used, and began tracking their footprints. They weren’t far, probably believing they’d already escaped.
Reagan moved between the trees, the gravel scrunching beneath his boots while he waded through the shadows cast by the grey sky, and wished briefly for his familiar’s stealth.
He found them, three dark shapes scurrying ahead.
Reagan veered right, fixing on the one who had driven a knee into Gwinifer’s stomach. He marked the location, and in a heartbeat, the Scion was beside him. Reagan’s hand clamped around his throat, and they vanished.
The next instant they were on the ground. Dirt filled the man’s mouth as Reagan pinned him by the neck. His vision turned red. The Scion clawed at his wrists, eyes bulging as he recognized him.
“I thought my patrol told you to stay put,” he whispered, smiling at the man.
The Scion tried to speak, but only a choking sound left him. Reagan hushed him, listening for the others. They had stopped, whispering to one another. He let his thoughts slip into the rhythm of the man’s blood, felt his pulse hammering against his palms, the warmth rising.
That was what satisfied him, feeling blood heat beneath the skin, like a child practicing elemental arts on water. Innocent enough to hide just how blistering it could become.
He shifted, drove his knee into the man’s groin, pressed down with weight. The man cried out without sound.
There was gravel in Reagan’s voice when he spoke. “Calm yourself. You’re fading too fast. I can barely enjoy this.” His grip tightened, blisters forming on the man’s skin, yet the Scion couldn’t make a sound. The man’s eyes rolled back. “This is for her and for my sister.”
Reagan stood, leaving the body to sag in the dirt, paralysed until he was done.
The second was easy to find. They had split, as though they preferred to rely on luck rather than fight together.
They probably thought it would slow him.
Instead, it exposed them for what they were, incapable of trusting anyone but themselves.
Not battle mages. Just depraved scum who revelled in cruelty, who sought out the innocent simply because they could.
He collided with the man’s back, driving him face-first into the ground.
The Scion thrashed beneath him, grunting and pleading.
Sweet spirals of adrenaline filled Reagan’s body as he twisted the man’s arm.
Twisted so far that the shoulder cracked out of its socket. The scream echoed under the canopy.
“Thank you so much for running,” Reagan said casually, forcing the arm further, enjoying the man’s agonizing wails. “I think you were the one who kicked my emissary. And still, today, you try an attempt on my life?”
The Scion cried out. Warmth spread under Reagan’s knees. The man had pissed himself.
“I didn’t. I didn’t,” he gasped.
Reagan shoved his face into the dirt. “But you did. And maybe hurting a human would earn you an easy deal. But hurting a Mage Lord?” The Scion bucked, desperate for air. “Now even that disgrace of a court will see you pay.”
He slammed the man’s head against the ground. Silence followed. One left.
Reagan moved quickly. Caius would soon reach the edge of the radius that would allow him to fling. When Reagan spotted him through the trees, his limbs filled with mana and violence.
“You’re almost there.”
Caius spun, eyes wide, searching. He cursed low and ran again. Reagan had no such limitation to move. As the Mage Lord, he could fling in any stretch of his land.
“I thought you fancied yourself superior,” he said, voice almost lazy. “Yet you went three against her.”
Branches cracked under Caius’s boots, his breath ragged, movements frantic. Reagan gathered his mana into a gust and released it. The wind snatched the Scion’s legs from under him, sending him crashing on his side.
Caius turned on his back, mouth twisting. “Morcium voco."
Reagan’s ward swathed him on reflex, rising in a shimmering hush before Caius could finish uttering the death hex. The blast whisked away, and Reagan laughed, so steeped in rage that, for a fleeting second, he thought he might turn.
“Oh, so close,” he taunted, letting his voice carry with feigned disappointment.
Caius writhed, muttering something frantic, clawing at the ground to fight the invisible hold. But his power came as nothing more than a weak push back.
Reagan seized the collar of Caius’s cloak and yanked him back until he lay flat on the ground. "You're not so brave fighting someone your own size, are you?” His gaze travelled over the man. "No ward. No knife at a woman's throat. Suddenly you're not so superior.”
He didn't give the man time to respond. In a blur of movement, Reagan surged to his feet and drove his boot into the Scion's stomach.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The Scion folded around the blows, chest heaving as he curled in on himself.
Reagan stared down, tasting blood in his mouth.
The man’s red face lolled on the ground, but he could still talk. “You won’t kill me. I did not kill ya human bitch,” Caius rasped, then grinned. “But when I get her again, I will do some real kinky stuff.”
Reagan let all the gathered violence guide his movements.
His breathing was hard as he placed his boot over the man’s ribs. He pressed his weight onto Caius’s stomach, leveraging more of his power for strength. The ribs yielded with a brittle snap, and a strangled cry burst out of Caius, loud enough for Heil to hear.
Reagan relaxed at the sound.
“I don’t deal very well with threats. And you already tried to kill me, so no one would give a flying fuck about what happens to you.”
He pressed his boot against the broken rib and watched the man’s suffering ripple through him. For a moment he felt as though the tightness in his own chest poured straight into the Scion’s.
“But then I thought that a lifetime in Pavilion, staring into that murky black every second of every day, might be a better fate for you. I thought to myself…letting you rot sounds far more satisfying. Especially now, after you tried to take a Mage Lord’s life.
” A humourless smile tugged at his mouth.
“They will definitely take you down under.”
Reagan recognised the blinding rage, the urge to flay the man alive like a snake and use the skin as a trophy, to fry him with a crack of lightning. He recognised the urge for what it was and released it on a long, shaking breath.
“But I will see that you are put in a cell worthy of your superiority,” Reagan said evenly. “I will ask her to choose how low in Pavilion you should be, where the pressure is exquisite.”
He wished, briefly, that he could char that flesh to cinders, but that would take too long to mend, and Reagan needed to bring the man to court after this.
“I will even put in a word for you,” he went on. “They say that for certain offenders they sink cells to the sea floor. The salt takes the moisture from your body. At first, it’s said to leave you desperately thirsty, then dries your flesh until you are little more than a husk.”
He leaned forward and pressed his boot down harder.
Caius’s face twisted. A guttural groan tore from his throat. Reagan wondered if it was more from the pain or from the thought of that place. He would already be a mess to mend before taking to court.
“Hush,” Reagan whispered. “I want to share what I know, so you’re prepared.
They say down there no one hears your screams. Once the barnacles take hold of your arms and legs, they itch until you try to tear your own skin off.
Each one grows for some foul thing you did to someone else.
I think it’s supposed to be a lesson. You know how creative they are.
” He exhaled like he was relaxed. “And in that silence… Curses, it must drive you mad.”
Caius’s colour drained. Every trace of defiance was gone.
Reagan bent and tapped his cheek twice. “Yes. That’s a much better punishment.”