Chapter 15 #2
I chanced making my way to the kitchen, giving the battling deities a wide berth as I ran past them.
Grabbing a large bowl, I filled it with water and moved to my fridge to pull out a few other necessities that I put in a reusable grocery bag.
I returned to the living room to find Larkin’s arms locked around Cirrian’s neck and his legs anchoring him in place.
Cirrian had just broken the hold when I dumped the cold water on both of them.
It wasn’t enough of a deterrent to cool their anger.
They were locked in a hold, raining punches on each other.
Stepping out of reach, I grabbed some eggs from the bag and pelted them with them. Each one got three hurled at them.
Their heads snapped in my direction. I lobbed two more to make my point. Quickly pulling from each other, they stood, mouths gaping, glaring at me as I casually tossed and caught an egg in my hand.
There weren’t any physical similarities, but the looks of utter incredulity and indignation were identical. With one look at Cirrian, Larkin’s rage reignited. Before he could act, a bag of frozen corn careened toward him. He plucked it out of the air.
“No.” I pointed my finger at them. I didn’t think the whole dousing with water and assailing two deities with eggs situation would be the tension-reliever it was.
“Use your words,” I demanded.
“Kara!” Cirrian’s voice thundered. Taking in his stained shirt, he pulled the wet fabric from his body.
Larkin still hadn’t found his words and seemed to be stuck between shock, revulsion, and rage.
The room was charged with violence and magic.
The aura of powerful energy wafting from him was a reminder that I was dealing with gods of death who were capable of great destruction.
Regret slowly inched in. Standing taller, I held their gazes.
Their tension-coiled postures and honed glares mirrored each other.
“You were destroying my house,” I defended. The audacity and censure from earlier revived and made its way into my tone.
“Then you stop the fight,” Cirrian said.
“With my body? Are you kidding? I wasn’t getting between you two while you were pummeling each other in a death match.”
“We would not have hurt you,” Larkin said with a confidence I didn’t share.
Pointing to the flipped table, hole in the wall, spilled dirt from the planter, and the broken leg of a chair that was now tilted at a pitiful angle, I said, “How could I have known that? Nothing about the exchange between you two made me confident about that. So, I did what I had to.” I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin to meet his eyes.
Larkin’s roar of laughter eased my rising apprehension.
“I like her. She’s a lively one.” He studied his brother.
“And obviously you do as well,” he said, tugging off his shirt.
I averted my eyes from the shirtless deity in my living room to the other one.
A flick of his fingers summoned a surge of magic that filled the room.
Seconds later, a diaphanous shimmer of blue and gray flashed before solidifying into a solid navy polo shirt.
I wasn’t confident it wasn’t a glamor and dismissed the urge to touch it to confirm.
His effortless command of magic sent a surge of regret for the way I had handled their fight.
Cirrian looked down at his pants, which had been spared most of the damage, apart from some water that had splashed on them.
Holding my gaze, he followed his brother’s actions, stripping away his shirt and giving me glimpses of striated muscles on his abdomen, broad defined pecs, and shoulders.
A tapestry of beautiful body art covered his body, including the one that bonded us together.
It flashed its appearance before disappearing.
Emulating Larkin, he clothed himself in a midnight-blue button-down, sleeves folded back at the forearm.
Larkin’s attention was fixed on the mark then swept to mine.
I hadn’t sensed its presence, but it must have made an appearance, too, because it renewed Larkin’s anger.
“Why are you bound to her?” he growled.
Cirrian avoided looking at Larkin. “It’s a complicated situation.”
“Everything is a complicated situation with you. And we’re the ones left to make it simple enough to protect you. I’m growing tired of it, Cirrian.”
Larkin’s fingers curled inward, knuckles whitening as his jaw clenched.
A thunderstorm of emotions swept over his face, taking several moments to manage.
I considered stepping between them to prevent another of their explosive displays of brotherly love, but my self-preservation instinct flashed a warning.
I sucked in a breath when Larkin inched closer to Cirrian. “You killed Diehle.”
“He was an asshole who’d never been held accountable for his cruelty, broken oaths toward his debtors, or his innumerable transgressions. He had too much power and not enough accountability. It was only a matter of time before he met his fitting end.”
“Diehle’s behavior has been consistent for a quarter of a century, and it never bothered you to the extent you needed to intervene.
” Larkin’s attention moved to me again, giving me another long, assessing look.
“So, brother,” he gritted out in a low and breezy tone, although his interest was anything but, “why did you break our rules? What made Diehle deserving of punishment now?”
“It was overdue. We are the few people who could deliver it,” Cirrian provided. Instead of meeting his brother’s eyes, he took a remarkable interest in the damage they’d caused.
“You’ve put Sayier in the compromising position of hiding your reckless behavior from the Bavelon.” He continued to study Cirrian, searching for answers in a situation that made no sense. His question sparked my own curiosity about why my bond to Cirrian unsettled Larkin so much.
“You killed Diehle and tethered your magic to this human.” Curiosity mingled with frustration, then Larkin stiffened, his expression becoming pensive. “And there’s uncollected magic.”
Crossing the room with liquid grace and practiced stealth, he hunted for the uncollected magic.
“Stop,” I demanded when he headed for the stairs. He stopped mid-movement, holding his position like a statue. Rushing to him, I placed a hand on his arm. “You can’t go up there.”
His voice was soft but held the edge of challenge. “Can’t? Surely you don’t believe you have the capabilities to stop me?”
They were precise in their wording. Seemingly hyperaware of the importance words held in creating spells and creating binding oaths. Where I’d considered it unnecessarily pedantic, they held a reverence for the significance and power of words, urging me to be equally cautious with mine.
“I am correct, there is uncollected magic here,” he posed to Cirrian, searching his face that remained an impassive mask.
Perhaps it was years of familiarity, or Larkin was particularly perceptive, but disappointment shrouded his face.
Seconds later, he disappeared. Tossing the bag of produce and eggs aside, which wouldn’t do anything to stop Larkin, I sprinted to the guest room.
Mind racing and heart pounding, I had no idea how I’d stop him collecting the magic.
Larkin stood over Amelia, examining the marks Cirrian had left on her.
“This can’t be,” he told me regretfully. Making several rote movements with his hand, lances of silver light coiled around his fingers like a spool of thread. It slowly unwound and inched toward the markings on Amelia.
“No!” I darted toward him, slamming into a ward. Smashing my fist against it, I waited for it to dissolve like the few wards that managed to cause me slight resistance. It held strong.
“Please.” My voice was reedy with desperation.
Helplessly, I watched as the magic Cirrian had placed on Amelia became a pearl glow and pulled from her, intertwining with Larkin’s magic as it pulled away.
The ward held under my ferocious pounding.
No give, not even a pacifying undulation.
Based on Larkin’s grimace, it took a great deal of effort to hold the ward and perform his magic.
I thought of my bond with Cirrian and how distraught it had made Larkin.
Cirrian had used the bond to jolt me out of the mer-creature’s thrall, so I hoped I could use it in a similar manner.
Somehow pull from the magic that bound us or force my erratic and inconsistent magic to make an appearance.
Concentrating, I imagined the bond, searched for it, willed it to activate. To do something. Anything.
Nothing.
Refusing to give in to despair, I put everything I had into thrashing the ward.
I got moments of renewed confidence when I believed it wavered, although that could have solely been sheer optimism.
I’d come too fucking close for it to end like this.
To dodge one shadow god’s collection only for another to execute it on a whim.
The howl of anger and desperation didn’t sound like me.
Larkin looked in my direction with a pitying look of regret.
Cirrian materialized in front of him. Seeing his work slowly being destroyed, he shoved Larkin, sending him careening across the room to hit the floor just short of the wall.
His recovery was so fast it was a blur of movement.
I couldn’t determine if he’d walked or transported back to Cirrian, who was examining the markings on Amelia.
I was still locked behind a ward. “Cirrian,” I whispered. Noticing my restriction, his mouth moved as he waved a hand in my direction, collapsing the ward. I’d made it two steps before I slammed into another.
“Let me go, Larkin,” I demanded.
He responded by cuffing a hand around Cirrian’s neck. His anger and frustration had morphed into a turbulence of shifting emotions.