“You think this is right?” I ask, sweeping an arm around at the destruction that’s already taken place. “You think this is the way things should be? Innocent gods being thrown in prison without a fair trial? Making decisions that kill countless humans, all for the sake of your precious new world order?”
“Last I checked,” Neritous replies, his voice still sounding aggravatingly level headed, “you were the one who levelled that city. Not me.”
“You made me,” I protest, practically yelling now. I know I should be making a plan, trying to find a way out of this, especially since the twins are still staring at us with their hawk-like eyes, but I can’t help it. My anger and fear are combining into a hurricane of emotions, none of them useful in the moment. “Just like you made the rest of your kids help you.”
“Made?” Neritous asks, spreading his arms out and looking to the twins for backup. “Since when do these fine young men not want to be here?”
“He’s right,” Ivar affirms, his expression grim. “We’re here because we want to be. Father has a vision, Karma. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner things can go back to the way they’re meant to be.”
“Things were never meant to be this way,” Storm growls. “My mother is dead because of you.”
“And now her power runs through Karma’s veins,” agrees Neritous. “Fitting, isn’t it? But enough stalling.” He rounds on me, a calculating look in his eyes that I don’t like one bit. “This brings us to the job at hand,” he says, nodding in my direction. “Karma, if you would be so kind as to pass those powers on to the rest of us, we would greatly appreciate it.”
“And if I say no?” I ask, the corner of my mouth twitching up.
“You won’t,” Neritous replies. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”
“You son of a bitch,” Peyton shouts, lurching forward. I can see the anger on his face, the sympathy for what Mads has been through and the frustration at how sickeningly cavalier it all is. “Who gave you the right to play god?”
Neritous bursts out laughing at that. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard. “Have you forgotten, you dense boy?” he demands. “We are gods.” As if to demonstrate, he extends his hand lazily, and a bolt of red lightning erupts across the room. It strikes Peyton squarely in the chest, sending him flying back, and he hits the far wall with a thud.
“Peyton!” Mads yells, bolting in his direction. I don’t dare look, afraid of what I’ll see, but I’m relieved when I see he’s still breathing. Just unconscious.
“I think I’ve made my point, don’t you?” Neritous continues. “You give us your powers, Karma. Otherwise, things will become…unpleasant.”
I glance over my shoulder at my parents, who are watching the exchange with tense looks on their faces, and then back at the guys, who seem torn. My stomach drops when I realise this is shaping up to be violent, and with Mads untrained and Peyton out of commission, I’m liking our odds less and less by the second. “What will you do?” I ask Neritous finally, taking a tentative step forward. Storm looks like he wants to stop me, but I touch his arm and shake my head. “What will you do with these powers if I give them to you?”
“That’s hardly any of your concern.”
“Will you leave me and my family alone?” I persist. “Will you let Dominic and Ruby go, and let us have our lives back?”
Neritous shakes his head slowly, looking almost disappointed. “You’re mistaken if you think you’ll ever be able to go back to your lives after this,” he informs me. “Any of you.”
“Then go to hell,” I reply without a second thought.
Neritous eyes me for a long moment before wordlessly turning and extending his hand once more. A second, thicker bolt of red lightning bursts forward, except this one doesn’t strike Peyton; it veers to the left, where my other brothers are standing, and before any of us can react, Hugo is on the floor. The smell of burned flesh is acrid and nauseating, and as soon as I look at him, I’m wishing I didn’t; there’s a smoking hole in his chest, and his eyes are wide and staring.
Hugo is dead.
Mum lets out a keening wail and runs to his body, dad on her heels, and I watch as they collapse by Hugo’s body, the grief washing over me in a wave. Tears are already streaming down my face as I turn back to Neritous. “How could you?” I demand.
“As I said,” he replies, “the sooner you cooperate, the easier this will be for all of you. I’m done playing games.” He extends his hand to me, and I can feel myself moving to join him, in spite of the voice in my head screaming at me not to. “If you would be so kind…,” he says, and there’s no need to finish the sentence.
My breath shaky, tears tracing hot paths down my cheeks, I close my eyes and reach for the unfamiliar life magic that now runs through me. It’s hot, overwhelming in its power, and I know all I have to do to access it is open up and let it out. So I do, channelling my grief and shock into a burst of green energy that emerges from my hands and forms into a sphere, much like the one Neritous made me touch. The others watch, eyes wide, as it levitates higher and higher off the ground, pulsating with an incomprehensible amount of power…and then, in an instant, it dissipates, a bolt of power striking Neritous and each twin in the chest.
The transformation is powerful and instantaneous. I watch as the magic lifts them off their feet, vine tattoos snaking up their arms as their bodies glow with the green light of life magic. So this is it, I think grimly. This is how he finally wins. But there’s nothing for it; the sounds of mum’s heartbroken sobs are enough to make me sure of that.
After what feels like ages of watching their power build, the intruders finally drop to the ground, their new tattoos a horrible reminder of the magic we now share. Neritous gets to his feet slowly, staring down at his hands. “Yes,” he breathes, his face lighting up. “Finally.”
The twins get to their feet, exchanging a wondering look as they process what’s happened. The rest of us are left to watch them turn and wordlessly head out the door, as casually as if they were wrapping up a normal family visit. Neritous follows them, pausing briefly in the doorway to meet my gaze and smile. “Thank you,” he says, and the words are like a knife to the heart. “I won’t be requiring any more of your services at this time.”
Like it’s my fecking job.
With that, he walks out the door, leaving us in the midst of the fruits of his destruction. I watch him go for a long moment, trembling.
And then, finally, I give myself permission to cry.
Chapter 64
It feels like the world has shrunk to a point in front of me. Sound seems to ebb and flow, and in spite of the fact that my brother is lying dead in the corner of our living room, all I can seem to do is stare down at my hands. The vine tattoos seem to stare up at me like they’re issuing a challenge, and I’m helpless to do anything other than give in. The tears are coming before I even realise it, pricking at my eyes before spilling over and rolling down my cheeks like a waterfall. And then I’m sobbing, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief as I slowly sink onto the floor, still unable to do anything other than look down at myself in horror. The room blurs with tears, and the sounds of the others around me make me feel like I’m underwater. Vaguely, I’m aware of my mother sobbing, and the sound of my dad’s broken voice as he does his best to comfort her, but it’s clear even without looking that he’s struggling to hold it together. This is my fault, I think, and the tears come even harder. I did this. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t said no to him, if I had just given him what he wanted…
I nearly jump out of my skin when a hand drops to my shoulder, and I look up to see Killian staring down at me, his face a grimace of sympathy and despair. Storm is watching us from the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, and it’s clear that he doesn’t know what to do. Seth, too, seems out of his element as he swallows hard, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I can’t blame him; the guys didn’t know Hugo the way they know me, but that doesn’t make it any harder to witness. Realising that I’m shaking, I lean into Killian’s touch without meaning to, reaching up to grip his hand like a vise as I do my best to compose myself. “Here,” he murmurs, covering my hand with his own, “let me help you.”
I can’t even bring myself to resist, instead letting him pull me gently to my feet and envelop me in his strong arms. I bury my face in his chest like a child as he strokes my hair gently, treating me as delicately as if I were made of porcelain, and as haughty as I can be, I don’t even object. Right now, I feel like the smallest touch could shatter me. I continue to cry, aware that I’m staining his shirt with tears but unable to help it. “Shh,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the crown of my head. “It’s okay. Let it out.” That only seems to bring on more tears, and my grip on him tightens almost instinctively.
Hugo is dead. Hugo is dead. Hugo is dead. It doesn’t seem real. At any minute, I’m going to wake up safe and sound in my bed and sigh with relief when I realise this was all just a bad dream. Hugo is dead and it’s my fault. Hugo is dead and it’s my fault. Hugo is dead and it’s my—
“That bastard,” comes Peyton’s voice, sounding broken and ragged, drawing my attention and forcing me to look away from Killian. “That conniving, selfish son of a bitch.”
“He doesn’t care about anyone or anything,” Mads concurs, and I see that she’s rubbing his back, doing her best to soothe him. “That much is clear.”
“My poor baby,” mum wails, dropping her head as her shoulders heave with sobs. Dad does his best to pull her away from Hugo’s body, but she’s not having any of it, flinging his hands off herself without so much as a second glance as she allows her grief to take her over. Damien is standing in the far corner of the room, tears silently streaming down his face, and I see that his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His face is a mask of pain. He and Hugo were always close, closer to each other than I was to either of them. Their relationship always reminded me a little of my own relationship with Peyton, and my heart goes out to him even as it breaks. He had a life. He had a partner. He had people who loved him. And now he’s been snatched away because I was too stubborn to realise when I was outmatched.
Before I’m even aware I’m doing it, I’m turning to look at Hugo’s body, and an instant later I’m regretting it. The hole in his chest where the lightning struck is still smouldering, the noxious smell of death and scorched skin permeating the entire house. His muscles are already going rigid, and his eyes are wide and staring, glossing over right in front of us. His face is frozen in an expression of panic and surprise, his mouth twisted in a half-grimace that hurts me more the longer I look at it. “Close his eyes,” I say, my voice shaking. I’m not even sure who I’m talking to. “Please, just…close them.”
Dad swallows hard and nods to me before squatting down and smoothing his palm over Hugo’s eyes, gently urging them closed. It helps, but only a little; it feels like my guilt has taken on human form and is now staring lifelessly up at me, coaxing more and more tears out of me. “I…,” I say, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. “I can’t… He’s…” But nothing coherent seems to form, and even doing something as simple as remaining standing suddenly feels like too much. For a moment I sway on my feet, and Killian, who was in the process of going to help them move the body, turns back around. Storm gets to me first, though, putting his muscular arm around my waist and allowing me to sag against him, my legs now feeling like jelly.
