Across the small opening of the white-covered grounds, two of those figures hold my still struggling father on his knees. He fights and claws his way out of their grip, only to be wrestled back into place. His eyes are wild, like that of the feral wolves that often creep through these trees.

“Daddy!” I finally find my voice and scream for him. The dog above me grumbles out another low growl, but I ignore it. It’s a stupid beast. “Daddy! I’m here! Help me!”

My father, a big man even compared to the blacksmith in the local village, jerks his head back and sends the figure behind him sprawling out onto the ground as the back of his skull connects with the man’s face. A spray of blood decorates the snow from the man’s nostrils. With a vicious roar, he attacks the men holding him. I’ve never seen my father fight a day in my life, but watching now, I realize … there are some things I didn’t know about him. Like the fact that he’s a good fighter. Better than good; he’s monstrous in his strength and size and he knows just how to use his abilities to his advantage.

In the blink of an eye, my father has seized one of the figures by their throats and—from the startled gurgled sound that erupts from them, I assume—crushed it, before flinging their form to the snow. He moves onto the next, attacking one after another until those gathered around me begin to shift in unease. They follow after their comrades, heading towards my rampaging father to curb his violence with their sheer numbers.

Hope swells within my chest. I begin to crawl on the ground beneath the big beast sitting on me. It growls and snaps, but doesn’t harm me. Angry, I turn on it and start to push against its snout.

“Get off!” I command, pushing as much of my power into my voice as I can. The animal freezes and begins to whine, but still, it doesn’t move. With a growl of my own, I push harder. “I said, get off of me!”

An invisible force pushes out from my chest and the beast whines louder, beginning to tremble as it rolls off of my once prone body. My throat burns and tingles from that strange core within me that Daddy always warned me against using. This is an emergency, though. I have to. A nearby figure gives a startled shout.

“What the fuck? Grover? Get back on her!” a man’s voice commands the animal, but I glare the creature down as I scramble to my feet and it shrinks back from me. The fire of my house rages in the nearby distance as I slowly raise my gaze to the cloaked figure.

I can feel my anger begin to build, hotter than I’ve ever felt before.

Always control your emotions, Kiera, my father once told me. I knew he said it as more than a way to teach me to be kind and have empathy for others, because it’s dangerous for me to reveal these abilities.

They’re tethered to my emotions—raging and growing more unrestrained the more I’m unable to tamper my anger.

“My Gods … you’re a Mortal God,” the man utters.

I frown at him and take a step back, half intent on running to my father’s aid when he suddenly jerks forward and latches onto me. A gloved hand latches onto my wrist and holds tight. I scream in shock when something pierces through me—an agony I’ve never felt before—and I fall to my knees.

Panting and gasping, my chest squeezes tight as the pain recedes, but not enough for me to climb back to my feet. “What the fuck would a hunter be doing with a Mortal God child?” The man’s question doesn’t seem directed at me, but more musing and confused than anything else.

My pulse speeds up and I search the man’s arm where he’s still holding on to me for whatever caused the pain. When he pulls back, I see it—a thin metal bracelet locked around my wrist. Where it rests against my skin, I can feel a heat from inside it. At first, it had hurt so badly, but now it’s a dull throb—a prickling sensation, if any. It’s uncomfortable. I try to remove it, but it doesn’t come off.

“What…” I grip the little bracelet and yank hard. Still, nothing. “Get this off me!” I scream. More power is pushed into my voice, but it disappears almost instantly and the second it does, a wave of nausea and dizziness assails me.

“Honestly, I never thought I’d need to use this out here,” the man mutters, “but don’t try anything funny anymore. That bracelet will suck up all your Divinity.”

“My what?” I shake my head, trying to clear it of a sudden pain-filled fog.

The man scowls down at me before pointing to the manacles. “That right there is brimstone-made, mutt,” he sneers. “It’s the only thing that can control a being such as you. Don’t even think about fighting us now, ’cause you’ll only lose.”

My lashes flutter. I hate the prickling sensation crawling beneath my flesh where it touches me. It feels heavier than anything I’ve held before. I don’t understand. “W-what’s brimstone?” I slur out.

Eyes wide, the man stares down at me for a moment before he bursts out laughing. The sound is too loud and it echoes up to the tops of the barren branches of the trees around us. When he finally settles and his gaze returns to me, it’s with a twisted expression. He leans down and grabs ahold of my face, holding me in his wide meaty fist.

“Let me give you a lesson, kid,” he says, dropping his voice low as he speaks. “Brimstone is the only weapon mortals have against your kind. With this here”—he taps the bracelet, causing me to wince—“those abilities you’ve had so far are rendered useless.”

He’s not lying. I can feel it. The helpless emptiness of my powers, of the tether my emotions have to that strange place inside of me that’s always allowed me to do things my father never could. Horror descends at the realization. I’m well and truly trapped. I rip my head from his grasp, ignoring the pain, and towards where the rest of the man’s companions are subduing my father.

“Daddy!” I scream out, louder than I ever have before. Tears burn into my eyes and trail down my face. “Daddy!”

There’s no response, though. Or if there is, I don’t hear it because in the next moment, the man’s hand comes down hard on the back of my neck. The world winks out of existence and I’m surrounded by nothing but darkness.

Chapter 29

Kiera

Ipick through the overturned furniture, moving it piece by piece out of my way. Slowly, Theos’ head raises over the chair he’s slumped in. Golden eyes turn towards me, glittering with barely repressed rage. I shouldn’t find that so amusing, but I do. He’s usually playful, cunning, and manipulative. Now, he’s little more than a wounded animal with a thorn in its paw.

I get it. I really fucking do. Nothing is fair in the realm of the Divine, not even for their offspring.

“I said get out,” he snaps, lowering his voice.