Page 18 of A Spark Of Revenge

EIGHT

Lennox

“Hold still,” I snarl at my brother. Frustration and anger are ever-present friends as Razar growls under his breath, his dark green eyes uncovered for a change as I grab the knife lodged in his back and yank it out. Razar tenses, a pained breath hissing between his sharp teeth, but he says nothing when I deposit the blade on my desk and grab some gauze to wipe at the dark blood streaming down his scarred spine.

I let my magic course over him, checking his vitals, and frown when I realize how low his iron and blood sugar are. His beast should have naturally taken care of all physical ailments, the fact that it hasn’t shows me how injured he was.

“You're lucky it wasn’t an onyx blade, or this could have gone a lot differently. How many were there?” I ask as I try to rein in my anger. It’s been over twelve hours since I last saw my Little Demon, and I’m getting restless. Ranger Jennings had been useless with information concerning Meyer, and I had to step out of the council room so I wouldn't throttle the boy when I picked up on his emotions while talking about her.

I know there is a friendship between him and Meyer. They have grown close over the last few weeks, and I only helped kindle that relationship by tossing her physical training on his shoulders—something I deeply regret at the moment.

My Little Demon has formed a little family of her own between the Jennings boy and Elaine's son, but the worry and love I felt coursing from Jennings when Creed mentioned we had lost Meyer and needed his help to find her set my teeth on edge, and made my jealousy spike to mountainous heights. That boy loves her, and I knew there would be no way to pry information from him without causing severe harm, something I refused to do not only because I promised Elaine I wouldn't, but because I know Meyer would never forgive such an action. So I left, cursing myself for fucking everything up as much as I had.

“Eight,” Razar clips out, his tone emotionless as I clean his wound, checking to make sure there isn't anything lodged in his skin. Then I press my palm to his back, letting my magic do the rest of the work. “Three Beastia, three Hunters from the Siberian line, and two black-cloaked Demons. Both of them Versipellis,” Razar growls out, his voice strained from lack of use, and I make a mental note to make him speak more. Mother will murder me if I let him relapse into silence once more.

“Fuck,” I snarl, gritting my teeth, and my hand trembles on Razar’s back. I can feel his muscles straining under the soft flesh, knitting themselves back together as I release even more magic into him. He doesn't need this much help; his escalated healing will take care of the injury in an hour's time or less now that I have fixed the worst of the damage. But with our future looking dark and Demon Wraiths crossing into the Human realm, I don't want to risk leaving my brother injured for longer than necessary. “I’ll send word to Father,” I grit out, trying to think how to word that while I still need to inform him I have personally taken over the North American Stronghold and declared war on the Seniorem.

Razar grunts but doesn't respond otherwise. I take a deep breath, slowly tapering my magic as his flesh heals, the blood flow slowing until all that is left is a drying trail of red dripping down new skin. “You should have called for help when you realized there were more than you could handle,” I murmur, looking at my door and then at the clock on the wall, wondering if Creed was actually going to show up for our meeting or choose to ignore me.

Since our argument in the courtyard, Creed hasn't spoken a word to me. He’ll do as I command, ever the loyal little fucker, but damn, he knows how to toe the line and annoy the shit out of me.

“They’re dead,” Raz growls. Standing up stiffly, he grabs his bloody shirt off my desk before yanking it over his head, his wild hair loose and waving around his face like a dark shield. “I didn't need help,” he rasps, grabbing his black, tattered cloak next, wrapping it around his shoulders like a damn wraith, and flipping the hood up, covering his unique facial features and deadly scowl.

“We are a Legion,” I remind him with a sigh, frustration leaking into my voice when my brother reaches across my desk and grabs his sword, knife sheath, and… “What the fuck? Why do you have Meyer’s Kalis?” I snarl, my eyes widening on the familiar blade, my pulse picking up a notch as I step toward my brother, curiosity and frustration warring for dominance within me.

Razar only glares at me, tucking the blade into his sheath before stroking a long finger down the hilt with a crazed look of anger in his dark eyes. The urge to demand an answer courses through me, needing his submission as much as wanting to know the reason he has my Little Demon's blade.

My beast form snarls and snaps inside me, wanting to be set free. I’m quick to muzzle him, refusing him even an inch of leeway after my massive fuck up last night. Shifting hadn't been the problem. In fact, I should have done that way before last night. We had been playing Axford’s games for far too long and should have attacked well before now. But I needed to get into that damn church without breaking its wards—something only a Dream Walker could do. At first, we were hesitant; unsure if Meyer's blood held enough Dream Walker blood to disarm the spells, then Creed had grown to care for the little brat, and we had argued over using her.

Creed pointed out that if she didn't hold enough Dream Walker DNA, the spells on the church would drain her of life, killing her in an instant. Razar had only grunted at the declaration, but the thought of Meyer dying… of my Little Demon’s fire being snuffed out made my blood boil and a fit of rage took its place. So we waited, hoping we could have a sample sent to Versipellis for testing, and decided we wouldn't use her for the blood ritual until we knew for sure. But then the Seniorem attacked the Rift, causing more damage than I could heal and killing more than eight humans while doing so.

The wave of Beastia and Therion that coursed through the veil was so large that I had thought Razar had been overrun. I shifted in a desperate attempt to save my brothers, tearing through the wave of beasts with ease. My Demon rode the bloodlust after being starved for nearly a year. When the beasts had been handled, I turned my anger on the Seniors and Hunters whom Creed had gathered up, sparing them no mercy and taking Senior DeLuca's head as a trophy for Arthur Axford.

That man had wanted a Royal and sought to trap and torture the King of Hell. The thought alone is enough to amuse me. Little did the daft Senior know that Orcus Darakhs’ sons were living in the castle with him, turning his Hunters against him while lying in wait to take back what he had stolen from us. We were sent on a mission to retrieve what was taken and then return to my father and our kingdom.

Only things hadn't gone as planned. I had underestimated the Hunters’ ability to shield against Demons and had almost revealed our true identity when I found the church and warded room in the south tower. Luckily, I could weave enough spells and take the memories of the Hunter who found us.

Then we discovered how the Umbra Hunters were not only ignoring the Therion and Beastia invasion but making it worse; they were intentionally damaging the veil between our worlds and creating the Rifts. Allowing free access to the beasts that were never supposed to lay foot in this realm and serving up the very souls the Hunters were created to protect as bait in order to steal more magic for themselves.

“Razar,” I growl under my breath as I snap back to the present. I watch as he rolls his shoulders back, his face falling into shadows once more as I glare at him. His body is trembling slightly, but I think he’s too weak to shift right now. No matter what he says, he took on too much by killing the legion that came through the Rift on his own. He should have called for Creed or me to assist or, at the very least, taken some Rangers with him. Only, Razar despises Umbra Hunters, and every single one of them who is loyal to me is terrified of him.

“Why do you have Meyer’s blade?” I ask once more, adding a thread of dominance into my words, reminding him who he is talking to. I don't like to hold my birthright over my brothers, and I hardly ever do, since they typically listen or calmly disagree if they think my choices are wrong. But things have changed since Meyer Smith crashed into our lives.

Creed hasn’t listened to a damn word I have told him, and Razar thinks I’m so lovestruck by Meyer that I’m not thinking straight. I thought he was mindlessly lashing out simply because he hates Hunters, and she is one of them. But then he revealed he’d known exactly who Meyer was from the moment he saw her trying to save Creed that night at her house. I glare at my older brother, not sure what to think anymore. Out of my five brothers, Razar has consistently been the hardest to read, but I always prided myself on being the person who could see past his anger and pain.

That all changed when Archer died. The guilt and pain of his death rushes through me like it always does when I think of him, gnawing on the jagged parts of my heart. “She stabbed me,” Razar rasps, his voice raspy and difficult to make out even for me.

“Who? Meyer?” I ask, my dark mood lightening at the thought. Razar scowls at my amused expression as he protectively covers the knife with his cloak. I chuckle a little when Razar only nods, his lips twitching slightly on one side, making my eyes widen in shock.

For most people, it would seem that Razar is mad and planning revenge on a woman he despises. And the first part is true. Razar won't let Meyer get away with stabbing him. He no doubt has already planned out a minimum of three different punishments, along with a contingency plan for each, just in case. But it's the way his lips twitch, which may as well be a fucking smile, that has me so damn amused.

Razar says he is upset because Creed and I are too obsessed with one girl. Yet, Meyer managed to stab Razar… and is currently alive and well. That is more than I can say about anyone who has ever come close to stabbing Razar. Hell, there are several I know of who have died for simply looking at my brother wrong. Plus, the small fact that my brother is currently guarding Meyer’s knife like it's now his most prized possession.

Deciding to test my theory, I hold my hand out, moving to snatch the Kalis from under his cloak. Razar's reaction is instantaneous, making me bark out a triumphant laugh when he suddenly holds a blade at my throat, his teeth bared like a damn animal guarding its fresh kill. Growling under his breath, Razar leans into his strike, dark green eyes flashing black, turning into matching pools of death.

“For fuck’s sake,” I snarl, my smile turning a little manic as I chuckle darkly, pressing my neck against the steely cold edge of his razor-sharp blade. The slight bite of pain lights up my senses, and I shiver in excitement, my Demon more than ready to put Razar back in his place for daring to even think about my girl. “You like her!” I accuse, and Razar scoffs in disgust. He drops his knife from my throat and tilts his head enough to watch the small bead of blood run down to the collar of my shirt, a glint of hunger in his eyes.

“I have no attachment or feelings for the half-blood girl besides an interest in how she continues to stay alive despite everyone's best efforts. That would be an ill-conceived notion and a waste of my valuable time,” Razar whispers, stunning the shit out of me when he uses complete fucking sentences. It's been months… no, probably a year since I’ve heard Razar string more than a handful of words together this soon after shifting back from his Beastia form. It typically takes him hours to say a few words and days before he will give me a whole conversation. His beast is getting stronger, and Razar has difficulty putting him back into his cage.

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