Page 259 of Psycho Pack

Ivy clearly doesn't like it, but she stands back. What she doesn't know is I'm having just as much trouble as she is.

But I get it.

This is some deep-seated family bullshit that needs to play out. And judging by the fact Valek hasn't put a bullet through anyone's skull yet, he must feel the same way.

The brothers circle each other, neither making the first move. It's like watching a fucked-up mirror. Despite looking so different, they have the same graceful way of moving. But where Plague's face is all cold calculation, Azarel's is blank in a way I didn't know a person could be.

Like his faceisa mask.

"I'll ask you one more time," Azarel says in a dangerous tone as void of emotion as his expression. "Where. Is. The. Girl."

"Funny," Plague says in that suspicious tone that always makes the hair on my neck stand up. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were here in a personal capacity rather than as Reinmich's errand boy."

Ohshit!

Azarel's blank mask cracks for just a split second. Just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of raw fury before he launches himself at his brother. Their blades meet with a sound that makes my teeth ache, sending sparks flying in the early morning light.

I flinch hard, my muscles coiling with the need to intervene.

To protect what's mine.

Because Plagueismine, just like he's Ivy's and the rest of the pack's. The fact that this beast of a man shares his blood doesn't change that.

But Plague is holding his own, barely. What he lacks in raw power, he makes up for in speed and precision. He dances away from Azarel's brutal attacks like smoke, that fancy blade flickering out to draw first blood.

A shallow cut across his brother's bicep.

The next clash of metal on metal makes me wince. Azarel puts his full strength behind the blow and Plague goes flying back, his boots skidding in the dirt as he struggles to keep his balance. My fists clench so hard I feel warm blood trickling between my fingers where my nails break skin.

A small hand slips into mine. I glance down to see Ivy looking up at me with worried eyes, her fingers intertwining with mine. The gesture helps ground me, but only barely.

Every muscle in my body strains toward the fight.

"Stay back," Plague barks at us, clearly sensing our intention to help. "This is between brothers?—"

The warning costs him. Azarel's boot connects with his knee and Plague stumbles. His brother follows up with a vicious slash that would have opened Plague's throat if he hadn't managed to get his blade up in time.

I think they're actually trying to kill each other.

At least Azarel is.

Holy fucking shit.

The fight turns savage, all pretense of ceremony abandoned. Azarel fights like a man possessed, his attacks growing more brutal with each exchange. But there's something off about it. His movements are too rigid, too controlled even in his rage.

Like he's fighting himself as much as his brother.

Plague matches his intensity, but I can see him tiring. His precise strikes are getting sloppier, his footwork less sure. Blood trickles from a cut above his eye where Azarel's pommel caught him.

I don't know if I can hold back much longer, but I'm afraid if I do charge in, I'll make everything worse. I'm like a wrecking ball. I don't have the precision necessary to actually make a goddamn difference here.

All I can do is watch and keep myself between them and Ivy.

Fuck.

The fight is getting brutal when Plague finally lands a solid hit, his blade slicing across Azarel's chest. It's not deep, but it draws blood and it tears open Azarel's cloak. Apparently that's the last straw for this psycho beast because he flings his sword across the space between them and it pierces the dirt at Plague's feet.

Then again, he is Plague's brother.

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