Page 100 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines

Nzinga!

Charmaine watched the twins vanish into the bunker tent with their uncle, the man who called himself the professor. But Nzinga slipped away in silence. Charmaine’s telepathic burst halted Nzinga in her tracks. Nzinga stood rigid, facing away, tension brimmed between them. Charmaine’s eyes narrowed; did this young warrior truly think she could defy her?

Even with her powers dimmed, Charmaine retained strength from Liora’s legacy. She took a step forward, fists clenched, ready for whatever came next.

Outside, Greenlee observed the confrontation with conspiratorial eyes. Charmaine caught her staring and noted the lack of intervention before the matriarch turned away—Greenlee had left Nzinga to face this alone. Charmaine’s resolve deepened.Nzinga!Your mother and protector are gone. Face me.

At last, Nzinga turned, her smile tight and cold. “Please, my Guardian,” she replied, voice low. “You’re not safe here. Go with the others.”

Charmaine’s laugh was brittle.Do you think you can command me? She cut a glance down, taunting. Not long ago, I lifted my pinky just to help you stand.

“How do you feel now, Guardian? Can you lift a pinky?” Nzinga’s defiance shone.

Around them, alarms blared as the First People fortified their camp against an unseen threat. Charmaine felt the dawn creeping in and with it, an ominous drain on her power. Tristano would be vulnerable if she didn’t act soon—and so would she.

Her patience broke. Charmaine thrust her hand out, telekinetic energy yanked Nzinga aside, into the shadows near the tent. The camp’s chaos drowned out their words, so Charmaine pressed straight into Nzinga’s mind.What’s happening to me here?

Nzinga’s face tightened, resisting. Charmaine pushed harder.ANSWER ME.

“I don’t understand, Guardian. Please?—”

Charmaine’s control deepened. Shadows gathered as she summoned the dregs of her power, intensifying her mental grip.You can’t hide the truth from me. The barrier—what is it? How do I bring it down?

Nzinga’s eyes widened, her mental defenses buckling under Charmaine’s relentless push.

If I must find it myself,Charmaine’s voice echoed in Nzinga’s mind, laced with menace,I’ll bring this camp to ruin. And you, Nzinga—I’ll save you for last. Remember who I am. Remember that I once spared you. Don’t make me regret mercy.

The force fieldloomed before them, tall and unyielding, its supernatural energy pressed down on the trio like a heavy, suffocating blanket. They stood at the edge of its dominance, each of them felt the strain, the weight of the ancient magic that pulsated throughout the air.

“What do you think this is?” Tristan asked Sonya, the guardian.

“It feels…wrong.”

“No shit,” mumbled Tristan.

“Its origin smells of the realm,” Sonya replied. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the barrier. “But it can’t be. Even these fools wouldn’t comprehend the usefulness of that kind of magic.”

“Are you sure?” Tristan pressed. “They understood enough to bring you back.”

Sonya’s brow furrowed. Frustration and suspicion met Tristan’s gaze. “I know they can wield it, but understanding it? There has to be some kind of connection…some link to the cosmic energy that fuels it with—I don’t know who.”

Shakespeare’s eyes bore into her. A hunger there that made her nervous and excited. She focused instead on Tristan.

“There is a connection,” Sonya said. Her eyes stretched with realization. “It’s to you.”

“What? Me?” Tristan recoiled, confused he was ready to launch a counterargument.

“Not just you. Your Draca—or better yet, the Supreme Draca, a direct descendant,” she clarified.

“That makes little sense. Vittorio and the brothers are the only ones that close to that power, and neither would help these idiots destroy everything they’ve built,” Tristan argued.

Sonya held his gaze, her voice steady and deliberate. “You’ve studied us, priest. This magic is from the realm. Only someone connected to cosmic energy could make it strong enough to be impenetrable. Not even the twins, who are infants in their power, could wield such knowledge. Somewhere in your coven, there is a betrayer. Either it’s the brothers, or…”

“Phoenix,” Shakespeare interjected. His voice was cold and certain.

“Never,” Tristan said.

Sonya dared to look at Shakespeare, who had stepped closer. She took a small step back, but his words lingered and unsettled her. She had felt Phoenix's ancient wisdom in the way he handled her. There was a cold shrewdness to him.

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