Page 105 of Bound in Blood

He screws his eyes closed and presses his lips together as though that may stop me from finding the answers I seek. But if he will not tell me, then I will discover them for myself. I comb his memories, shoving aside all the ones he pushes to the forefront of his mind as I delve into the heart of his darkness. His bitterness and jealousy. His cowardice. He knew he was never strong enough to kill me, so he did not even try, at least not in physical deed. Killing me was not enough. He had to make me suffer—to make me feel as he did. To watch me lose everything I ever loved. My beloved firstborn son. My kind, beautiful, innocent daughters. My wife. He had her killed simply because she was mine and he could not have her.

“Revenge!” I shake him like he is a puppet on a string before slamming him back against the wall. That he has caused so much pain and suffering for something so petty and human as revenge only makes this all so much more tragic. “This was about your petty, mindless revenge.”

He snivels, pathetic and weak. “You never understood. Never loved her like I?—”

“You never loved her, Giorgios!” I scream the accusation so loud I am sure I can be heard in the netherworld, but then I drop my voice and hold him close, for I want him and him alone tohear every word of what I say. “For if you had, you would not have been able to cause her even a moment’s pain.”

“I loved her,” he whimpers. “And she was mine.”

I shake my head. “She was never yours.”

And now I am assaulted by his thoughts of Ophelia, of his desire to bond with and impregnate her. To defile her. Not because her loves her. But because he hates me. The ugliness of his intent toward my sweet Ophelia makes me recoil, but not long enough for me to forget why I am here or to give him any room to escape.

“You are despicable.” I wrap my hand around his throat. He struggles, clawing at my arm, but his strength is no match for mine. It never has been. I have always been the better of us, and it has truly taken me until now to see it. “Is that why you kept me alive? So you could take Ophelia from me? Impregnate her with your spawn and ensure I would live to see it?”

“It is no less than you deserve,” he says, snarling.

“Know this, brother. I would have loved her still. You could have bonded to her and sowed your evil seed in her, and still, she would have loved me.”

He laughs, and the sound is completely unhinged and so shocking, it makes me inch back, though I keep a firm grip on his throat. “And the irony of it all, dearest brother, is that you have brought about your own downfall.”

He is stalling for time, and I have no more patience for his games.

“The downfall of us all.” He cackles, his eyes alight with glee.

“Okay, I will relent. Tell me of this downfall I have supposedly brought upon myself.” I hoist him higher but loosen my grip enough to allow him to speak freely.

“That would be far too easy, Alexandros. But if you had let me simply take the girl, then all of this could have been avoided. The dragons were a surprise I was not expecting. Yet they havesown the seeds of destruction even I did not anticipate. I shall be reborn, brother. And your precious little Ophelia will be swallowed by the dark.”

Indescribable rage hurtles through my veins. I wrap my other hand around his throat, and in my peripheral vision, I see he has again conjured the sword. But it does not matter. It is too late. My fingers are already digging into the meat of his flesh, crushing his windpipe and tearing through sinew and arteries.

His hand falls to his side, but whilst he still has life in his eyes, I deliver him the cruelest blow of all. “Elena and I were not fated mates, Giorgios, but we did love each other deeply. And she confided in me as soon as we were married.” I press my mouth to his ear to ensure he hears every word. “She only ever felt pity for you.”

Summoning every ounce of rage in my body, I tear his head from his shoulders. It dangles from my fingers by strands of fascia, and his body drops to the floor.

I drop his head and stare down at the remains of the man who was once my brother.

Chapter

Fifty-Two

OPHELIA

40 MINUTES BEFORE THE LIGHT GOES OUT

Iwatch in awe as they stride purposefully toward us, three witches with flaming-red hair glinting in the moonlight, all dressed in emerald-green cloaks. They look like the cavalry from a really badass superhero movie.

“Nazeel,” Enora cries, and her face, still aged and weathered, brightens with relief.

“We are here, dearest friend,” Nazeel says, stepping in front of the other two. “We felt the tear in the veil. Tell us what must be done.”

“A wraith has opened it. He imbibes Giorgios Drakos with powers, and we must return him to the netherworld before the veil falls completely.”

One of Nazeel’s sisters blanches, but it is the other who speaks. “The spell of the white witch?”

Enora nods.

“Nazeel, it is too dangerous,” the sister says. “You must summon Lucifer himself to return a wraith to the netherworld.”

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