Page 10 of Thorn of Sorrow

Like fragrant cattle.

“Harrington,” Whitmore said in warning.

Finally, Harrington tore his gaze away from me to glance at his boss. “I told them the blood samples were stolen. Kyson all but confessed.”

“Exact words. Now.” Malachi’s demand hit like a crack of lightning, raw and unforgiving.

This was the Malachi Winterhaven who turned kingdoms to ash with a single command. The merciless prince with an unyielding heart of ice.

The version of my brother I despised most.

The deputy bristled, opened his mouth, the slammed it shut when Sheriff Whitmore barked out, “Shut the fuck up, Harrington!”

The room grew silent. The two other deputies hadn’t said a word the entire time, simply watching the chaos unfold.

“I will not repeat myself.” There was an animalistic quality to Malachi’s voice, like a predator let loose in a world it didn’t belong to. The sheer potency of his gaze seemed to strip the air from the room, each second dragging like an eternity under its weight.

“Deputy.” Whitmore’s eyes briefly closed, as if scraping the last of his patients from a depleted reserve. A deep exhale escaped through his nose as his jaw tightened. “What. Happened?”

I stood motionless, watching the deputy, waiting to hear why they’d been arrested. Kyson had nothing to do with the missing blood samples. It had been Sheriff Whitmore who’d handed them off to Malachi to be destroyed. He’d also used countermeasures to ruin the fabric of the backseat so no more samples could be collected.

As far as I was aware, he was the only person on the police force who knew of our existence. His help was reluctantly given, but he truly cared about his dying town and knew the importance of keeping our secret.

But this was the closest I’d come to opening a vein in Harrington.

“I mentioned the blood samples, and Kyson said they’d leapt into his pocket!” Harrington’s chest heaved, his fingers curling into fists as he glared at Whitmore.

Malachi slammed into me, at the same time freezing the room’s occupants, when I lunged at Harrington, my fangs bared, an unearthly snarl tearing from my throat.

My daggers thrummed in their sheaths, eager to be drawn, their silent hunger promising blood for the one who dared harm me.

Malachi’s obsidian wings unfurled, dominating the space with a wall of razor-sharp feathers. The air between us felt charged, humming with his power as it pulsed against my skin. Our eyes locked in a fierce stare, a silent challenge burning in his eyes.

“You would defend him?” My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into flesh for control.

“There is a place and a time, brother.” The corners of his eyes pinched, and the muscle beneath his left brow twitched.

“What does he have to do to gain your fury?” I gestured toward the frozen men, anger surging inside me. “Just a moment ago you were a dominant asshole.”

The first blow came without warning—a black bolt ripping through the air toward my head. Ducking low, I pivoted, the charge grazing past my shoulder and splintering the wall behind me. Chunks of plaster rained down, dust coating the air like smoke. Malachi stepped forward, his hand raised for another strike.

I’m about to show you a truth you’re not ready to face.

With a flick of my wrist, the void surged to life, swallowing Malachi’s next attack into the nothingness swirling around my palms. His eyes narrowed, the faintest glint of shock breaking through his cold mask, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

I smirked, knowing it would goad him.

A desk flew past me, hurled by his telekinesis, and I jerked to the side, letting it slam into the far wall. The sound of metal crunching echoed through the station.

“Is this what you wanted, Malachi?” My voice was calm but held a dangerous edge. “To remind me who you are? To show you’re still the same ruthless, cold-hearted brother who thinks only of himself. Have you learned nothing?”

He didn’t answer. His wings beat once, the gust scattering papers across the room as he closed the distance between us. His fist shot toward my face, but I twisted, grabbing his wrist and shoving him back. The impact sent him sliding across the floor, boots grinding against the tile.

A low growl reverberated through the station, his wings snapping forward to launch another attack. This time, I stepped into him, twisting his momentum against him. We crashed into the side of the dispatch desk, the wood groaning under the impact. One of the deputies, frozen and unaware, teetered, but I reached out, steadying him before he could tip over.

With a vicious snarl, Malachi’s hand shot toward me, the black tendrils of his energy curling around my arm like molten steel. Blistering heat engulfed my shoulder, the kind of pain that would’ve brought lesser men to their knees.

Clenching my jaw against the agonizing pain, I summoned the void within me, dragging his dark current into the endless abyss. His eyes widened slightly as he realized I’d absorbed his attack, my powers devouring it with an insatiable hunger.

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