Page 96 of The Aether

“Please clasp your hands together and place your arms parallel to the floor, sir.”

“No!” Trying not to give in to the panic, he tugged the lever again. “No, I don’t believe I will. Not today. Go back and tell your masters Morcant Thywyll said to fuck off.”

Another slight shift of energy came and went. Another instantaneous flash of ill intent. He raised his chin and sniffed.

Where. Was. It. Coming. From?

The skin on his neck tightened uncomfortably, and a chunk of his lank hair fell from his head, tumbled down his shoulder, then drifted to the floor.

He was decomposing.

In his desperation to feed the clawing hunger inside, he pivoted back and forth, a wild animal in search of prey.

Then it came.

“Ah,” he said with a welcoming sigh.

But the other person’s fury was short-lived, replaced by grim satisfaction.

The barest whisper of movement could be felt behind him, but it wasn’t enough warning to save himself. Still, he tried, turning toward the oncoming threat.

Alastair Thorne’s arctic stare was the last thing Morcant saw as his head was severed from his rapidly decaying body. His final fleeting thought was that he’d underestimated the man. Alastair was an unforgiving and lethal foe.

CHAPTER33

“Blane!” Damian barked. “Make sure that fucker is never coming back, please.”

“I’m on it.” Trevor jogged down the corridor toward Alastair, who remained unmoving as he stared coldly down at Morcant’s decapitated body. With his abilities, the Death Dealer could obliterate the soul so it never came back. Morcant would be truly done with no chance to worm his way back and terrorize others.

“Al?”

He briefly glanced Damian’s way, twirled the large claymore like a brawny highlander of old, raised it, and plunged the blade into Morcant’s heart, for good measure. The dark side of Damian wanted to laugh with glee, but based on the shocked expressions of the Authority’s cleanup crew, it wouldn’t go over well.

“Perhaps the Death Dealer wasn’t needed after all,” he murmured.

Jordan Brothers knelt beside him. “He is to bring your wife back. But in the meantime, use this.” Digging through his messenger bag, he pulled out a leafy object. Thin, it curled slightly along the edges and was veined through the center. Holding it by the stem, the Healer instructed him to do the same. “It will bind her soul to her body to the earthly plane, and it will be easier to resurrect her.”

“What do I do with it?”

“Oh, sorry. Just put it inside her mouth.” With a grin and a wave, he darted back toward Rorie.

Today’s youth.

“Tell me about it.” Alastair muttered in passing.“And thank you for the honor of killing that bastard,”he added through their link.“I’d love to do it a thousand times over for what he did to Rorie and Vivian.”

“Thanks for doing the heavy lifting. That sword weighs a ton.” Damian allowed a small smile, then inserted Jordan’s binding herb into Vivian’s mouth. Stroking her hair, his gaze swept over her unsettlingly still visage. If he didn’t know better, he could swear she was sleeping, but there was no life force present.

Shifting her body, he searched for a killing wound. Finding none, he faced his daughter.

“How did she… she…” He closed his eyes and willed back the building moisture.

“Her neck, Papa.” Sabrina’s solemn reply forced him to reexamine Vivian’s body. Sure enough, there was slight postmortem bruising around her throat, but more importantly, he could feel the crushed bones of her cervical spine and the severed cord. From behind, he could sense the approach of the Authority’s enforcers, but he ignored them as he cradled her body against him and repaired the damage.

As one, his entire group of Sentinels, with the exception of the Healer who was helping Rorie, formed a semicircle around him.

“I feel like there’s going to be a rumble,” Castor quipped with a wide grin. Throwing his hands wide, fingers splayed, he belted out a verse from West Side Story. “When you’re a Jet, if the spit hits the fan, you’ve got brothers around. You’re a family man!”

Alex was entirely inappropriate in the best possible ways. He could always be counted on for gallows humor.

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