by Donna Grant
“We’ll fight for however long you need,” Dubhan said.
Eoghan gave a quick nod. “Ready yourselves. We leave in ten minutes.”
Eoghan remained beside Erith as the others walked away, each going off by themselves to mentally prepare for what was to come.
“We won’t leave until we have Cael,” Eoghan promised.
Erith faced him. “If I fall, you still save Cael. Return here. There are doorways leading to other galaxies for each of you to start a new life.”
“Cael won’t leave. You know that. If Bran takes your life, Cael will fight him.”
“Then don’t let him.”
Eoghan snorted. “The only one who has ever been able to control Cael is you. Right now, I’m more worried about you.”
“Me?” she asked in surprise. “Why?”
“Are you going to be able to handle it when you see him?”
Erith searched Eoghan’s gaze before she nodded. She didn’t even pretend not to know that he was referring to Cael.
“I hope so,” he murmured. “I’m glad the two of you finally came together, though it took you both long enough. But you can’t let Bran have that knowledge. No matter what.”
“I know,” she replied softly.
Eoghan walked away, and she turned to find Kyran waiting for her. She made her way to him. “Did you speak to River?”
Kyran swiped a hand down his face. “Cael warned me there might be repercussions to taking River through magic.”
“Is she all right?” Erith asked, worry growing with every second.
He shrugged. “I think so.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“She was only three months pregnant. The babe . . . oh, hell,” he said and glanced away, trying to get himself under control. “She looks like she’s ready to give birth any day now.”
Erith had been afraid there might be adverse reactions for River and the babe, but she’d hoped she was wrong. “She’s not on my realm alone. Is she in any pain?”
“She says she feels fine,” Kyran said with a shake of his head. “But I’m nervous.”
“Understandably. Can you stay focused?”
His brows snapped together in a frown. “Of course. I’ll not let you, my Reapers, or my wife down.”
“Good.” Erith smiled as Kyran walked away, but inside, her gut churned. This was just another concern added to the insurmountable ones already there.
Chapter Twenty-six
There was no escaping the agony now. It went through every nerve, every tendon, every muscle of Cael’s body. He’d locked his jaw, clamping his teeth together in an effort to keep from releasing the bellow that yearned to escape his lips.
Because once he let it out, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.
The pain latched on to him, sinking into his skin—into his very soul. It occupied every corner of his mind, giving him nowhere to flee, nowhere to get even a moment or two of peace. While he suffered, he knew the magic causing him such distress was getting joy out of every second.
Bran’s words came back to Cael. Bran had warned him that Cael would beg to give any information just to make it stop. Cael had thought he was strong enough to withstand it.
He’d been wrong.
All he’d wanted to do was give Erith a chance to win. Cael could only hope that he had succeeded in that. He knew he wouldn’t see Erith again. All those wasted years of yearning for her, dreaming of her.
Of loving her from afar.
He’d waited too long to tell her, to show her how he felt. But even one night with her was better than nothing. Still, he wished he would’ve told her that he loved her.
“If only you could see yourself.”
Cael was in no mood for another confrontation with Bran, but there was no getting away from it. He opened his eyes and glared at his nemesis.
Bran’s brows rose on his forehead in mock concern. “Are you in pain? Your body is twitching and jerking as if you’re being tortured. And I do think I just heard a tooth crack from the way your jaw is clamped.” Bran laughed while rubbing his hands together. “The only thing that would make this better is if I had Eoghan next to you, but knowing he’s dead is enough for me.”
There were so many replies Cael wanted to voice, but he didn’t even try. It was all he could do to hold back the shouts of pain. He knew how badly Bran wanted to hear it, and Cael didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Bran walked closer. “You thought you’d gotten rid of me. Oh, I saw how furious you and Eoghan were that Death stopped you from killing me. I know if you’d had your way, you would’ve choked the very life from me. I saw then what you couldn’t. Erith will always rule you. You,” Bran said with a look of disdain, “a man, bending to the whims of a woman.”
Cael wondered what Usaeil would think if she could hear him. Then again, she was as mad as a box of frogs. And Bran wasn’t far behind her. The two were perfect for each other. One would betray the other quicker than Cael could blink.
“Did you actually think by giving yourself up to save your precious Reapers that you’d somehow survive?” Bran shook his head, confusion lining his face. “I thought you were smarter than that. You’ve been too long under Death’s thumb. All this time, you should’ve been thinking for yourself, not waiting for her to tell you what to do. You could’ve ruled the Fae, but you were too trusting. Look what that got you? Betrayed and dead, only to become a Reaper.”
If only Cael could make Bran shut up. He couldn’t stand the sound of the ex-Reaper’s voice. It grated on his nerves worse than the magic boiling through him.
Bran shrugged indifferently. “Your stupidity left the door open for me. Perhaps I should thank you for that. Eoghan, too. If he’d let the past go, he would’ve given you a run for your money to lead the Reapers. Now that’s a fight I would’ve loved to see. You against Eoghan. I wonder who would’ve won.”
Cael’s body went hot, then ice-cold as the pain doubled once again. He squeezed his eyes closed, wishing he could grab his head in a futile effort to stop the stinging that seemed to wrap around his head again and again.
“Oh, you’re nearly gone,” Bran said softly. “I really wanted Death to see you like this. I wonder if she’d show any emotion. I bet th—”
Cael didn’t care why Bran stopped talking, only that he did. It was becoming impossible for Bran’s words to register in his mind. And Cael knew he wasn’t long for this world.
This time, Erith wouldn’t be beside him, touching him as life faded from him. Nor would she be there, offering him another chance at life.
Dying sucked. But Cael would gladly go through it a million times if it saved Erith and the Reapers. Because Bran couldn’t be allowed to win.
One minute, he was being held upright against the wall. The next, Cael’s face slammed against the floor. The impact radiated the soul-sucking pain through him like undulating waves slamming into a cliff.
A yell formed in his throat and rushed upward, but he clamped his lips tight so that only a low moan was heard.
“Get up!” Bran bellowed as he yanked Cael to his feet.
There was an urgency to Bran’s voice that Cael hadn’t heard before. As well as a note of unsurpassed glee.
There could only be one reason for that—Erith.
No! The word reverberated in Cael’s head as Bran took hold of his arm and pulled Cael alongside him. The manifestation of the purple orb’s magic through his body meant that Cael’s muscles were locked, refusing to do as he commanded. He fell three times, planting his face in the grass and then the gravel before two Dark hauled him up and looped his arms around their necks.
His mind was yelling for him to fight, to do something to help himself and Erith, but once more, his body betrayed him. He didn’t want Erith to see him like this—vulnerable and helpless—no matter the reason.
Cael got his fingers to twitch, and the excruciating pain of those small movements made his knees buckle. Had the Fae not been holding him, he�
��d surely have fallen once more.
When the Dark followed Bran toward the house, Cael managed to yank his arm away from one. It would have been a triumph of sorts had his vision not gone black at the edges from the agony, causing his muscles to lock and contort again.
The two Fae laughed and grabbed him. Cael fought not to lose consciousness. He needed to see and hear what was going on between Bran and Erith. Maybe, just maybe, if he were really lucky, he might be able to give her an edge over Bran.
He’d take anything over being a burden—or the one who caused Death to lose it all.
Before Cael knew it, they’d passed through the house and were walking toward the front lawn. Bran had been smart picking the location. It was far from any road, with acres of rolling landscape all around.
Bran stopped atop one of those hills, and seconds later, the Fae hauling Cael finally and mercifully halted. Cael’s eyes hastily scanned the area until he found Erith standing on top of the next peak, looking radiant and commanding—and every inch the Death that he knew and loved.
Cael didn’t know what hurt worse, his body or his heart. He couldn’t take his eyes from Erith. Her midnight locks were pulled away from her face in several tiny braids that stopped at the crown of her head so that her beautiful tresses hung down her back.
She had on the boots from Rhi, as well as black pants that looked like a second skin. The black coat she now favored billowed about her legs in the breeze but was buttoned up her front so he couldn’t see the rest of her outfit.
He knew the instant her gaze moved to him. There was a subtle stiffening of her body, so slight, others would likely miss it. But he’d been looking for it.
He must look as bad as he felt. He hated that Erith saw him like this. His body wasn’t healing, and with what the magic was doing to him, he knew his time was short. If only he could have a moment alone with Erith. He’d finally tell her the words that he’d only dared to whisper in his head.
I love you.
“I knew you’d come,” Bran told Erith with a smirk.
Death looked bored, but Cael knew the fire within her. She was furious and hiding it—for the moment. She was smarter than Bran gave her credit for. If she was here, it meant she had a plan. Cael couldn’t wait to see it in action.
“You have one of my Reapers.”
Bran laughed. “Not just any Reaper. I have your favorite.”
“I don’t have a favorite,” she responded.
Cael had known the words were coming, but hearing them didn’t make him feel any better. No matter what, Erith had to get the upper hand with Bran. And that meant that she would say and do whatever was necessary to achieve that.
Bran laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “We both know that’s a lie. It was so obvious that you cared about Cael more than any of us. You let me kill Theo. Just not Cael.”
Erith sneered derisively. “I didn’t let you do anything, you insane maniac. I’ve told you countless times that I’m not all-knowing.”
“Ah, but you knew the instant Cael and I fought, didn’t you?”
Erith’s hesitation made Cael inwardly wince. With that little pause, she gave Bran ammunition to use against her. Cael prepared himself because he suspected what was coming next.
“Ha!” Bran shouted as he pointed at her. “Exactly.”
Her narrow shoulders shrugged. “You think because I didn’t answer that I gave up some information? How . . . childish of you. Aye, childish is the right word. You’re acting like some petulant juvenile who believes he didn’t get the attention he deserved.”
Cael bit back a smile. Bran’s silence that followed had even the Dark holding Cael holding their breath. Cael’s gaze searched for any sign of the Reapers, veiled or not. The fact that Erith had come alone wasn’t a good sign.
Bran glanced at the ground, one brow cocking briefly. “Your mistake was believing that you couldn’t be defeated. Then you made matters worse by sharing your power with us.”
“There is no us,” Erith interrupted him. “You’re no longer a Reaper.”
Bran slowly nodded several times. “I’m something better now.”
“Because you took my magic. That’s your mistake.” Erith smiled then, but there was nothing kind or soft about it. “You’ve always wanted what you couldn’t have. You were never content with what you were given. Instead, you stole what isn’t yours.”
“If you want power, you have to take it,” Bran retorted.
With a flick of her hand, Erith unbuttoned her coat and let it fall from her shoulders. Her upper body was encased in a black metal breastplate with silver and gold accents along the edges. A smile pulled at Cael’s lips when she turned her hand, and the black sword appeared.
Cael quickly looked at his nemesis to find Bran’s lips tightened in a flat line of fury. That only made Cael’s smile grow—even as it became more difficult to breathe. He urged his lungs to continue taking in air because he didn’t want to miss anything.
“I’m tired of talking,” Erith stated.
No sooner had the words left her mouth, than a shout behind the mansion went up. Bran’s brows snapped into a deep furrow as a Dark appeared beside him and whispered something.
After a tense exchange, the Fae left, and Bran looked at Erith. “Nice maneuver sending Neve. You know how much I want those females. And I will have them. I don’t care how long or how far I have to search. They’ll be mine.”
“That will never happen,” Death vowed.
“One Reaper—and a new one at that—can’t stand against my army. Neve will be alongside Cael in a matter of minutes.”
The Dark army’s shouts of happiness shifted to cries of war. Cael didn’t need to look to know that the Reapers had arrived. And now he knew Erith’s plan.
The skirmish at the back of the manor was a diversion. Knowing Death, Cael would bet his last breath that Eoghan and his Reapers were fighting with the others. But Bran would never know that because he couldn’t take his eyes off Erith.
It was a brilliant strategy, but Cael expected nothing less from Death herself. The next part would be up to him, though. He had to give Erith the time she needed to attack Bran. Cael sincerely hoped that she had the strength to do it. Otherwise, they were all dead.
Cael drew in a breath and pushed past the pain while forcing his jaw to relax. Everything was taking twice as long as it should, which had him feeling as if he were trying to extricate himself from a tar pit.
The pain clung to him, reminding him with every movement that it was there, waiting to take the last bit of his life away.
“Not yet,” he murmured, his eyes locked on Erith.
He’d once vowed to be her warrior, to follow her every command. But his heart had always been hers—and he would suffer the most horrific agonies if it meant that she would be safe.
“Bran!” Cael bellowed.
“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”
-Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Chapter Twenty-seven
Erith wanted to cry at the sight of Cael. The magnificent warrior that he was couldn’t—and wouldn’t—be diminished by the disfigurement on half of his face and head and on his chest. His pain was visible in the way his body jerked, but still, he fought it.
Just as she’d known, Cael had figured out her plan. Even wracked with agony, Cael could still outsmart everyone. Bran’s head snapped to him when Cael shouted the ex-Reaper’s name. Erith inwardly wept at the pain that simple word must have caused Cael.
It was all that she could do to remain in her spot and not rush to Cael to heal him and offer whatever comfort she could. His skin had a yellow tint to it, and that couldn’t be a good sign.
Bran smiled as he faced Cael. “Finally found your balls, huh? What are you going to do? You can’t even stand on your own.” Bran glanced at Erith and said, “So much for your famed warrior.”
There were many reasons that Bran needed to die, but if there had been even a smidgen of merc
y left, it disappeared with those words.
Erith’s breath locked in her lungs when Cael shoved the two Dark holding him away and took a halting step toward Bran. Cael was unsteady on his feet, his body swaying as he fought with every last ounce of skill and determination to remain standing.
“Oh, I’m tempted,” Bran said as he walked closer to Cael. “So very tempted. The thing is, you’re about to die. Erith’s timing is perfect. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
Erith’s mouth went slack when Cael’s chest expanded with a deep breath. His chin dropped to his chest while his arms hung by his sides. A soft purplish glow began to form in his palms, growing stronger and becoming a deep purple.
Cael’s head slowly lifted, pinning Bran with a furious look. Tension hung in the air, causing Erith, Bran, and the two Dark to freeze as they all waited to see what Cael would do.
Erith smiled then, recognizing the warrior she’d fallen for so very long ago emerging from the pain-ravaged form. Erith started running toward Bran as Cael threw the two purplish bubbles of magic, landing them squarely in Bran’s chest. She didn’t know how Cael had managed to use the purple magic, but she was glad that he had.
Erith launched herself over the valley. Her sword suddenly vanished from her hand. She jerked her gaze to Cael, to find that he had the weapon and was attacking Bran with it.
She landed behind Cael and immediately took the life force from the two Dark who were about to attack Cael from behind. Then she whirled around to find Bran holding his stomach with one arm and tossing orb after orb of purple magic at Cael with the other.
Cael used the sword to divert the spheres as he advanced on Bran, one step at a time. Erith teleported behind Bran so she and Cael could attack together. She reared back her hand and formed an orb of magic as she glanced at Cael’s face.