by C. S. Wilde
Careful.
The kind who was hard to catch.
Rubbing her forehead, Mera let out an exhausted sigh, when three knocks came from the door.
Weird. Bast had been gone for thirty minutes. He couldn’t be back already.
Could he?
Her hand hovered over her gun as she stepped toward the door, more out of instinct than anything else.
She yanked the door open, and when she saw who stood there, she pulled out the weapon, swiftly aiming at his head. Clicking the safety off, she placed her finger on the trigger. “Give me one reason not to shoot.”
Corvus raised his hands in surrender. “Bast will never forgive you for stealing the satisfaction of killing me from him.”
Chapter 13
Somewhere in the past…
* * *
It had been seven years since Bast and Stella arrived in Tir Na Nog, and five since he’d become a Hollowcliff detective.
All respect for the victims aside, he loved the rush of a new case. Analyzing the circumstances and motives, catching the clues that led to a culprit, then seeing the bad guy’s raging glare from behind iron bars. It all made Bast’s blood pump faster.
It was also why he smiled to himself as he headed toward the murder scene, which wasn’t entirely appropriate, but he didn’t really care.
In the past, he’d been an extraordinary assassin, yet much to his own surprise, he’d become an even better detective. Stella had also adapted incredibly well, as Bast knew she would.
It had taken a lot of negotiating with Master Raes, and at least half of Bast’s wealth—mercenaries would always be mercenaries after all—to buy their freedom from Lunor Insul, but in the end, everything worked out for them.
A tiny drop hit Bast’s head, and he looked up to the overcast sky that blocked any shred of moonlight. His good spirits immediately vanished.
Bast hated nights like this.
Once he reached the small apartment building, he spread his wings and flew up to the fourth floor, which also happened to be the last, soon landing on a large balcony that doubled as a landing pad.
Two patrol officers waited for him inside, a banshee and a Sidhe wearing indigo suits, the standard uniform of their department.
How the killer had entered the place was clear—he’d smashed right through the balcony’s glass doors. A profusion of tiny shards peppered the mahogany flooring.
Bast stepped into the living room, the glass crunching underneath his shoes, while he observed the scene.
The victim, a male who looked to be in his thirties, was lying on the floor a little too neatly. Almost as if he’d been asleep, except the killer had gouged his eyes out—the gaping holes cried dried blood.
He wore a fitted, pleated suit that screamed Brickstreet, the money district from Evanora, the witches’ borough. According to the file, the dead warlock, a Tom Blackwater, had been to Tir Na Nog on “business” as a “consultant”.
Translation: he was there doing illegal shit with the light courts.
“I’m glad you’re here, Detective Dhay,” said one of the officers, a spring Sidhe with yellow hair and skin as dark as Bast’s. “The hotel manager called it in. He’s in the lobby if you want to question him.”
“And let you tamper any further with my crime scene, Willowby?” he grumbled. “I’m not stupid.”
The officer gasped in shock. “Excuse me! I would never tamper with evidence!”
Unless Willowby’s friends from the light courts asked for a favor, that was.
Bast and his Captain knew the bastard was corrupt to his core, but they didn’t have any evidence, and even if they did, being a detective in Tir Na Nog meant playing a dangerous game of chess.
Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
Most boroughs were fairly clean, though, which broke Bast’s heart. Even Lycannie had gone through a major cleanup recently, thanks to Bruce’s nephew, and some help from Bast himself.
When he gave the corrupt commissioner an “incentive” to talk—the same commissioner who’d ordered the hit on Bruce—halle, the suket blabbed. He admitted to all his crimes, which meant Bruce and his son could finally return home. All in a good day’s work.
Doing the same in Tir Na Nog, however, was a different story.
Not only were the light courts careful, and a lot more powerful than a corrupt commissioner, they were also everywhere.
“Argue with me, Willowby,” Bast dared, his tone freezing cold, “and you know how you’ll end up.”
So, okay, Bast wasn’t exactly Mr. By-the-book.
Over the years, his partners had been either incompetent morons or corrupt fuckers. The morons he’d ignored, until they asked for a reassignment, while the corrupt ones suffered mind-breaking injuries on the job. Horrid “accidents” that forced them to give up on the police force altogether.
Willowby gulped, because he knew Bast was behind it all, and yet, he couldn’t prove it. No one could.
Oh, the irony.
In Bast’s defense, he did the government a favor. Tir Na Nog was at war with itself, and the light courts were winning. One less asshole on their side, one less headache for him and his captain.
Besides, he always gave them a choice. Either they jumped the ship or Bast threw them off.
Hardly unfair, was it?
“What do you think happened?” the banshee next to Willowby asked. Funny how she hadn’t bothered defending her partner’s honor.
“I could tell you, but I don’t want Will’s bosses finding out.” Willowby opened his mouth in indignation, but Bast raised a finger. “I swear to Danu, I’ll rip your wings and throw you off the balcony.”
“Let’s check the other rooms, Lizinet,” the malachai told his partner with a huff. “Detective Dhay clearly needs space.” With that, they left.
Finally.
Bast narrowed his eyes at the body. No signs of a struggle, which was odd, considering the killer had smashed through the balcony’s glassed doors.
He must’ve been fast. Remarkably so.
Crouching near the victim, Bast analyzed the clean cut across his neck. It was fresher than the eye wounds, which meant he’d died after his eyes were removed. Next, he found a minuscule perforation in the base of the victim’s neck; something only a needle could’ve done.
A paralyzing dart.
That was why the warlock showed no signs of struggle.
Bast had murdered plenty, and he’d seen horrible things, but paralyzing someone so they’d be fully awake and helpless as their eyes were scooped out, demanded a high level of cruelty.
Taking a cloth from his pocket, he wrapped it around his palm and laid a hand over the victim’s forehead.
Still warm.
Bast jumped to his feet and turned to the dark corridor that led to the living room.
The silence. He should have paid attention to the silence.
“Willowby?” he called, hoping the idiot would answer.
He didn’t.
Bast’s night thrummed inside him. He might not see his enemy, but he knew he wasn’t alone.
“Your friends are dead,” the deep tone came from the darkness of the corridor. “I hope that’s fine with you.”
A rush of red, blinding anger flushed Bast’s head, not because Willowby was dead—good riddance—but because the banshee, Lizinet, seemed to have been an honest fae, and those were a rarity nowadays. Yet, Bast could barely register her loss, because he was here.
“Sarking shig,” Bast growled, his fangs growing sharper.
Corvus stepped into the living room, revealing himself. With the League’s dark uniform, he blended perfectly with the night, though his white hair and yellow eyes gave him away.
The bastard hadn’t changed a bit. Still as tall as Bast, his eyes feral and calculating. Still a fucking prick.
“I should’ve recognized your work,” Bast grumbled, his hands fisting.
Corvus took it as a compliment. “I do make cruelty
an art, don’t I?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “The people who ordered the bounty asked for his eyes. So I gave them his eyes.”
“Did you have to keep him alive through it all?”
“He was a corrupt warlock, Bast. I assumed punishing the guilty was your thing now?”
Yes, but not in that way… and yet, if the evil was too great, shouldn’t it be silenced?
Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. Bast didn’t need to kill bad guys to stop them, even if sometimes he wished he could.
He pulled cuffs from his pocket. “Corvus Dhay, you’re under arrest.” A bitter sensation invaded his tongue because he was a hypocrite. A giant, fucking hypocrite. Yet Corvus had murdered two cops, a line he’d come close to crossing, but never did. Sure, Bast wasn’t a saint, but his brother… he listened to the demons in their blood; the demons Bast knew all too well. “You have the right to remain⸺”
With a loud laugh, he pointed to Bast’s fitted gray pants, vest, and white shirt. “I’m sorry, I can’t take you seriously when you dress like that.”
“It’s my uniform, malachai.”
“It’s ridiculous!” He strolled toward the balcony, his hands behind his back. “I’m leaving the League, by the way. I’ll open a club back at the island with Benedict. I would invite you to the opening, but let’s be honest, your mopey ass would ruin the mood.”
“You’re under arrest,” Bast pushed.
Corvus spun on his heels. “You know I’m not turning myself in.”
An eager grin cut through Bast’s lips. He threw away the cuffs, and they clinked against the hard-wooden floor. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Jolting forward, he nailed one punch on Corvus’ face, then one jab at his stomach, nearly sending his brother toppling over the balcony. The fast baku dodged Bast’s last attack, and cartwheeled back into the apartment.
Corvus stopped in the middle of the living room, near the body. His yellow eyes glinted in the darkness. “Killing you will make my day, brother.”
“Likewise!” Bast ran toward him, but Corvus charged and kicked him on his stomach, flinging him against a wall.
All breath fled Bast’s lungs as his back slammed against the concrete, his skull cracking on the harsh surface. If only he’d raised a magical shield in time… Maybe he’d lost his touch.
Maybe Corvus was too fast.
“Leon asked me to check in on you.” The malachai panted through gritted teeth. “You abandoned us, and Big Brother still cares about you the most.” His tone overflowed with bitterness. “How fair is that?”
“Maybe Leon likes me because I’m not a fucking monster,” Bast grumbled as he forced himself atop both feet. Wobbling, he managed to stand upright, which he counted as a victory.
“We’re all monsters,” Corvus argued. “You’re just his favorite beast.”
“Fuck you.”
Bast willed his darkness forward, and a wave of night and stars rushed toward Corvus, making the entire apartment tremble, yet the shig swerved at the last minute. Bast’s darkness hit him on the shoulder before slamming into the center wall, blasting into the corridor.
When the magic retreated, a huge chunk of the wall and the hall were gone. On the distant left, where the first bedroom should’ve been, a gaping hole showcased city lights and faerie buildings outside.
Wincing, Corvus glared at the wound on his shoulder. The skin on the spot looked darkened and purpling. “Why did the night bless you? Why were you granted this power while the rest of us… Why?” He bellowed. “You! An undeserving, ungrateful prick!”
Bast didn’t answer, mostly because he had no clue either.
At least, he’d somewhat recovered from Corvus’ attacks. A deep, horrid howl burst from Bast’s throat as he charged forward, all the pent-up anger he had for his brother shaping into sound. Bast nailed three punches on his face before the asshole jumped away.
Wiping blood off his nose, Corvus stared at his tainted fingers. “I hate you, Bast. You were given everything, and you threw it away. You left us for…” his lips curled as he motioned to his uniform, “… this. You were destined for greatness, but you settle for the mediocre.”
“I’m happy. Not that you ever cared,” he countered, still a little dizzy. Bile swirled in his stomach.
Fuck, he was in worse shape than he’d thought.
“I’m ashamed to call you family.” Corvus gnarled.
It stung, though Bast would never admit it aloud. Concentrating his magic in one final blow, Bast’s darkness bloomed around him, enveloping his body in an aura of night and stars.
Corvus clicked his tongue. “You’ve always hated me, but after I murdered Idillia⸺”
“Don’t you dare speak her name,” he growled.
“I did that for you!” Wrath, pure, burning wrath took over Corvus’ face. “You ingrate little shit!”
“No, you did that to prove a point!” Bast was so angry he could barely see straight. Tears stung his eyes, but he’d never give that suket the satisfaction of seeing him cry. “You wanted to show me you could always take Stella from me. You said it yourself; you turn cruelty into an art! Rae-henai, wu malachai!”
Gaping at him, Corvus swallowed as if he’d eaten something sour. “I guess you see me better than I see myself, little brother.”
Bast pushed his magic forward, but Corvus’ darkness enveloped his own body, his power shaped like a fae-sized bullet. He jolted toward Bast and pierced his magic the way an arrow pierces flesh.
Bast would’ve raised his own shield, but Corvus was already on him, punching his face twice, increasing the ringing in Bast’s ears and the dizziness in his head.
His vision blurred as hollow thumps smashed against his cheekbones, over and over again.
Raise… the… shield…
He was too weak.
Bast barely realized he’d fallen with his back on the floor, while Corvus straddled him and kept punching.
He tasted blood. It flooded his mouth, going down his throat. Choking on it, he coughed, but Corvus didn’t give him time to breathe between his attacks.
What a way to go. Suffocating in his own blood, murdered by his own brother.
“You don’t deserve the night!” Corvus yelled as he punched and punched. “You never deserved Karthy either!”
True. Very true.
With his last strength, Bast pulled an impulse of darkness that burst from his core and flung Corvus away, giving himself a last-minute lifeline.
Stars shone from the corner of his eyes, but Bast couldn’t tell if they belonged to his magic or if he was losing his mind. Coughing and wheezing, he crouched over as air burned down his lungs.
“You,” he spat dark blood on the floor, “You’re dead to me, Corvus.”
Near the balcony there was enough light that Bast could see tears tracking down his brother’s cheeks.
Incredible, really. He didn’t know the asshole was capable of crying.
“I don’t give a shit, Sebastian.” With that, Corvus leaped from the balcony and into the night sky.
Chapter 14
Corvus flashed Mera a charming grin. Bold of him to do that while she pointed a gun at his head.
“May I come in?” he asked.
His teeth matched the color of his white hair. His yellow eyes had the cunning and wilderness of a feral cat; eyes identical to Bast’s, except for the color.
“You should go before I shove a bullet into your brain,” she warned, every muscle in her body tensing.
Corvus rolled his eyes in a very Bast-like manner. In fact, they had the same height, the same defined muscles. The same aura that oozed wickedness.
“I promise I’ll behave, Detective.” He put a hand to his chest.
Yeah, right.
Today, Corvus wore a white suit with a black shirt that fit his lean frame perfectly. Sure, he was an asshole, but an asshole who resembled a model in a magazine. If only he were as ugly outside as he was on the inside…
Yeah, life wasn’t famous for being fair.
His silver necklace and half-moon pendant stood out from the silken darkness of his shirt. “It was a gift,” he nudged the pendant, noticing where her focus had drifted. “From Mom.”
Corvus Dhay might be compelling and dangerous, but Mera wouldn’t be fooled by this cunning dickface.
Not again.
Stubbornness, however, seemed to be a Dhay family trait. She knew the asshole wouldn’t budge, so she stepped back and showed him inside while keeping her aim. “Be my guest, you shig.”
He didn’t seem offended at all. Strolling into the space, he casually pointed to the gun. “Won’t you lower that? I come in peace.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
He shrugged. “It’s bad manners.”
“I’ll keep it where it is, thanks.”
Cocking his head to the right, Corvus watched her with puzzled golden eyes. “I suppose I deserve that.”
Supposed? That dickwart supposed?
Something in Mera snapped. Jaw clenching, her finger shook on the trigger. “You deserve much worse for what you did to me.”
“Yes, I do.”
The confession knocked her off-guard.
Corvus turned to the leather sofa on the right⸺the precinct’s “waiting room”⸺and dropped on the cushioned seat. “I came here to apologize. The darkness in my family tends to take over sometimes. It’s a gift and a curse. Se infini nokto drin wun hart.”
“The infinite night inside your heart?”
“Indeed. I’m sure Bast talked to you about it.”
No, he hadn’t, and thanks to the confusion in her face, Corvus noticed.
“Oh, he truly should have.” Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Have you seen Bast bleed?”
“Yeah.”
Unfortunately.
Her partner’s blood was slightly darker than normal, a deep wine red that neared black, but Mera had assumed this was a general nightling trait.
“Nightblood, as we call it, is exclusive to the royal house. It makes us more powerful than the average Sidhe, but it doesn’t come without a price. Nothing ever does,” Corvus went on, completely ignoring the fact that she kept aiming her gun at his head. “Thanks to our blood’s affinity with magic, it often drives us to madness. It releases our wildest, rawest nature. As you’ve seen, Leon and Theo suppress it a lot better than Bast, Ben, and I.”