“Yeah.” He wanted more.
“Killing your prey slowly, draining their life force as you do . . .” He made a sound of satisfaction. “There is nothing like it. Multiply how the blood reward makes you feel and you’ll have an idea how pleasurable it is to take your prey.”
Against his will, his cock thickened in anticipation. Deep in his brain, some part of the former Kalen recoiled in dread at his own salacious thoughts. The longing to feel what Malik described. But he couldn’t deny that he wanted it. He was tired of being the nice guy, of coming in last.
It was time for vengeance.
“I’ll kill Sariel,” he heard himself say. What? No!
“And then you will kill one other Pack member of your choice. Someone you truly like.”
“Why?” He frowned.
“Because I order it so, and you must prove your loyalty is to me and none other.”
That settled him. He had a purpose. “All right.”
Malik looked beyond pleased. “You will be amazed at how easy and satisfying it is to drain the life force of another and take it into yourself. This is your birthright. It is only natural for the strong to consume the weak.”
“I’ll do it. What else?”
“When I give the order, you will lower the shields on the compound again. And this time they will remain down. I have an army of hundreds of Sluagh ready to storm the base and slaughter every living soul inside. Except your mate, of course. I have big plans for my grandson.”
Kalen tried to feel something at that news, any sense of remorse. But it was as though he’d signed away his soul to the devil.
Except . . . his son. The screaming voice was back in his head, protesting. He had to protect his son from Malik. But then the voice was fading away, buried under layers of malice and confusion. Replaced by animal excitement.
Death and destruction. Why did that sound so inviting?
This isn’t me. But I can’t stop him. Don’t know how.
Oh, how he longed to kill.
But can I do it, when the time comes?
“Would you like to practice?”
He blinked at Malik. “What?”
“Trust me. I’ll create an avatar for you to practice on.” With a wave of his hand, the Unseelie chanted a few words in a language Kalen had never heard before. In moments, a whirl of energy whipped round and round in the living room and slowly formed into a familiar figure.
“Sariel?” he whispered.
In the middle of the room, the prince stood blinking in confusion, uncertain of where he was or what was going on, it seemed. The Fae looked to Malik and then Kalen, fear blooming on his face.
“Why am I here?” the prince asked.
“You were supposed to create an avatar, not bring someone here for real!” Kalen said.
“This is an avatar.” Malik shook his head. “If it were that easy to bring my wayward first son here and kill him, I would’ve done that long ago.”
“As if you could ever kill me,” Sariel’s image sneered. “You’re pathetic, both of you.”
With that, Kalen let the darkness loose. He shot a bolt of white energy at the blue-haired, blue-winged figure. The bolt hit him square in the chest and he went down.
Kalen pounced, but the prince rolled away, proving to be a more agile target than he’d thought. He went after the fleeing form, tackling the Seelie before he got halfway across the room. A fragile bone in one of the wings snapped and the prince shouted in pain. One tiny drop of blood, and the lust for the kill was ignited.
He let his panther loose and pinned the faery as he would a deer, going for the throat. Just before he struck, the prince turned wide, stricken eyes toward him and whispered, “Brother.”
But it was too late to stop the panther. His jaws closed over the vulnerable throat like a steel trap and crushed. Slowly. Flesh, muscle, and bone gave way to his superior strength. The weak feeds the strong. The prince’s cries were strangled, then silenced, but his body continued to fight.
“That’s it, Kalen,” his father rasped, his voice thick. “Now feel his life force with your magic and drink it in like fine Cognac. Take it all.”
Reaching out with his magic, he did just that. He followed the tendril of life to its source and began to breathe it inside himself. At the same time, he drank. Slurped the blood of his victim and began to feed at his neck, tearing the tender meat. So good. So fucking fantastic. He could come from this, feeding and glutting—
And suddenly the body beneath him was gone. It simply vanished into thin air. There was no blood anywhere. Not on himself or the floor. He turned back to human form and scowled. Where had his prey disappeared to?
“I’d say you got the hang of that rather quickly.”
“It really was an avatar?”
“Yes. As I said, the real Sariel has been much harder to catch.”
Kalen shuddered. He’d known, deep down, the avatar wasn’t real and said a silent thanks for it. But he’d still reveled in the act of killing. Could he do it next time, for real?
“You can do it,” his father said, as if reading his thoughts. “I would not have chosen you to rule at my side if you did not possess the strength.”
“Thank you, . . . Father.”
Malik smiled, his expression one of triumph. “You will not let me down.”
“No, sir.”
“Go, boy. Do what I told you. Kill Sariel and one other, and then wait for my command to lower the wards.”
“Nick will execute me as soon as I make a move to harm anyone there.”
“If he apprehends you, he’ll have you locked up first. That will be his downfall—the hope that he can still save you. Remember, when the time comes, embrace the great Sorcerer you were meant to be. Now go.”
The farther he got from Malik’s cabin, the more his returning awareness weighted him down. The end was near. He knew the Pack would never allow him to go rogue. Any more than he could allow himself to follow through with his raw, bestial urge to destroy.
One way or another, very soon, Kalen was going to die.
Thirteen
Mac cried until her dad threatened to fetch Melina or Noah and give her something to make her sleep, pregnancy or not.