Outside Sariel’s room he knocked and then went on inside. Sariel was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting pants and a shirt that was slit on the back to accommodate his wings.
“Hello, Sorcerer. I’m getting out of here today, or I’m supposed to,” the faery told him with a smile.
“Good for you.” The flat tone of his voice was unintentional, but it quickly told the prince that something was off.
“What’s wrong?” The Fae’s brow furrowed.
“I’m supposed to kill you. You get that, right?”
To his surprise, the prince gave a soft laugh. “Am I supposed to be shocked? Afraid? Let me remind you of something, fledgling. I’m more than eleven thousand years old. Can you wrap your brain around that number? Do you actually believe in all that time nobody has ever wanted me dead? I’m a prince of my kind, Kalen. Besides my sire, enemies abound. Been there, done that, got the merit badge in survival, as humans say.”
“You’re being awfully flip about this.”
“Not at all. Simply realistic.” Sariel stood, his height equal to Kalen’s. He didn’t appear to be the least bit alarmed by any threat the Sorcerer might pose. “You could certainly try to harm me and, like the witch, you might succeed if you catch me off guard, not to mention that I’m healing and my system hasn’t yet adjusted well to being in this realm. But make no mistake—even with all these disadvantages, I possess power beyond your wildest imagination.”
He delivered this statement with such confidence, it gave Kalen pause. “You’re saying Malik sent me on a suicide mission, then?”
The prince looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. Does he have reason to believe your abilities are equal to mine—other than being Fae yourself?”
Here came the hard part. He took a deep breath. “Because Malik claims to be my father—and he says you’re my half brother. Can you wrap your brain around that?”
Sariel’s mouth fell open. “Great gods.” He stared at Kalen for a few moments before he nodded. “My brother? That would make perfect sense, that sick old asshole.”
“Do you think it’s true? Are we brothers?”
“Considering everything you told me before, I’d say it’s highly likely. You do realize that I have several other brothers and that would mean you do as well. If it’s true, you just gained quite a large family.”
“Any way we can ever know for sure?”
“Not if you kill me,” Sariel said pointedly. “As if you could.”
“If we’re related by blood, I’m more than capable.”
“And you want to.” Sariel observed him with a critical eye. “You’re practically vibrating with tension, and your pupils are dilated. Your panther is close to the surface. I can sense that he’s dying to rip out my throat and feast on my carcass.”
“So badly I can’t stand it,” he admitted hoarsely. His panther growled in agreement. “And yet the real me doesn’t want that at all. I want to get to know the brothers I’ve always longed for, and fighting the dark half is tearing me apart.”
Kill the prince.
Kalen flinched at the order. “He wants me to do it. Help me.”
Sariel moved close, laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re strong. And we must be related if you can resist Malik’s influence this way for any length of time. Hold on just a while longer. I have a feeling the end of this is near.”
“Yeah, but who comes out on top?”
A smile kicked up one corner of the prince’s mouth. “Why, the baddest two Fae on earth, of course. And when the day comes to prove it, I’ll fight by your side.”
Kill him now, boy.
“That’s way more than I deserve.”
“No. You deserve more . . . brother.”
No, you fool! Kill him!
“I won’t do it,” he whispered to his unseen tormentor. “Go fuck yourself.”
Pain stabbed his head again and blood trickled from his nose. Sariel grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and handed it over. Kalen cleaned up and was about to say something more when the building’s intercom intruded into the bonding moment with his brother.
“Alpha Pack to the conference room, stat,” Nick ordered.
“That can’t be good.” Kalen sighed. “We’ll finish this later, right?”
“Count on it. And be careful,” the faery said, worried.
“I will.” Clasping hands briefly with the prince, he turned and hurried toward the conference room. It seemed he could draw the good kind of strength from his friends and loved ones to counter the evil Malik kept pumping into him. That would be what saved him.
Or at least let him live long enough to take out the Unseelie.
In the conference room, Nick was already waiting at the head of the long table, tense and impatient. Next to him stood General Grant, his mood appearing much the same. Kalen took a seat near the back and watched as the rest filed in, some involved in animated conversations, some quiet. But all talking stopped when Nick began, his tone serious yet laced with unmistakable excitement.
“As most of you have heard by now, the general is here to assist us with the problem of Malik and his Sluagh.” Aric and Ryon and a couple of others glanced at Kalen. He ignored them. “More specifically, Grant’s units are on standby and are fully prepared to accompany us into battle when we eradicate those vermin from the face of the earth.”
“We’re going to need that many soldiers?” Ryon asked, a tendril of fear in his voice. “How many Sluagh does that fucker have coming for us?”
Nick pinned Kalen with his steely gaze. “Kalen might have that answer. How many?”
It was a test. Nick and the general knew the number, but they wanted him to reveal what Malik had told him. First, he tried to strengthen the mental wall between him and the Unseelie, but it was shaky at best.
“Hundreds,” he said. The throbbing started in his temples, but he pushed on. “They’re amassing in the Shoshone, far from civilization. He ordered m-me to lower the shields on the c-compound and . . .”
The pain got so bad the rest of the words were strangled in his throat. Hanging his head, he breathed through it as someone clapped his back in reassurance.
“Have you lowered them?”