“Let me pass,” he told them.
The guard, Ella, nudged Leo. The two of them stepped aside and let Rordan through.
“You all should leave while you can.” Rordan gave them a nod before running out the door.
But Dorcha had a head start. The house was a maze, and Dorcha could have gone in any number of directions.
“Fek,” Rordan ground out. He came to a halt and looked one way and then the other before he smiled. “Of course,” he murmured and rushed outside.
Chapter Twenty
The grand manor stood like a sentry in the forest. Xaneth didn’t see the beautiful architecture or the glittering decorations within. The stench of evil, the reek of iniquity was too overpowering.
He stared at the front door for long moments. Someone was speaking within, though he couldn’t care less what was being said. He wasn’t there to be entertained. He had come to remove the malevolent entity.
Xaneth walked around to the right of the manor, past the landscaping, and into a garden. Lights filtered through the window and spilled onto the shadowed ground. He glanced into the structure as he passed and saw a roomful of people, all looking in one direction. Suddenly, Xaneth halted. Someone in the room caught his attention.
He scanned the profiles yet didn’t recognize anyone. But something had made him stop. He shook his head to loosen the thought that had prompted him to halt. Xaneth looked forward and drew in a deep breath. Then he continued on and made his way around a tall hedge when a figure stepped into his path.
One look at the female told Xaneth that she was a guard intent on preventing him from going forward. And that simply couldn’t happen. He rushed her as she opened her mouth to speak. He lobbed a volley of magic into her chest, then slammed his hand into the same location, knocking her back to the ground. Xaneth remained on one knee, listening for others who might have heard the commotion. When he caught the sound of multiple sets of feet coming his way, he stood and gathered his magic and let the hedges hide him.
His magic built, growing stronger with each second. By the time the three guards found him, he lunged forward, throwing his hands up and out to release the magic. It crashed into the guards, knocking them flat on their backs.
Xaneth straightened and stepped over the fallen Fae as he continued his search for the evil. He weaved through the garden. He saw a figure rush off from the back of the house. Just as the sound of the occupants’ voices spilled into the night and caught his attention. He looked toward the manor and the hurried, anxious Fae who fled the structure. He narrowed his gaze on them, but the evil that brought him there wasn’t with them. The group attempted to teleport repeatedly, only to be stopped each time.
He glanced above him, wondering what spells were in place to keep him here. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t going anywhere until he had finished what he came to do.
The group’s voices drew his attention once more. An older Fae guided the others farther away from the manor. Finally, they reached a safe spot, and the others jumped to safety—all but the one who had aided them. To his surprise, Xaneth observed the older Fae rushing back into the manor, searching for something. Or someone.
When the Fae disappeared into the house, Xaneth swung his attention to the lone person he saw running into the night. They had gone in the direction of the evil. Perhaps they were one and the same. With a few whispered words of magic, ensuring a field no one could penetrate, he started walking again.
He was so fekked.
Dorcha slid to a halt, his head swinging from one direction to another. He needed to get far away from Moorehall. But every time he tried to teleport, something stopped him. Anger and fear ripped through him as sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes.
He swiped at his brow, his mind racing, trying to find a way to save his own skin. He had been an idiot to think that the Others would keep up their side of the bargain and let him live once he had pointed out Rordan as his guess for a Reaper. He’d had days to get away instead of continuing the plan that he and his father had crafted to deceive them and take over the organization. They had calculated things meticulously. Everything would’ve gone as planned, but the Others had kept their focus on the Reapers. Dorcha wasn’t even sure the group was real, but he kept giving the Others possibilities for those that could be one of Death’s fabled executioners. The fact that Rordan had been a thorn in his side made him an easy target to hand over to the organization.
The look of panic on Fearghal’s face when the Fae had brought him into the room had alerted Dorcha that things had gone tits up. His father had said nothing. Then again, there was no need. The defeat was written all over his face. While he looked hale, Dorcha had a feeling his father was anything but.
If he were honest, he had quite enjoyed Fearghal being taken by the Others. It had given Dorcha the time to make his own decisions and do whatever he wanted. He hadn’t believed the Others would harm his father after everything their family had done for the group. But he had been wrong. So very wrong. And if he didn’t come up with a plan, everything he had worked so hard for would end tonight. He wasn’t interested in dying anytime soon.
But the Others weren’t all he had to worry about. There was also Rordan.
Dorcha couldn’t believe that he hadn’t realized Rordan was a Dovecoat. That wasn’t the worst part, however. He had seen the look of contempt and determination in Rordan’s eyes. He knew everything. Dorcha didn’t know how Rordan knew the machinations of his operations as well as who his family was, but he did.
Between Rordan and the Others, Dorcha would be lucky to get away with his life. If he managed it, he would be on the run forever.
“Where the fek is Fianna?” he mumbled furiously.
His sister’s job was to protect him in just such a scenario. Her absence looked very suspicious. When he found her, he would punish her for not doing her job.
With his ire and dread rising, Dorcha realized that he was trapped. He would either have to face the Others or Rordan. The real threat was the Others. They were the ones who could easily protect him from Rordan. But first, Dorcha needed to convince them that they needed him. With that decision made, he went to their usual meeting location. Just as he expected, his father was there with Hemming. The Light leader of the Others held his father by the arm.
Dorcha walked into the clearing and looked at his da, but Fearghal’s gaze was lowered to the ground in defeat.
“Did you figure out you weren’t able to get away?” Hemming asked pointedly.
Dorcha jerked his chin to his father. “Let him go. I’ve given you the Reaper you wanted.”
“I find it amusing that you believe that.”
Dorcha frowned at the Light. “I have given you more than enough Fae to feed the Others’ insatiable need for power. Do you have any idea what it takes to keep the families of those missing from asking too many questions? Perhaps I should just tell the families that those they look for are dead, their magic drained by those of the Others. Not to mention, all those who have joined our cause based on my speeches.”
“Our?” Hemming asked, brows raised.
“Yes, our,” Dorcha snapped, no longer hiding his anger. “My father and I joined the Others long ago, and we worked hard to build the organization to what it is today.”