“And how,” I said, voice still even despite the fear and fury roiling inside, “do I know she isn’t already dead, given your earlier threat?”
“A fair enough question. I guess asking you to trust me is out of the question these days?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
He sighed. It was a strangely sad sound. “Then you shall get your proof. Lads, stand back.”
There was a shuffle of movement, then light flared—a round, yellow-white beam that revealed Mo’s pale and bloody face. She might have been captured, but she’d obviously gone down fighting.
“How could you do that to her?” I ground out. “She damn well raised you!”
“Yes, and there is a part of me that’s sorry she was treated so abominably. But she did kill quite a number of my people and it left them with little choice but to take physical action.”
“What the fuck has happened to you, Max?” The question was out before I could stop it. “When did you become everything I absolutely and utterly abhor?”
That struck a nerve. I might not have been able to see him, but his emotions were so sharp they could have been my own.
And yet, the one thing I didn’t feel in that fierce wave was regret.
He might hate that I hated him, but he didn’t regret one single thing he’d done … or would do.
I’d thought there was no love left in me for him, but I’d been wrong. It had been buried deep, to be sure, but it had existed, praying for a miracle while still stubbornly believing that if I confronted him, I might somehow reach the man I’d grown up loving and believing in.
But this wasn’t that man.
This was a stranger wearing his form.
A stranger who wasn’t wraith infected, because even if he’d drawn a fake, it was still a creation of light rather than darkness. He wouldn’t have been able to wield her if he had been infected.
I sucked in a breath and, for the first time since this whole mess had begun, felt free.
Free to do what had to be done.
I studied Mo again, this time looking beyond the injuries and her bruised and bloody state. Her eyes were closed, and there was no indication she knew I was here. She hadn’t reacted to the sound of my voice, hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything at all to indicate awareness. She breathed, which was at least something, and there was no sign of the shimmer that had indicated the wraith infection in Luc’s sister. That at least was good, but it didn’t really provide a whole lot of comfort. Something had to be wrong for her to be this still, this silent.
I narrowed my gaze and, after a moment, spotted the magic. It was a dark thread of evilness that not only surrounded her, but also wrapped tightly around her throat. One solitary thread ran off from this into the darkness, and I had no doubt it somehow connected her and Max, and definitely not in a good way.
“What have you done to her?” I growled, my fingers tightening on Elysian’s hilt. Energy flickered briefly down her blade, a sharp warning of the fury waiting to be unleashed. “What is the magic that leashes her?”
“That,” he answered, “is my guarantee. Kill me, and she will also die.”
It felt as if someone had reached in, grabbed my heart, and ripped it from my chest. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only stare at the woman who’d raised me and who meant everything to me.
An ungodly choice now faced me—to stop him, to stop Darkside, I’d have to kill the one person I cared about more than life itself.
“Come inside,” he continued blithely. “Or do you need a demonstration on just how effective the spell is?”
“No.”
It was a short, sharp bark, and he laughed. “Then move, sister, or else.”
I obeyed. As I passed through the spell, fierce heat hit my body, burning across my skin and leaving a trail of itchy uneasiness behind. Neither of the knives reacted, and though I could feel their distant thrumming, their blades remained quiet. Whether that would change if I held them, I had no idea and, right now, no intention of finding out. It was better if Max believed the spell was working.
“Now close the door,” he continued.
Once again I obeyed, though my grip on Elysian’s hilt was now so fierce her light peeled back the immediate darkness. The crown responded to that energy, shooting thin beams of light into the corners of the room. Multiple hisses filled the air, and the rapid shuffling of steps echoed. The Darksiders, desperate to avoid the searchlight-like sweeps of light.
It was tempting, so damn tempting, to feed more energy into that pulse, but I resisted. I couldn’t risk him doing any more damage to Mo. Not until I knew for sure he was telling the truth.
“I see you have the crown,” he said, almost conversationally.
As if he had all the time in the world and all the right cards.
From his point of view, I guess he did.
“I did steal it from your people, brother, so why does that surprise you?”
He smiled. It made my heart ache. “I’m just surprised you dared bring it here, but it does at least save me the trouble of trying to find it once you’re back in Darkside hands. Now, drop the sword.”
My gaze darted his way. He stood half in, half out of Elysian’s light, dressed in dark jeans and a natty, three-quarter length dark blue coat, the cut of which was somewhat spoiled by the strap of the sheathed sword that had been slung sideways across his back. Not a position from which he’d be able to draw her easily, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he could use the fake without actually drawing her.
“I won’t fucking do anything else until I know for sure Mo’s not already dead.”
“As you said in your message, Gwen, I’m not foolish enough to kill my one ace before I got everything I needed.”
“Just because I said it doesn’t mean I actually believed it.”
His gaze narrowed. “Drop. The. Sword.”
“Proof. Of. Life,” I echoed, then quickly added, “But hey, if you want to risk a repeat of the London mess, I’m more than happy to comply.”
He studied me for several seconds, the silver in his blue eyes shining brightly in Elysian’s gleam. It added an edge of coldness to his face—a face that was still as handsome as ever. I really wished it were otherwise. Wished his looks matched the blackness that had consumed his soul.
“Fine,” he eventually said, and made a motion with his free hand. It was only then I noticed he wasn’t holding the end of that dark thread; it had instead been inserted directly into the veins at his wrist.
Dear god, he was siphoning her strength and maybe even her magic.
I took an involuntary half step forward and then forced myself to stop. To remain calm. To watch rather than react, even if that was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life so far.
Energy stirred around his wrist, then some sort of electrical charge ran down the thread and around Mo’s neck. Her body jumped and twitched for several seconds and then her eyes slowly opened. For several, gut-wrenching seconds, they were entirely blank. There was no recognition—no situational awareness—within.
Then her gaze focused and came to mine. Love, regret, determination, and most of all pride shone so fiercely in her eyes that I had to blink back tears. She opened her mouth and attempted to say something, but it took several seconds before she succeeded.