Chapter 6 Chapter 6
Nathaniel’s POV
In the past couple of hours I’d realized something simple and humiliating: running is not my thing. Not even a little. Yet there I was, fleeing through a forest with an idiotic unconscious human in my arms and the migraine from the shattering spell growing worse by the minute. My vision blurred at the edges. My strength was bleeding away. This was a far bigger problem than I’d anticipated.
Worse: my power was tied to this girl’s vitality. Human life was painfully short and pathetic. Why cling to it at all?
After the confrontation with Ares and his monkey crew, I’d managed to grab the girl—Bailey. I’d escaped with her. Uncharacteristic. Unacceptable. I had underestimated my little brother. Next time he wouldn’t wake from a coma; he would die. There was no tolerance for those who opposed me, not even blood. My father had tried to stand between ambition and a throne once; he had found his guts on the floor.
I had to stop. The migraine finally blurred my vision for good. The spell had drained me; I felt like a child learning to summon for the first time—weak, dizzy, faint. I blamed the girl. She was so fragile that her frailty weakened me. I would not accept this. I would get my heart back.
Footsteps behind me. Closer. Damn. Where was Lucian? I’d sent the message over an hour ago. Perhaps the contact failed—this useless charm of mine could misfire. The moment I reclaimed my heart would be the moment I slit her throat and ended this charade. She was heavy, too—another irritation.
I tried to contact Lucian again, mentally forming the incantation. Latin slid through my mind with the ease of a second language; these humans long ago abandoned it and, in doing so, buried a great deal of power. Magic was strongest when spoken with conviction and feeling. I had anger enough to fuel a war.
Pain exploded through my skull after the first verse. I vomited blood. I was weaker than I’d expected. Anxiety crept in—an unfamiliar taste. Footsteps again. They’d caught up.
I set Bailey gently on the ground. She lay limp, drained of every candle of life. A hand touched my shoulder. I caught it, pulled the figure in front of me, and pinned the newcomer against a tree, gripping the throat. Migraine blurred the world.
“Wow, wow—my liege, calm down! It’s me, Lucian!” the man hissed.
Lucian’s pale, lean face swam into focus. The message had reached him. Relief. I released the throat and sat wearily beside the girl.
“Nathaniel, what happened? We searched everywhere for you and Tristan. Where is he? Who is she?” Lucian asked—always practical, always too many questions. His silver hair hung in a low ponytail; his blue eyes, magnified slightly by rectangular glasses, pierced me like a physician’s scalpel. He wore his white medical coat over a suit, the absurd uniform of a man ready for either a gala or a battlefield.
“As always, Lucian—you ask too many questions at once,” I said. Sitting steadied me but my balance remained poor. He supported me without comment.
“You’re drained. How much power did you use? You’re deathly pale, sweating. I’ve never seen you like this. Is something wrong with your heart?” he demanded.
I let the words out slowly. “I don’t have it anymore.”
Lucian’s eyes widened. “What? How is that possible? And—how are you still alive?” Fascination laced his tone, but experiment time would wait.
“I’ll explain. Take me home. I’m tired and starving.” I grimaced.
He slung Bailey’s limp weight over his shoulder and put his arm beneath mine. The mercenaries shouted in the distance—too close. We were finally at the forest’s edge.
This place had once been bright and alive; a decade ago darkness poisoned it. Since then it bred ghastly things. I had tried to absorb that corruption many times and failed. Worry had no place in me—until now. I needed my heart back, quickly.
Lucian began the teleportation chant, a spell related to the one that had brought us to the human realm but more economical in power. Our bodies grew transparent; the world peeled away as the incantation flattened distance.
Ares and Spike ran toward us, too late. They stopped when we vanished; I heard Ares curse beneath his breath.
I should have been the one cursing. This had never happened. My brother had slipped from my hand alive. Next time would be different. Next time, all of them would die. Their bones would decorate my castle walls.