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“See, as hard as it’s been, I believe the longer you wait for something, the greater the reward. The more you appreciate the moment when you finally achieve your goal.” There was something odd about the way he said it, as if he were referring to something else. “And the look on your face…” A cold chuckle punctured the walls. “Did you really think I had no idea it was you? Your dad’s men talk, Darien. Just because he’s no longeraround doesn’t mean they don’t talk to me. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean they accept you. They hate you, actually.”

“I’m flattered.”

Don tightened his fists, thumbs dragging across the scarred peaks of his knuckles. “Is there anything else you’d like to say to me before we settle this? Anythingsmart?”

“I’m not sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.”

Don blew a humorless laugh through his nose, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to bite. “But it wasn’t reallyyouwho killed Randal…,” Don mused, canting his head to one side. “Was it?”

Darien didn’t respond.

Don started pacing again. “Randal’s men say it was a monster—a dark and ancient being that feeds off fear. See, that story makes much more sense to me. I mean, let’s be honest.” Another laugh ricocheted through the room, like shots fired from a gun. “As ifyoucould have ever defeated Randal.”

Silence spread like a chasm.

Don spoke the truth—not once had Darien believed that he could’ve killed his dad. At least not in hand-to-hand combat—not back then. Which was precisely the reason why he’d never even tried. Had he believed he’d stood a chance at putting an end to all that suffering, he would’ve acted. Anything to spare Ivy and the other Devils from Randal’s constant bullshit.

But Darien had changed—grown—since Randal’s death. If given the opportunity to redo it, he knew he could kill him—easily. But killing the uncle who stood across from him?… That was another challenge entirely.

Roman’s warning—the one he’d uttered on their way to Caliginous on Silverway last night—blared through Darien’s memory like a civil defense siren:‘Darien, if you try to kill him, you will lose.’

“So, what do you say?” Don faced him, hands pushing up the long sleeves of his shirt. Skoll’s growling grew to a near roar, the wolf awaiting his master’s signal with bated breath. “How about showing your uncle if you’re as good at fighting as everyone says you are?”

Darien was always itching for a fight, but tonight, he found his mouth drying up from the invitation. He was all too aware of his throbbing hand—the still-mending fractures that had been agitated from holding onto Roman in that cavern.

Apart from that, he felt the ghosts of his past breathing down the back of his neck. He may not be a child anymore, but in that moment, as his uncle beckoned him forward, he felt thirteen again—felt all the same emotions as the last time this same man had beaten him black and blue. Those were the days before Darien had learned how to fight properly—how to throw a punch that broke bone instead of just bruised.

As he and his uncle stared each other down, he knew that if he managed to walk out of this house tonight, it wouldn’t be due to victory. It would be because Donovan—for whatever reason—allowed him to leave.

But the look on Donovan’s face told Darien he had zero intention of letting him go anywhere.

“Come on, nephew.” Don curled his fingers in invitation. “Don’t be shy. I’ll even let you draw first blood—how’s that sound?”

Darien squeezed his left hand into a fist, the other throbbing in tandem with his heartbeat. “I’m not fighting you.”

“Too scared?” Don’s obsidian eyes snagged on Darien’s right hand—the pulses of neon red that indicated injury. “My, oh my…” He tutted, a smile tugging on his mouth. “Whateverdid you do to your hand?”

“We’re not doing this.” Darien stalked toward the door. “I’ll take you up on your offer another time.”

But Don stepped in his way and shoved him backward.

The assault sparked Darien’s temper like flint, his blood heating to a rolling boil. “Don’t touch me,” he warned through clenched teeth.

“Better you than Ivy.”

“Keep my sister’s name out of your mouth.” He made to move around him again?—

Another shove—harder this time. Hard enough to make him stagger.

Darien charged him head-on.“I said don’t fucking touch me.”

Don came forward to meet him—stealing his move. “Or what?” They were inches apart—eye to eye. “Don’t be a pussy, Darien—show me how the infamous leader of the Seven Devils fights.”

“With a broken hand? How fair of you.”

“Hit me.”

“No.”