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“What do you want, dear brother?”

He let his lifted head fall back against the ground, knowing he’d never be able to push him off; it would only anger him if he tried. Rurik was easy to predict in that way.

Rurik slapped him again. “Why do you smell of a Witch?”

“Because I had one.” Rurik slapped him again, harder, which only caused Geryon to sigh in disappointment. “Why must you take your rage out on your own family?”

Rurik was Geryon’s older brother by decades, making him the youngest sibling of them all. He had two other brothers and a sister as well. He once had many other siblings, but most had been killed by dark Witches.

“And you lost it?” He shouted it with his nose crinkling, making the long, deep scar across his nose and cheeks more prominent.

With a coy expression and a single finger lifted, he stated, “Momentarily.”

Geryon would find Valerie. He would track her down and bring her back.

He was slapped again, and this time, he slapped back.

Rurik leaned closer with an intense, hateful glare full of menace and barely controlled rage. “Why do you smell of its arousal?”

Geryon’s lips curled into a large, cheeky grin. “Why else would I smell of it?”

Rurik smacked his face into his palm in disbelief while he stayed on top of him. He rubbed his clenched eyes.

“How...? Why...? What were you thinking, brother? I came here because we organised that I would collect a witchling, and instead, I find you do not have it, smell of a different Witch, and smell like you have been trying to bed it.”

“We both failed to detect her when she was at the palace, and she is quite the woman. Pure-hearted Witch, obviously.”

Geryon genuinely thought this.

No matter what Valerie had done, he didn’t think she was corrupted. He didn’t know if that was truly because they had locked her magic away, but for now, that was what she was.

“The witchling was her sister, and she wanted to take her home.”

“And you let her?”

Geryon caught Rurik’s fist before he could punch him, similarly catching the other when it came flying.See? His anger makes him predictable.

“Why not? You told me you have been releasing Witches, so why cannot I?” Rurik narrowed his silver eyes, but he couldn’t come up with a good enough rebuttal. “They are Faerydaes, Rurik. I have much to tell you.”

“I do not care who their ancestor is! You let a Witch go free when she knows of your face, your lair? It is like you wish to be punished by the Elders. Why are you even trying to bed her?”

“You have a Witch. Why cannot I bed one for my own enjoyment?”

Rurik’s head reared back while his eyes widened in shock.

“You cannot be considering that! Amalia is special. She is different, and she has proved that she will never turn.” Then he leaned forward to snarl at Geryon. “Yours has knocked you unconscious with this rock and run away.”

He grabbed the rock Valerie must have hit him with – it smelt of his blood. Rurik let it roll from his palm carelessly onto Geryon’s face, and it smacked him straight in the nose.Ow! Barbarian.

“It is like she is begging me to fuck with her.” Geryon sighed, falling back to let his eyes droop heavily.

I can barely wait to catch her, to punish her with my cock.

“You are an idiot!” Rurik shouted, and Geryon raised his brow in response, considering he wasn’t the brightest himself. He may be a better warrior, but Rurik’s short temper made him careless and impulsive. “Why must you always choose the most difficult path?”

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Geryon liked things that were difficult. His food, his clothing, his lair. Even his hunting grounds were a pain, because it meant he needed to be patient, or set up traps and lures.