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“Oh, darling,” Mother gushed. “Aren’t you sweet?”

I grinned, ignoring the way Damian’s cough sounded likesuck up. “I was in London for my last assignment. I couldn’t resist.”

“Hey, where’s my jam?” Ronan pouted.

I fixed him with a knowing look. “Well, youhadone.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, and he deserved it. I’d relent eventually—I had opened one for myself, and didn’t technically need to keep the second. One of my businesses would no doubt bring me back into London before I finished the jam. Still. He could stew, and think about his actions until I felt like forgiving him.

While the older generation raved over their presents, sharing and exchanging goodies with each other, my brother leaned in. “I hate you.”

I grinned. “Only because I’m the favorite.”

“You’re the favorite because you’re the whiny baby,” he grunted. “And they didn’t put up with you for your first ten years.”

“That. But also, I’m simply a lot more loveable than you.”

Damian was predictable. He had me in a chokehold in no time, and I let him.

Silly, silly boy.

“Oh, no youdon’t!” my mother screamed, finger pointed at Damian. “No violence at the table. I only have twenty-six of these plates left. Both of you, in the damn ring. Kaelius, darling, would you be a dear and stabilize the food while our sons attempt to murder each other again?”

“Of course, my love.” My father truly was better with domestic spells.

A silver shield keeping his gigantic tray warm and fresh, we all moved to the other side of the atrium. The light overhead was artificial—wewerein the underside—but given that it was powered with my excess magic, along with my brother’s, my mother’s, and whoever else in our family needed to unwind, it was just as bright, and twice as warm as the sky overhead.

The ring was a circle marked in runes on the marble floor, white and smooth, and spelled to be easy to clean, because blood was a pain to wash up.

We started at opposite sides. Damian made a point of removing his shirt, his phone, his wallet. I didn’t bother.

“Ten golds on Lucian,” my grandmother said.

“No, Andrea, he’s all drained. I say Damian’ll have this one,” Mother stated.

“Pay up or shut up, daughter,” the old woman countered.

She put ten golds in the pot.

I tuned them out when Damian bowed, inclining his head a mere inch. I returned to greeting, and Father started to count down. “Three. Two. One?—”

Always direct, Damian crossed the circle in one leap and punched, hard, putting every bit of his strength in his fist. I let him, doubling down by taking the powerful hit right to my gut, but as soon as he was nice and close, I grabbed his hand and twisted it around his back, pinning him down.

“If you weren’t my brother, you’d be dead by now,” I reminded him.

Damian flipped back onto his feet, launching me backward. “If you weren’t my brother, I would have had a dagger in my fist.”

It had been far too long since I had a chance to use the prick as a punching bag. We fought like we hated each other, which we kinda did. I spit blood after his elbow met my face, but I broke his nose. Holding me down by the knee, the prick tried to send me into a fucking coma—which he could wake me up from whenever he wanted, but that was beside the point—so I wrapped my legs around his throat and squeezed until he yielded.

The winners clapped while my mother cried on my father’s chest. Not about the blood—she was used to that. She just hated losing.

“How did you know he’d win, exhausted like that?” Lucky mused.

My grandmother cackled. “’Cause the kid doesn’t back off when he’s out of it. When he’s at full power, he’s a lot more careful. Thanks, boy. You’re my favorite,” she announced, pocketing her winnings.

“And here I was going to take you out to the opera, Nana,” Damian said.

“What am I saying?You’remy favorite, darling.”