Page 18

Kildare smiled softly. “That’s Reuban’s gift. It can name what others feel, like a light in your heart. Push all the other feelings behind it. Let it come. What else does it tell you? About me, or about yourself?”

Kross’s hands clenched, his green specks swirling in his dark gaze. “It… it says I’m… scared,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “But… I’m happy too. Because you’re here. And… it says you’re… proud, but… you’re worried about… something big.”

Kildare’s wings folded closer, his fire humming with a protective warmth.

“That’s good, Little King. That’s Reuban’s warmth in you—knowing hearts, even your own.

It’ll help you understand others, and yourself.

It’s right—I’m proud of you, but I’m worried about what’s coming.

That’s a big truth, and you felt it.” He angled his head now.

“What else, Little Spark? You’re full of so many gifts,” he bragged with a grin. “You feel anything else?”

Kildare waited, watching him get earnest again, his breaths turning shallow after a moment.

“I feel something,” he whispered, brows pulling together sharply before he looked right at Kildare.

“It’s the Angel of Mothers,” he whispered in quiet reverence.

“Her power… it’s… holding me. Soft… but… so strong .”

“That’s Larena’s heart,” Kildare said, his voice thick with reverence.

“Her love is in you. Like a song that protects.” Kildare took both his hands in his and stared into his gaze.

“Now,” he urged, allowing his fire to help with this one.

“I want you to search for something special inside. Something that feels like… gravity. Pulling at your insides, squeezing and embracing all that you are.”

Kross held his eyes for many seconds before his own filled with tears.

“Mother,” he barely whispered, his chin quivering as he moved their hands to his chest. “It’s hot,” he breathed, tears falling freely.

“It burns and hurts,” he strained. “It’s everywhere inside me. Humming. Like a special secret.”

“That’s your humanity, ” Kildare whispered with awe, catching the fresh tears that fell. “The blood that she gave is part of that. And it is your most holy and powerful gift.”

Kildare’s heart broke when the boy lunged on him, hugging his neck. “I didn’t mean to, Father. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I love Mother.”

“I know you do,” he soothed, his wings wrapping around them. “It wasn’t you, My Little Fire. It was her gift. And it was hers to give. But you must never be sad about it, you understand?”

He nodded, and released his neck, wiping his eyes. “Then I will never be sorry for it,” he swore, his voice an octave deeper now.

Kildare stood and spread his wings, seeing the stretch that had taken place in Kross’s frame. “You’re growing so fast, Star-Eyes. Soon, you won’t have anything from childhood to remember. How about we fix that?” He regarded him curiously, and Kildare opened his hand. “I’ll need your arm.”

Kross gave it to him without hesitation and Kildare held up his finger, showing him the sharpened flame he’d created.

“Little biting sting,” he warned, lowering it and began etching onto his forearm.

“A star for your father Kaos,” he said, watching his fist clench.

He moved the fire over and etched again.

“A crescent for your Mother,” he murmured, then created a single line.

“A slash for your father Krave,” he explained, lifting his finger and touching down briefly with a grin.

“Just a… red dot for me,” he said, before swirling the fire again.

“A gold spiral for Reuban. And…” he added lightly, moving his finger over.

“A pearl teardrop for the Angel of Mothers.” He smiled and held his finger up before Kross. “Blow out the candle.”

Kross touched the marks, his gaze soft as he raised his gaze and blew the fire.

His breath acted like gasoline and created a torch. Kildare jerked his hand back with a laugh. “Little King!” He put the fire out with a single swing of his hand.

“I didn’t mean it!” he cried in shock.

“Let me have a look at those records,” Kildare urged, taking his arm and eyeing the etchings with a proud nod. “And the Heavenly Kissing King looked upon the impeccable marks adorning the skin of the Noble Young King of Four Kings and saw… that they were good. They were very good.”

Kross’s smile beamed as he touched them softly. “They are very good, Father,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

****

The dusk light barely reached the shadowed patch behind the hut, where Krave paced, his boots kicking up faint clouds of dust that clung to the damp air.

His divine winds churned in his chest, a restless storm that hadn’t settled since he’d left the hut thirty minutes ago, unable to stand the suffocating weight of that dark tomb with Kaos prostrating over Josie, his snow-white frame draped across her still form.

The air out here was cool, heavy with the scent of damp earth and oak, but it didn’t do a damn thing for the biting tension in his gut. His fingers twitched with itching winds, needing to lash out and break something, anything just to ease the storm inside him.

Kaos had asked for time alone, red and green eyes shimmering with a depth Krave hadn’t seen before. “Leave me with her.”

Krave had stepped out with a fragile hope that maybe Kaos could raise her.

Because something in him was different since he’d returned from the grave, as if he’d come back with more than he’d left with, yet lacked something he once had.

Krave felt it in the way Kaos’s power moved.

It had a new weight, a new will. Like he held a key to something Krave couldn’t name.

Krave’s head whipped around as a deep laugh sliced through the dusk that he didn’t recognize.

He hurried toward the sound and rounded the hut, freezing at the sight beneath the oak tree.

Kildare was in dragon form, scales glinting like molten fire and the boy —nearly a fucking man now—was climbing down from Kildare’s back, laughter bubbling up again as he slid to the ground.

Something similar to pissed envy surged through his winds as the front door of the hut creaked open. Kaos stepped out, snow-white frame rigid, black hair spilling like ink over his shoulders. A faint hiss escaped his ashen lips as he eyed Kross.

Krave’s winds pulled him toward the man-child like a magnet, and Kross snapped his head toward him. The second his dark gaze hit him, it lit up and filled him with the kind of heat that belonged to fire.

He held his sheet around him as he ran toward him, long legs eating up the distance.

“Look!” he said, skidding to a stop in front of him, voice deeper but bubbling over with excitement.

He stretched out his forearm. “Kildare gave me these.” His grin rivaled the fucking crack of dawn.

“Scars,” he breathed, flashing his galactic lit-up eyes to him.

“For when I’m older.” He pointed at one.

“That one’s yours. And look at everything I’ve got inside me,” he hurried, hands moving outward and stirring a breeze with flickers of flame glinting at his fingertips.

Krave’s winds surged as he grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm to him, looking at the marks. “What the heck did our Flaming King do to you, kid?” He glanced at Kildare, now in his angelic form, wings buried in his skin.

“Just logging the greatest event of all time, Bluster Boy.”

“So, tell me,” Krave urged, flicking a wind-ball at him. “What you got inside that killer vessel growing faster than I can keep up with?”

Kross’s laugh tumbled out with excitement. “Everything! Your winds—they can cut or protect—like a cloak, and Kildare’s fire is warm, but it can heal, and Father’s pull is…” He paused, eyeing Kaos. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch it.”

Kaos answered with a growled, “Don’t ever touch it. Not until I train you.”

Kross nodded quickly with a serious, “Yes, sir,” before his excitement returned to Krave. “I got Uncle Reuban’s power—and it knows things,” he said lower, with his twinkling gaze.

“Oh boy,” Krave chuckled, crossing his arms. “This mean you know all my secrets?”

He laughed at that. “Not yet!” he warned. “But I know that you’re happy right now, and…” He stepped in closer with a quiet, “and that Father is not as angry as I thought.” His smile beamed with that. “I even have Larena’s powers.”

“Uh-oh,” Krave said, side-eyeing him. “You in love with all the mothers now?”

He paused as his brows slowly locked together in contemplation. Then they loosened with his astonished gaze at him. “I am, ” he whispered, getting Krave’s big laugh.

“You’ll definitely need to train him,” he warned at Kaos now, remembering he was missing somebody. “And what did our Lost Saint give you? Your mother. ”

Krave’s wind heated at the huge smile that lit up his face. “She gave me her life essence through her blood!” he marveled, like it was his wild-card power. “Do you realize that it makes all of humanity my family?”

No. He hadn’t realized that.

“Don’t expect the Earthly Kissing King to appreciate that one,” Kildare chuckled next to him. “He hates all humans that aren’t your mother.”

“And me,” Kross bragged.

“You’re not human,” Kaos muttered, stomping out the joy in the moment.

Krave eyed Kaos then advised Kross, “Just ignore He-Who-Hates-All-Joy. Show me what you can do with that fire King Hot Pants gave you.”

Kross’s grin widened, and he extended both hands, producing flaming fingertips while a gentle breeze stirred around him and made the tiny fires flare.

“He’s a quick learner,” Kildare bragged as Kaos turned and headed back toward the hut, his dark wake blowing out Kross’s flames before disappearing through the door.

Krave blinked as he regarded Kildare, then Kross, then the door again.

“Did he just slurp up our powers and leave?” Kildare wondered, his voice a mix of amusement and irritation.

Krave propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Brat.”

Kildare snickered and Kross burst into laughter, his dark eyes bright as he realized the humor and removed the urge to murder the black bastard from his winds.

“I’m just glad he doesn’t truly hate me,” Kross barely said, like Kaos might get the idea to still. “He just hates that he made something he doesn’t know how to keep.”