Page 19

ROMAN

“Uncle, I need you to pull the knife away from his throat,” I say, hands raised as I step farther into my backyard.

The space between us isn’t physically large, but the difference between who we were and who I am now is daunting.

There has always been competition, delicately nurtured by my father to keep both of us under his thumb, but now Emile is a threat.

The blade he holds against Hale’s skin might as well be to Remy’s neck—and he’s doing it willingly.

What he doesn’t seem to understand is that if we lose Remy, all of this will have been for nothing.

There will be no redemption for me if my brother dies.

Even if he lives, this mess is still my fault.

None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me—if it weren’t for her .

The fact my uncle has a tenuous hold on my own autonomy is because of her too, and I wish I could take back every pitiful word I said when I swore my oath to him.

I have asked very fucking little of you my entire life. Give me this one thing. Give me a chance to say goodbye before he kills her.

I think of how desperately I drank from my uncle’s arm, making a deal that fucks me over, just so I could see Gwyn.

The beating I’d endured afterward from his bloodsworns had meant very little when the alternative was her dying without knowing the truth.

That the fucked up shit I said to her in the cemetery was a lie.

I’d told her she was too broken and not worth the risk. It turns out everything with Gwyn is a risk, and who knows if she was ever broken at all.

Swearing an oath to my uncle had been worth the eternal bullshit I’d have to put up with, as long as I got a chance to tell her how I felt while attempting to free her.

And now, I can’t wait to see the light leave her eyes as she dies.

Emile is sitting on the edge of my deck with Hale on the ground between his knees.

My uncle is twitchy and on edge, and I don’t take my eyes off the blade in his hand.

His demeanor is reminiscent of a time he’d fought my father after my mother’s death, and it had ended with Emile leaving for a year.

It was the worst year of my life without having him as a buffer to my father’s violent disregard.

My uncle is unpredictable in this state, and I really don’t fucking need that.

His knife digs into Hale’s flesh, and if he doesn’t stop fighting him, he’s going to slit his own throat. Unfortunately, despite Hale’s role in this grand deception, I need him alive. If he dies, so does my brother—and I’ll have truly lost everything.

“Uncle,” I warn. He’s nicked the sorcerer’s skin, and I can smell his blood. Depending on how the wind is blowing, it’s only a matter of time before Gwyn smells it too.

And I have no idea what she’ll do.

My brother is the reason for every one of my actions, and he’s back from the dead.

I won’t fucking risk losing him despite my fondness for my uncle.

But at this rate, I might end up losing them both.

I’d once thought of Gwyn as a grenade—one hand on the lever with the other on the pin—but I think she’s more like a landmine.

One wrong move, one wrong step, and she’s going to kill me and everyone unlucky enough to be nearby.

“Not until she’s done,” he says, gesturing toward a woman I don’t recognize. She’s in the darkened corner of the backyard, walking slowly in a circle while blood drips from her palm. The grass sparkles as the snow attempts to stick, and she shudders as a gust of wind hits her.

When she turns and the moonlight hits her face, I recoil.

Caitriona Graham, friend or foe to my father depending on the day, grins at me when she notices my attention.

She’s a witch-for-hire, and I can feel the energy crackling from her from several yards away.

Powerful is an understatement. If the woman ever bothered with the Institute, she’d be a world-renowned Sorceress.

But as far as I know, she’s never had a need for it.

Ketill, Agnarr’s ancient brother, is known for two things: ruthlessness and grandeur. And his coven is her primary client. With her natural talent and their fathomless pockets, she doesn’t need the Institute. I’d been wondering how my uncle overpowered Hale, and it seems I’ve found my answer.

Her long, orange hair is twisted tightly into some sort of hairstyle I’m sure Margot knows the name of, and her dated clothing makes me wonder just how old she is.

She looks the same age as when I met her almost twenty years ago.

She might look like a 1950s housewife with a starched white collar dress, but she is not meek or mild-mannered in any way.

Her lightly freckled skin nearly glows as she rolls up the sleeves of her dark peacoat.

Muttering an incantation, her attention is drawn back to her work.

“I’m telling you the fucking truth,” Hale says. “There is no goddamn spell.”

My uncle won’t listen to him, merely shaking his head as he gives me a ‘can you believe this?’ smile. The man thinks far more highly of me than he should.

Every choice I’d made had been of my own volition. Every ounce of destruction is because of my stupid fucking decisions.

“Un cercle magique, Roman. Pour te guérir.” To heal you.

“Il n’y a pas de remède,” I murmur under my breath. There is no cure.

My uncle doesn’t hear me over Hale’s thrashing and grunting against him. His hand circles the sorcerer’s throat, and he begins to squeeze. If I rush at Emile, he’ll kill Gwyn’s friend before I make it halfway across the yard. The best I can do is convince him to let him go—for Remy.

“Where is my leverage, Tonton?” I ask, hoping to distract my uncle. He smiles at me when he lets Hale go.

“The little worm would not heed my commands,” he says, and with a sudden movement, he throws his knife past my ear toward my garage door.

A startled cry echoes within, and I’m grateful to know she’s still alive.

“So I broke her leg, and made Nico bind her wrists. You know, I don’t think he actually has any sailing experience. His knots are tragic.”

He continues on about Nico’s skills while I contemplate going to check on Sasha. I can’t do anything, but if she’s injured more than he’s let on, Gwyn will unleash hell.

“Where’s Nico?” I ask.

My uncle has already pulled out another knife, and he notches it beneath his captive’s jaw bone. The sound of the sharpened blade rubbing over Hale’s stubble gives me goosebumps. It’s too close for comfort.

“He’s inside, looking for sage. She needs it.” He nods in Caitriona’s direction. “She’ll do anything—for a price,” Emile says. “But he must be the one to lift your curse.” He traces his weapon across Hale’s jugular.

“There is no curse,” I say, but my uncle only rolls his eyes. “And I don’t appreciate you breaking my hostage’s leg.”

“What’s mine is yours, is it not? Besides, the fact you didn’t feel my command tells me enough. You turned the bitch, so she cannot command you. This is the only explanation.”

I don’t tell him Gwyn’s blood is why I was able to ignore his command.

There’s no point. If he knew that just an hour ago she was sitting in my lap and I was drinking her blood, he’d kill me.

I’d probably deserve it too. But everything I do now is for Remy.

I need Emile to let Hale go, and bringing up Gwyn’s blood would not help this situation.

“Remy is alive. Maybe you didn’t hear me on the phone?”

Emile’s blue eyes are ice-cold and piercing as he stares right at me. “I heard you.”

I’m not surprised by his answer, but I am infuriated. He’s risking my brother’s life to free me from something I’m not entrapped by.

“Then why the fuck?—”

“Your mind being freed from her spell is more important. Whatever she’s done that has rendered your blood oath useless must be undone.

Remy is the whole reason this happened, is he not?

He allowed himself to be caught, and now, there are consequences.

” He shrugs, as if it isn’t all my fault.

As if Remy doesn’t matter. The wind blows sparkling snowflakes into my face.

Blinking them away, all I do is glare at him.

“I’ve always liked you more than him, Roman. If he dies, he dies.”

“If he dies, I will kill you,” I say, surprising myself, and my uncle goes still. Even Hale freezes in place, reacting to the tension. For a moment, I think it’s my words that have caused Emile’s reaction—but then I breathe deep.

Gwyn’s scent is faint, just a hint on the inopportune breeze, and I consider telling my uncle what he smells isn’t fresh.

That it’s me who reeks of her rich apple cider scent, not the woman currently scaling the fucking roof in my periphery.

I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing, but I don’t dare draw his attention to her.

Thankfully, the wind blows in the opposite direction and the smell is gone.

“I know you are not threatening me, mon grand,” my uncle says, and I relax a fraction. My words are what gave him pause—nothing else. “Your impudence is ceaseless, Roman.”

Slowly, I exhale, allowing my taut body to slacken.

With his back to my house, he must not have caught Gwyn’s scent.

He stands, hauling Hale up with him. The man is much taller than my uncle, and he holds his body close—almost like a shield.

Slowly, I walk toward him, trying to cut the distance between us.

“Not a threat at all,” I say, but he doesn’t catch on to my promised fury.

“Are you almost done?” Emile asks Caitriona, and I believe she’s ignoring him.

She’s sprinkling what appears to be salt around the perimeter of the circle while walking around it counter-clockwise.

I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I don’t ask any questions.

If she turns, she might catch a glimpse of Gwyn as I had, and she won’t be likely to keep it quiet.

I don’t allow my gaze to wander toward Gwyn. I’d only noticed her dark hair for a second on the breeze as she’d picked her way over my roof. I have no idea what she’s planning or how to prepare for it, but at this point I don’t think it matters. I need her family to stay alive, at whatever cost.

Remy makes this worth it. My little brother, whole and healthy, is worth all of this. If the cost is my uncle’s life and whatever humanity I have left after her, I don’t fucking care.

“Roman, do you have any sage?” Nico calls from my back door. Thankfully, though Caitriona’s gaze lifts to my friend, Gwyn is hidden out of sight.

“Why the fuck would I have sage?”

“Rosemary?” Caitriona asks hopefully. “For purification.”

“Check the spice rack,” I say. “I definitely don’t have fresh rosemary. I barely even live here.”

Nico comes out of the house, tossing a mostly-full shaker of rosemary at me, before turning back inside to raid my wine cooler. I think perhaps Emile will let go of Hale so he can perform a fake spell reversal, now that I have the necessary herbs. But he shoves Hale forward, keeping him close.

“Come, Roman.”

I nod, intending to go along with this fucking charade, knowing the risk. Whatever command Emile gives me afterward won’t work because I can still feel Gwyn’s blood thrumming through my veins—and then what? When it doesn’t work, what will he do?

I stop myself, sliding my hands into my pockets.

“No.”

My uncle’s brows merely raise as he leans around Hale’s tall and lanky body. Emile’s lips twist tightly together, and it’s almost like I’m a kid again, being reprimanded for getting a date wrong on a history test.

“I told you, there isn’t a spell,” I say, palms out in earnest, hoping that somehow, I can keep Hale safe, and in turn, my brother. “I was…goddammit. Je me suis ridiculisé.” I’ve made a fool of myself.

“Oui,” he says, simply. “Quand même.” But still . He uses his knife to gesture toward the circle Caitriona now stands beside.

I almost laugh, amused by his unfettered confidence in me. Is it loyalty to my dead mother, the little sister he was supposed to have an eternal life with, that allows him to give me the benefit of the doubt? Is it…love? Is it something else altogether?

My chest has gone tight. I know my uncle.

Regardless of why he believes in me, when Hale fails to lift a nonexistent spell, all hell will break loose.

He’ll issue a command I can’t guess, and he’ll kill them both.

Hale first, in a fit of rage. Sasha will be his next target, and I don’t know if I’m fast enough to get there first.

And Gwyn will see it all, rushing to kill Remy before I have a chance to stop her.

I’ll have to kill him myself before it comes to that.

Fuck.

“Roman,” he says, and we turn toward one another. His knife isn’t quite where it needs to be to be a true threat, and I know if I’m quick, I can shove Hale out of the way.

I don’t think immobilizing him will be enough, but I don’t think I have it in me to do more.

Despite myself, my eyes shift to the woman who now stands on my upstairs balcony.

Striking, Gwyn’s dark hair blows on the wind, and her pale skin glows beneath the moon’s caress.

She’s hauntingly beautiful, like a ghostly woman in white standing on a forested back road, though no less deadly. She’s certain to lure me to oblivion.

Despite every muscle in my body screaming at me to react, to stop, to warn, I don’t move when I watch her pull the same gun that she used on me out of her pocket.

I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate her bringing it.

Her advantageous position above us gives her an edge my uncle wouldn’t have foreseen.

It kept her scent from reaching past the house save for the brief moment the wind had wafted that disarming rich temptation directly to me.

Time slows down the moment I decide my only action is inaction.

My brother is my priority, I remind myself as Gwyn raises her arm.

Though she doesn’t have much of a shot because of how my uncle holds Hale, Gwyn disengages the safety, and I close my eyes.

I’ve braced myself for the loud pop of gunfire, so when there’s a wet, slicing sound followed by a gush of liquid, it takes me a moment to understand what’s happening. I don’t manage to catch Hale’s body before the man crumples to the ground.