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A growl tore from Rafe, and violence flooded his veins.

Storm flew into a clearing, and Rafe’s stare immediately fell on Sebastian’s rumpled form on the ground, trousers trapped around his thighs. Bootsteps jerked his attention up to a man’s form sprinting off through the wood. Fury ripped through Rafe, a scalding determination to inflict harm consuming him. He kicked Storm into a gallop. In a few lengths they caught up with the brigand. Rafe launched himself at the man and took him down to the ground, the two of them tumbling harshly over the uneven forest floor. Rocks dug into Rafe’s back, sticks slapped his face, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he ended up on top of the man. And he did, hand wrapped around the scum’s throat.

Rafe sat up, using the man’s throat as leverage and drawing out a satisfying gurgling sound. The man thrashed, nearly unseating Rafe. He was strong, his weathered skin and built physique speaking of a man accustomed to toil. But he wasn’t any match for Rafe, for Rafe’s rage. How dare he try to harm Rafe’s family? How dare he try to force himself on anyone?

His face was turning a lovely shade of purple. The last thing Rafe needed was a dead body to dispose of. He stood, bringing the bastard with him by his neck. The man stumbled, eyes bugging.

“You will turn around,” he murmured, his low tone a promise of pain. “And you will run. You will not stop running until you are far, far away from my estate.”

Rafe cocked his head and studied the man’s features. The hazel eyes, the hard, square jaw. He’d remember this visage. “If I ever see your face, if anyone on my estate ever sees your face again, you won’t walk out of here alive.” He leaned forward, squeezing until the man’s mouth opened on a silent gasp. “And I’ll do the honors myself.”

Rafe shoved the man backward, and he fell hard on his arse. He scrambled backward, hand at his throat, coughing uncontrollably.

Rafe ambled up to the man until he loomed over the shaking coward’s form. The knave let out a pathetic wheezed cry. “Are we understood?”

He nodded, eyes wide. “Y-yes,” he choked out hoarsely.

“Good.” Rafe backed away, lip turned up as he glared at the bastard. “Now get.”

The man wobbled to his feet and took off through the woods, movements jerky. Pure glee lit up Rafe’s chest when the man accidentally ran straight into a tree.

But it was short lived. Sebastian.

Rafe turned and ran back toward the clearing not far away. He could see his brother from here. He was standing now, clearly having watched Rafe’s entire display. Dirt stained his breeches—now righted—and was smeared across the right side of his face, debris from the underbrush matting his blond hair.

Rafe slowed to a stop before his brother. And all he could see was the small honey-blond lad of six who used to sneak around after Rafe, curious green eyes watching from the shadows. Rafe had kept his distance, had refused to indulge the boy who’d clearly wanted to know his older brother. Rafe knew what happened to those he grew close to. And he also knew the boy’s purpose: Rafe’s replacement if Rafe failed to live up to the image his father demanded.

Sebastian’s gaze dropped, and his fists balled at his sides. A blotchy red flush colored his cheeks and trailed down his neck.

“Are you well?” Rafe asked quietly.

“Fine.” The word held a slight tremor, and his gaze remained locked on the ground. His shoulders curled more over himself, like he could hide himself away.

The man before him—barely a man—was anything but fine. He’d tried to stand toe-to-toe with Rafe back in Miss Dawson’s study, but every bit of his youthful eighteen years had shone through.

The evil in this world would always find ways to prey on others, to take advantage.

“Why don’t we get you back to the castle and cleaned up?”

Finally, a pair of guarded green eyes lifted to his. They searched his. Uncertain. Fearful.

“I can get us inside without anyone seeing. To avoid questions,” Rafe murmured. He knew the secret passageways of the castle like the back of his hand. Even after all these years.

“A-all right,” his brother whispered.

* * *

Rafe handed Sebastian a finger of whisky just as there was a knock on his chamber door. He arched a brow. “Drink.”

Rafe had snuck them through a secret passage that led to the wing his chambers were in. He’d immediately rang for hot water and provided his brother with fresh clothes to change into. Clothes that hung off his lanky frame and made his youth even more apparent.

Opening his door a discreet amount, Rafe grabbed the bowl of hot water from the surprised servant and immediately shut the door in their alarmed face. Manners be damned. The last thing he wanted was servants catching sight of his brother’s disheveled state and setting tongues wagging.

Sebastian watched him, whisky still untouched.

“Drink. It’ll take away some of the chill.”

Rafe carried the hot water to where Sebastian was seated in front of the hearth. He’d stoked it higher as soon as they’d gotten back. He hadn’t missed how his brother’s pallor had turned ashen by the time they’d made it to Rafe’s rooms.