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“Yes, bossy. Oh, holyshit. Kara, are we—”
“Can you just be quiet and hold on?”
“But we’re flying.”
“Levitating. The word is levitating.”
“Is there a difference?”
We’re only ten feet from the ground now, so I give myself permission to chuckle at last. “Sister, I’d like to know the answer to that too.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MAXIMUS
Mom taught me never to solve anything with my fists. But maybe she never anticipated a moment like this—in which I already gave up on solving anything.
When the only purpose is to make everything feel better.
Cutting loose. Going free. And not in the drunk-with-my-dad-at-Labyrinth kind of way.
This is deeper. Darker. Feeding stuff that’s been starved too long. The parts that still remember the too-tall sixth grader who steered embarrassingly clear of every conflict. Or later, in high school, the nerd who was approached by every sports coach in school but had to say no. Because so much could go wrong. What if I ever chose a left hook to a kid’s face instead of talking things through? What if I decided the same thing about a referee’s? I put Jesse in a wheelchair for life, and I wasn’t even pissed at him.
But Rerek Horne is different.
Scathingly, deservedly so.
Not the indelible demon part. If anything, that makes the blood on my fists no more than dirty puddle water. Bothersome and meaningless, to him more than me.
He’s different because he’s not some stupid kid at recess or a well-meaning coach on the playing field.
He’s spent centuries in the pursuit of one goal. Weaving destruction and confusion. He’sproudof it, openly wearing that glee now. It’s in the shine across his cruel irises, even after I’ve blackened both his eyes. It seeps from his blood-stained grin and gurgles in his chuckling throat. The bastard won’t surrender a single chink of his urbane arrogance, even as I curl a fist back once more.
But suddenly my arm shakes. Through some insane force of will, I uncurl my fingers. “You’re not worth it.” And maybe Mom is more right than I want to admit. “Or maybe I just need to kill you.”
His glare dims. But the inky shadows that take over his eyes…they’re worse. “Easier said than done, even for you.”
“He’s right,” Arden says from his perch on the edge of the living room’s sectional. Despite the blood spatter along the cream upholstery, he remains unstained down to his canyon-tromping Ferragamos. “Physically, you could probably do it. But politically…”
“Which is absolutely why you should.” Rerek pushes up to his elbows, unashamed as a pop star at an all-night orgy. “Come now, Professor. I won’t get a chance for a more deliciously tragic ending. Shakespeare, Hemingway, Sophocles…all our favorites will be welcoming me to eternity.” He backhands blood from his lips with deliberate languor. “The hero, having lost the love of his existence, expires by the hand of those who ripped happiness from his fingers. But he smiles through it all, knowing they’ll soon join him in the abyss…”
Arden groans. “Fire and fucking brimstone, Rerek. Shut up.”
Miraculously, he accomplishes what I couldn’t. Silencing Rerek and his distressingly cultured sulk.
For all of three seconds.
Until real emotion bursts across his face.
“I do love him, you know. To the depths of my soul.”
“Then show him in the right ways,” I bark back. “Support him. Be there for him.Courthim. You’ve got centuries of life and experience to draw on. You must know how this works.”
He flops back down with a bitter laugh. “Is that what you think my existence has yielded? Ah, well. I suppose loveisa chaos all its own.”
And here’s the unnerving silence I didn’t expect. Rerek is obviously happy to let me wallow in my discomfort too. Arden jitters a knee even harder, making it clear he wants to get on with this either way. He darts agitated glances toward the other sections of the villa, as if he’s after hidden treasures there. Or maybe just one.
His intention isn’t erroneous. I should probably be ripping a giant page from the guy’s book. I pledged to get in here and prevent Rerek from interfering with what Kara had to do, not follow him down a philosophical rabbit hole about life, love, and purpose. I already have the best of all three, and I’ll fight to the death to hold on to them—but no way will I be talking about them for a moment longer with this confused loser. Not after his scheming nearly ripped them all away from me.
