I spun toward the cell door, and Malik was beside me in the blink of an eye. “You can’t go in there,” I told him.
“And you can?”
“Yes.”
His nostrils flared. “That’s a Primal god who doesn’t recognize—”
“Uh, guys?” Emil interrupted. “I don’t think it’s Poppy. Because there’s a…ball of light.”
Malik’s gaze met mine, and we both turned. In the center of the narrow hall, a small orb of silver eather grew, crackling and spitting thin tendrils of essence.
“What the…?” Malik muttered as the fur along Delano’s back rose.
A guttural snarl erupted from the wolven as he prowled forward, head lowered. Emil’s hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
The realm was opening before us. I just hoped it was whoever Reaver had reached and not someone about to make an enemy of me.
Either way, I had a feeling neither a sword nor a wolven could stand against whatever was about to appear. Not when only two beings had enough eather to open the realm. The Arae, also known as the Fates.
And the oldest of the gods—the Primals.
“Delano,” I called, holding up a hand to Emil. “Stand down.”
The wolven reluctantly stepped back as a wave of tingling energy swept down my right arm. Eather swelled, pressing against my flesh.
The orb of eather lengthened, hissing and popping, and then the realm opened in a burst of silver radiance, filling the air with the scent of burnt ozone. The flash faded quickly, and where the opening of the realm had been, a male—maybe an inch or two taller than me—stood before us in black leather pants and a tunic. The strap of a small satchel crossed his broad chest. My gaze quickly swept over the light-brown hair framing a face…
My shoulders jerked as I saw the Primal god’s face. It wasn’t the shallow scar running from his hairline, over the bridge of his nose, and down his left cheek that had me standing there in stunned silence.
It was because of the sandy-brown hair, the strong jawline, and the sculpted mouth. The straight nose and high, angular cheekbones. The arched brows and tall, broad-shouldered, lean-waisted build. Which, all together, was damn near the mirror image of the man standing beside me.
My brother.
“What in the actual fuck?” Malik choked out.
I seconded that statement while glancing between my brother and the Primal god. The Primal looked back at us with precisely the same what-the-fuckexpression that had to be plastered on our faces.
Emil bowed stiffly, reminding me I should probably be doing the same. The Primal was an old god. But Malik and I remained straight, too dumbfounded to do anything but stare.
“Uh…” Emil slowly straightened. “Am I seeing things, or am I looking at someone who looks eerily similar to you?” He glanced in Malik’s direction, then mine. “To both of you, actually.”
Emil was stating the obvious, but I couldn’t fault him for doing so. I kept staring at the Primal, trying to find the differences. His hair was a little shorter and wavier, more like mine.
But other than that?
It was like seeing Malik two or so decades older.
Or looking at a near twin of our father.
“If you’re seeing shit…” Malik muttered, arms lax at his sides.
“Then we all are,” I finished for him.
The Primal’s silver eyes shifted to me, and everything about him changed. It was brief—the flaring of his nostrils, the crease between his brows, and the tightening of his jaw—but I saw itbefore his gaze slid back to Malik. I didn’t pick up any emotion from him and didn’t know if that was because he was a Primal, he was shielding them, or it was a limit to my abilities. Still, I knew what that quick display of emotion was.
Pain.
And not the physical kind.
