I roared, drowning in agony. My sister loved me. I told her stories, cuddled her when she was sad, promised to teach her everything I knew about the secret passageways in our home.
She was supposed to grow up. We were meant to be siblings for the rest of our lives.
Alette was the baby. Loved and doted on by all who knew her.
I was supposed to protect her.
The demon in front of me lifted his own sword. “Goodbye, Samael.”
My power engulfed me. It tore through my body like wildfire. Too soon. I wasn’t supposed to come into my power yet. I was too young. It would rip me apart.
But it would also rip these demons apart. I would be with my family. But first, I would make these men suffer.
Demon fire streamed from me, and the men around me began to scream. My body shook with the overload of power, but it spread, destroying everything in its path.
Moments later, I was alone. The men who had killed my family were nothing but ash, floating on the breeze. The taste of it filled my mouth, got stuck in my nostrils and I choked on it as I gasped, falling to my knees.
I crawled to my sister, blood pouring from my mouth and nose. I took her tiny body in my arms and lay down, waiting to die.
Long moments later, a face appeared above me.
“Time to go, Samael.”
The ferryman.
“No. Let me die.”
He laughed, the sound hoarse, and reached into my pocket, withdrawing a coin. “I made a deal with your father. Besides, you’re not going to die. You’re much too powerful for that.” He gently took my sister from my arms, ignoring my attempts to hold her.
I tried not to glance back, but I couldn’t help myself. My father’s body had joined my mother and grandfather, his mouth still frozen in a snarl.
“We’ll bury them somewhere pretty,” he promised. “Now let’s go.”
The memory faded. I stared at Samael, my chest so tight I could barely get the words out. “Your family.”
“I apologize,” he said, his face turning blank as he stepped away.
“No. It’s okay.” I raised my hand toward his face, let it hang awkwardly in the air, and then dropped it. “I’m sorry. How old were you?”
“Eight of your years.”
“What happened to the people who did it?”
“I killed most of them. But not enough. One of them took my grandfather’s throne, and he sits on it still.”
“Your grandfather was the ruler of the underworld?”
A sharp nod. I studied his face. At eight, the amount of power he’d used had been unimaginable. If I hadn’t seen it through his eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. I’d thought him powerful when I watched him destroy the witches, but compared to turning an army to ash as a child, killing the coven was likely as mundane to him as washing his hands.
Samael had been tasked with protecting his sister, and he’d failed. Bile crept up my throat at the memory of her tiny, fragile body. It had happened centuries ago, but Samael’s memory was crystal clear.
I wanted to discuss this more. To ask who had raised him. I was suddenly desperate to know what else had shaped him into the man he was today.
“You wish to get back to work,” he said. “Go.”
“Samael.”
He turned away, but I didn’t miss the tiny hint of vulnerability in his eyes. The stiffness of his shoulders. He was sad. And I was about to do something stupid.
