For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Just turns us back toward Earth and spreads our wings.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it:
Because she’d never forgive me. And I’d never forgive myself.
Something in my chest—in our chest—tightens.
All these millennia, I thought I knew my brother. Thought he was nothing but chaos and selfishness and destruction. Thought that given the choice, he’d always choose himself.
I was wrong.
The power still burns in us as we fly home. Godlike, world-shaking power. And it’s his to command.
But he didn’t use it to destroy me. To take what he wanted and damn the consequences.
He chose differently.
As we fly through space back toward Earth, back toward her, I make my own choice.
I could sabotage this. Even now, I could feel out the edges of control, find the weaknesses in his grip on the vampire’s blood, and seize the body for myself. Take this power and actually do somethingcompetentwith it.
It would be so easy. He’s distracted, exhausted, probably doubting himself. I’ve spent millennia learning his patterns, his weaknesses. I could slide in right now and he’d never see it coming.
One shove and the power is mine. The body is mine. She is?—
No.
I stop that thought before it can complete.
Because I can see what he’s seeing. Feel what he’s feeling.
Her, kneeling in that courtyard, praying. Praying for us. For him.
And the bastard’s praying too—to her memory, not for power. Not for glory or conquest or victory.
For her.
He risked everything for her. Flew into space, let himself nearly die, gained the power of a god—and then chose to share it rather than hoard it.
He chose connection over solitude.
And I?—
And I?—
Lauren’s face flashes in my eyes.
And I— I can choose cooperation over control.
My old pattern would be to wait until he’s vulnerable, then strike. Take over. Fix everythingmyway because obviously I know better.
But that pattern hasn’t worked for thousands of years. All it’s done is fuel the war between us.
What if?—
What if I trusted him?
The thought is so alien it almost makes me laugh. Then groan. Trust Remus? The agent of chaos? The one who’s spent our entire existence undoing everything I try to build?
