Unease coiled in my chest as I wondered what was running through his mind—what made his eyes brighten and gleam with interest. His widespread fingers brushed at the material, edging the sleeve of his shirt to his wrist, and then deftly fastened the cufflink.
His attention slid away, and I mentally sighed as he rose, his Familiar following his exact movements.
Fixing his other sleeve, he asked. “Can you make your way out of here, Jett?”
My brother’s voice still had a rasp to it but no longer frayed with pain. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
Sirro bent to pick up the crossbow bolt hidden amongst the velvet from the coffee table. He stared at it for several heartbeats, his gaze lost in memory. Some indecipherable thought crossed his face as his thumbs brushed across the soft fabric. A breath later he let go of whatever thought had ensnared him, blinked as if coming to, and disappeared with the weapon into his bedroom. The Horned God’s Familiar padded after him but stopped at the threshold and waited beside the open door, her liver-spotted hands hanging limply at her sides.
The faint scrape of rubber against wood snapped my attention to my brother. He’d pushed his feet back and sat straighter in his chair, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a forearm. The sharp cut of Jett’s cheeks softened as he flashed a swift, ecstatic grin at me.
One I returned.
Seemingly, we’d pulled it off.
Sirro had gone for our cover-up.
I schooled my features into boredom, Jett mirroring me when I moved to his side to support him as he awkwardly pushed off his chair. He rose, shoving me off. “I’m fine.” And then a knee buckled. He pitched forward, and I grabbed hold of his arms, hauling him upright.
“Fine?” I echoed sarcastically.
“Shit,” he huffed, breathing a little harder, his features strained. But the stubborn ass allowed me to lend him support. Steadying his stance, he rolled a shoulder and stretched his spine from side to side. “I’m okay.”
I reluctantly let go. As soon as I did, Jett swayed, stumbling but to my relief, quickly regained his balance. At my pointed look, he grouched, “I’ll be okay…soonish.”
As much as he annoyed the shit out of me, I wanted to wrap my arms around him in a bear hug and squeeze the ever-living hells out of him.
Jett’s pupils were enlarged with the elixir and painkiller running rife through his blood. Pushing his sweat-heavy hair back, he tied it up with a strip of worn leather. A notch formed between his brows as he studied Sirro’s Familiar, with her bony shoulders and hunched back, the wavering ghostly threads sweeping through the doorway connecting her to Sirro.
She stared vacantly straight ahead, a milky film of cataracts slightly obscuring the color of her brown eyes.
A shudder worked its way down my spine.
Over a decade ago, Sirro had claimed her as a young woman, stealing her life essence to prolong his own. In the last few years, she’d aged rapidly, fading from beauty to crone.
I knew where Jett’s thoughts had gone. Red. The girl he saved. An Unbroken Shard—a rare mortal that had the perfect soul for surviving darkness. The perfect soul for a Horned God to steal life from.
Sirro reentered the solar, wearing a navy jacket with an unknotted tie. He ran the flat of his palm through his tousled hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Staring at my younger brother, his eyes were now the color of buttery sunbeams pouring through the skylight. “Perhaps it’d be best to stick with the story that you fell off your motorcycle.”
Jett gaped, offended that someone could thinkhe’dhave a crash. I could almost hear the words rolling off his tongue—fuck off—before he bit them back, shooting me a sullen look before meeting Sirro’s expectant gaze. “Suppose.”
The Horned God chuckled, moving toward the entrance to his solar, with us right behind. He halted, waiting patiently while I opened the door.
Sarnia stood in the hallway awaiting him. She brushed her hands over Sirro’s shoulders, adjusting the jacket to sit perfectly, before flicking my brother a glance. “I see you didn’t die, Jett.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sarnia.”
Her rosy lips smiled as she swiftly knotted Sirro’s tie in a flurry of moves.
“Besides,” Jett added, gingerly crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d rather avoid your fury at bleeding out all over your precious, clean floor if at all possible.”
“Good choice,” she replied smartly as she fixed Sirro’s collar and smoothed a hand down the lapels of the jacket.
“Thank you, Sarnia,” Sirro murmured. She dipped her head, pivoted on her heel, and strode off, heels clicking against the ancient blue and white tiles. The autumnal hues spilling from the lanterns overhead crowned her dark brown hair in bronze as she made her way down the hallway toward the atrium, where Byron’s deep baritone voice rang out.
Sirro’s commanding voice drew my attention back to the Horned God. “I want the Widowmakers back in line, and then I want a replacement for what was stolen from me. You can dothe honors, Jett.” At his name, my brother twisted around from watching Sarnia retreat, waiting to hear what the Horned God desired from him. “I want a new Unbroken Shard. And if you happen to find one with red hair…” Sirro’s smile became snake-like. “Well, I will be pleased.”
I stiffened. How much did Sirro know? Had he purposely let us get away with it?
