“Don’t listen to him,” Evain shouts, whirling around. Leth has Anton backed against a wall, his sword pointed at his throat. Though his arm is steady, Evain sees the tension in Leth’s shoulders. Anton’s sword is on the ground ten yards away.
But neither Evain nor Leth can stop Anton from snarling, “Yes.”
Dark laughter rumbles through the broken chapel. Ozarell vanishes in swirling smoke and reappears at Anton’s side. The force of his teleportation sends Leth skidding back, and Evain instinctively races forward to catch him.
Evain takes hold of Leth’s shoulders as Ozarell grabs Anton by the arm. When Anton finally starts to struggle, it’s too late. Ozarell’s teeth sink into his upper arm, tearing through layers of clothing like they’re paper, and rips away a mouthful of flesh.
Anton’s scream drowns in the thunderclap of power. Ozarell throws him aside and flings back his head, chewing with hideous relish. Evain’s bones rattle, and he barely keeps his feet. Pressing his cheek against Leth’s tangled hair, he grits out, “I know the atmosphere’s all wrong, but I need to kiss you again.”
“Go ahead,” Leth says faintly, raising the dark red sword again. He’s poised for combat as Evain pulls back his hair and seals his lips to the heated skin of his neck.
Fresh magic floods into Evain, more easily than it ever had before the contract. The stream of power continues even when Evain breaks away. He channels it into a shield just before Ozarell swallows Anton’s flesh and lunges towards them.
Demonic power clashes, and marble fractures under their feet. Fueled by Leth’s intense attraction, Evain knows he’s stronger than Ozarell. But he’s constrained by the fact that he can’t aim to kill—and that he cares about protecting the mage he’s bound to. He has to fight carefully, while Ozarell relies on brute strength and madness.
And Leth is tiring fast. Evain sees it in the pallor of his face, the new caution in his movements as he conserves his energy. He isn’t used to wielding Evain’s power.
Evain doesn’t have time to wear Ozarell down until the hunger demon is weak enough not to interrupt a full banishing spell. He needs to finish this fast, before one of them makes a mistake.
“I’m going to drop the shield,” Evain says. “Can you distract him for three seconds?”
“I’ll give you five.”
Despite his clear exhaustion, Leth is already darting forward when Evain drops the shield in a shower of blood-red sparks. Evain flings the last of his shadow-daggers towards Ozarell’s face without bothering to check whether any of them hit true. He focuses all his attention on the empty air above the summoning platform. Above the smeared runes and gore, the barrier between realms has thinned. If it was woven cloth, it would be fraying.
Evain lashes out with blood-red magic. Seizes hold of a thread, and pulls.
The air unravels.
In an instant, the new rift overwhelms the chapel hall with its corrosive aura. Smoke swirls between its torn edges, a yawning mouth of darkness and green fire.
Evain braces himself for the fight of his life, but the familiar pull never hooks into his soul. Both his feet stay firmly planted on the cracked marble of the mortal world. His contract with Leth holds him steady.
He belongs in this realm.
Ozarell doesn’t, and his contract with Anton is a flawed and patchwork thing. The hunger demon shrieks in delighted laughter, the grating sound cut short when the rift flares out and swallows him. Ozarell’s return to the demonic realm snaps the forced contract apart—painfully, by Anton’s hoarse cry.
Sealing the rift afterwards is easy. Evain simply touches his silver pendant through his shirt and focuses on the magic. In an instant, the air is whole again. Corrosive energy ebbs away, leaving only the silent wreckage in its wake.
Shaking away the after-images of green fire, Evain staggers back towards Leth, who stands, sword in hand, over his brother.
Evain deliberately steps on a piece of broken marble, using the soft crunch as a warning so he doesn’t startle Leth with his approach. He touches Leth’s elbow, then curves his hand around Leth’s wrist. His human’s unsteady pulse flutters beneath his fingers.
Anton sits slumped against the wall, diminished. Blood smears the stone behind and above him, and still pulses sluggishly from his torn arm. His face is pale under the soot stains. A choked sound rocks through him, and Evain wonders if the man is dying, until he realizes Anton is laughing instead.
“It appears we’re the same after all,” Anton says when his laughter dies. Ignoring Evain, he focuses on Leth. They have the same hazel eyes. “We can’t have Valor, so we caught ourselves demons instead. What did you give up for your contract, little brother?”
“We’re not the same,” Leth says, steel in his voice. “I gave up nothing.”
Evain’s hand tightens on Leth’s trembling wrist. He doesn’t care if Anton dies, but Leth will. “He’s bleeding out.”
Anton tips his head back against the bloody wall. “That’s the second time you’ve broken my contract. First Valor, now this. You used to be so sweet when you were younger. How did you turn out so selfish? You can’t stand me being stronger than you, can you?”
“You killed your subordinates.” Leth flings his arm back, pointing to the mess of a corpse behind him. “You killed Javius. He was a piece of shit, but he was loyal to you. Do you even care?”
Arm falling limp to his side, Leth leans against Evain.
Anton’s gaze finally flicks away from Leth. His expression doesn’t change as he looks over the gruesome remains spread across the chapel floor. “Of course I care.” His gaze returns to Leth and Evain one more time. To Evain’s hand around Leth’s wrist. “It wouldn’t work if I didn’t care.”
