“Right.”
“You’re not the only one hurting, Rhyn.”
Out of respect for Katie, he bit back the bitter words at the tip of his tongue. He stalked past her, waiting for the moment he could release the pent up fury and magic. He’d make a crater of the castle and the surrounding countryside!
“You can’t leave me here,” Toby said, running to keep up. “You need me if you want to survive.”
“I don’t.”
“But when Katie comes back, she – “
“Enough!” Rhyn said and gripped both the angel’s shoulders. He shook the youth. “She’s dead-dead! Get over it.”
“But Rhyn – “
Rhyn released him and walked away again, towards the tent where Kris was staying. Kris stood outside, waiting for him. He held out a familiar dagger. Rhyn hesitated then took it. It had been their eldest brother’s before his murder, and their father’s before that. The ancient dagger was heavy and cold in Rhyn’s hands. It was the symbol of the enforcer of the Council That Was Seven, the only of the seven brothers sanctioned to kill in cold blood on behalf of the Council and Immortals.
“You’ll need this when I’m gone,” Rhyn said.
“We’ll see,” Kris said. “If you survive, it’s yours. If not, I’ll find it when I return to the castle.”
Fashioned by Death herself, the dagger was immune even to magic as strong as Rhyn’s. He tucked it into his belt. Rhyn ignored Hannah’s approach, and Toby shuffled his feet.
“I wish there was another way,” Kris said.
“You’ve wanted me dead for thousands of years,” Rhyn pointed out.
“That was before you saved my life.”
“It wasn’t the first time.”
Kris frowned and opened his mouth to speak when Toby gave an exasperated sigh.
“Let’s get this over with,” Rhyn said.
Hannah looked less than pleased, but Toby’s face brightened. Kris opened the portal to the shadow world and held out his hand to his mate. Hannah took his and one of Toby’s hands, and Toby slid his small hand into Rhyn’s.
The feeling of the angel’s soft, cold hand in his own reminded Rhyn of the first thing he’d touched in Hell that hadn’t been stone. Gabriel had brought him a book with a worn, leather-like cover, and he’d lost himself dwelling on the sensation of buttery leather under his fingertips after the hazy nightmare that had been his existence in Hell.