Staring at her door, he hesitated. He needed his father, needed the answers the king would bring. But still he worried. Over a human.
Shaking his head, Jaral strode to the large mirror hanging over the fireplace. Now or never.
“Abaddon,” he said, pressing his palm to the mirror. “My king, I have need of your guidance.” He pictured his words shooting through the mirror into the throne room and sure enough, he felt dark vibrations break through the air around him.
In the mirror’s reflection he saw the air behind him ripple. Spinning, he watched as Abaddon shimmered into life. His father could send a copy of himself through the realms when he wanted to. A useful tool when checking up on situations in the human world, especially given Abaddon was governed by the same laws as his brother.
With the rift shaking the magic of their worlds, however, who knew what his father was capable of?
Automatically Jaral bowed. “Your Majesty,” he greeted.
“Jaral,” Abaddon replied. “You have had three days. I require a report.”
Jaral straightened. “I’ve found a way to control the rift, but it requires blood. Kerilyn Whitney’s blood.”
A slow smile curved Abaddon’s lips. “Does it?”
“As far as I know, Kerilyn was the last of her line. We will have to find her.”
“Or,” Abaddon said with a cruel smile, “find her niece, Sarah Cohen.”
Jaral blinked. “Niece?”
“Kerilyn’s brother fathered a brat before his untimely death. Whitney blood.”
“I shall find the girl.”
Abaddon nodded, satisfied. “When you do, contact me.”
“As you wish, Majesty.”
“Your orders have changed, my son.”
Jaral stilled. “Father?”
“I no longer wish the rift closed,” Abaddon declared. “I want you to rip it open as wide as you can. Let the spirits overrun this world. Earth shall be our battleground and eventually, we will triumph over both the mortals and spirits.”
His breath froze. His father had just ordered the destruction of Darcy’s world. “Are you sure that is the best course, Father?” Jaral asked, knowing even as the words left him that they would enrage his king. “We could devise a more stealthy attack to take the spirit throne.”
There was no warning. One moment he stood before his father and the next crippling pain crashed over him. Every cell in his body exploded in agony. Jaral crumpled to the ground, gritting his teeth to keep from making a sound.
“You question me?”
Jaral heard the threat beneath the words. One more wrong step and his father would destroy him.
“Forgive me,” he said though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. “I only sought to offer an alternative.”
“I want my brother dead,” Abaddon snarled. “I want his mewing queen screaming as I tear flesh from her bones. Every hunter in this world will cower before we sweep through them, offering bloody death to all.”
Through the pain in his body, Darcy’s face flashed through his mind. His father would never touch her.
“Demons will reign. We will no longer be confined. I shall ready our army and you, my boy, will open the gates for us. You will help me end this realm. It will be the greatest triumph in demon history.”
The pain stopped as suddenly as it’d started. Jaral glanced up at the flickering image of his father.
“Do this,” Abaddon said, “and I will acknowledge you as my heir.”
All other thoughts disappeared as Jaral processed the words. Heir. He’d finally have the position he’d fought all his life for. His power would be secure. Only his father would rival him in the demon world.
Abaddon had just offered him the only thing he’d ever wanted. And the satisfied look on his father’s face showed he knew it.
Jaral reviewed his options. Destroy a race he despised and win a throne or stay true to a temporary lover and ruin his life.
There was no contest. So why did agreeing leave a bad taste in his mouth?
“I will do as you command, Majesty,” he vowed.
A cold smile was his reward. The king looked well pleased with himself. And why not? Jaral thought drily. He was getting the war he wanted without any of the work.
When Abaddon glanced behind him toward the hallway leading to Darcy, however, the breath froze in Jaral’s lungs. He was not fighting his father for a hunter, he vowed. But even as he made the decision his claws lengthened and his body prepared for battle.
Abaddon looked back, obviously dismissing whatever had caught his attention.
“I expect your report on Sarah as soon as possible,” he declared.
“You will have it.”
“Good.” With the final word, Abaddon winked out of existence.