Staring down, Nate twisted at my feet, I saw a lifetime of promises – to protect each other, fight hard, be real brothers, blood be damned. Mine was.
“If he’s dead, so are you.”
“He cannot know your secret. Your power wants out. You must learn.”
“From you? Not happening.”
My father produced a book, covered in familiar symbols. “I will show you.”
“I can read.” My nails dug half-moon cuts in my palms, a trickle of crimson dripping to land on Nate’s ginger-touched hair. “Blood of my blood.”
I calmly watched my father choke to death on what we shared.