“Anthony, you’ve allowed your lust for power to corrupt your soul.” His lips flattened. “I blame the witches. You should never have traveled to meet with them.”
Anthony surged upright. Over ten years ago, he’d traveled to meet with Edra. At the time her coven had been responsible for guarding the human vessel for the Goddess of Light.
The witch claimed that they had discovered a spell capable of ridding the world of demons. Anthony had been dubious. Such a spell would take far more power than a mere coven of witches could conjure, even if they could somehow tap into the power of the Phoenix.
He’d declined her invitation to include the druids in her daring scheme. A stroke of luck considering that a year ago the vampires had managed to destroy Edra before the spell could be completed.
Or maybe it’d been the Goddess of Light who’d struck the killing blow.
Anthony had never gotten a clear answer. And truly it didn’t matter.
He’d learned from their mistakes.
Of course, his caution hadn’t halted him from traveling to Edra’s home to steal the spell just hours after her death.
He wasn’t going to rush into certain disaster, but he wasn’t going to ignore the potential opportunity.
So he’d waited and plotted, searching for the best means to ensure the spell’s success.
The key, of course, was finding a suitable power source.
Nothing human could possibly have enough strength to actually close down the portals. And even among demons only the Commission had the necessary magic.
For weeks he’d been convinced it was impossible.
Then his insatiable research had uncovered the fey potion that could amplify the druids’ power.
Suddenly he had a plan to actually accomplish what the witches had failed to.
“They opened my eyes to the possibilities,” he murmured, his lips twisting at the memory of Edra’s arrogant command that the druids combine their power to assist in the casting of the spell. “Of course, there was no way that I was going to join forces with them. The bitches thought I was willing to bow to them while they took control of the world. That was never going to happen.”
Caydeyrn grimaced. “So instead you stole their spell.”
Anthony shrugged. It’d been sheer luck that he’d been on his way to visit Edra less than a half an hour after her death. It meant that he’d been able to jerk the fragile scroll out of her dead fingers and protect it from being destroyed by the binding spell that all witches put on their personal papers.
“They were dead,” he said. “Obviously they didn’t need it anymore.”
The older man heaved a heavy sigh, his condemning expression becoming one of deep pity.
“Your father would be so disappointed.”
Anthony jerked as the druid hit an unexpected nerve.
His father, Henlin, had not only been a highly respected leader, but he’d been beloved by both druids and fey. The sort of man that could draw people to him with the sheer force of his personality.
Anthony had been in equal awe of his father, wanting nothing more than to walk in his footsteps.
But unlike Henlin, Anthony had no personal charm to earn the approval of his peers. And worse, he couldn’t disguise his disgust for the demons who were constantly seeking his father’s advice.
It was painfully obvious from a young age that he would have to use force to claim the position he so desperately desired.
“You know nothing of my father,” he rasped.
“I know that he was a man of great honor.” Caydeyrn pressed despite the fact that Henlin had died long before he’d ever been born. “He is a legend among the druids.”
Without realizing he was moving, Anthony had reached for the dagger he’d laid on the altar, his entire body clenched with fury.
“Don’t,” he warned in a lethally soft voice.
Either indifferent or blind to the danger, Caydeyrn refused to back down.
“I only speak the truth.”
Anthony lifted his hand, distantly aware that his hand was shaking.
“My father was blind.”
The pale blue eyes narrowed. “He saw you clearly enough,” the older man accused. “Which is why you killed him.”
With one swipe of his arm, Anthony was slicing the knife through Caydeyrn’s throat.
That shut up the old fool, he grimly acknowledged, mechanically reaching for a wooden bowl as the druid tumbled to the ground, blood leaking from a thin red line at the base of his neck.
Adjusting the bowl beneath the dead man’s neck to capture the blood, Anthony sat back on his heels and grimly struggled to squash the memory of his father.
It hadn’t been his fault that Henlin refused to listen to reason.
He’d devoted years to proving to his father just how dangerous the demons were to their world. But had the stubborn old man believed him? Hell, no. In fact, he’d dared to bring one of his fey whores into their home.
That had been the final straw as far as Anthony was concerned.
Henlin was clearly determined to put his love for demons above the welfare of humans. It was time for him to go.