Page 12 of Heir of Broken Souls

Tears burn the back of my eyes and my heart sinks, feeling as if it’s been trod on. I sit there, my mouth agape for far too long before I sputter, “D-do you truly wish to…?” My words catch at the end.

His head lolls to the side to face me. “There is no world worth living without him.” His words aren’t slurred, and that’s when I know these are not some ramblings of a drunk man but feelings that have been buried deep within him.

Tears spill down my cheeks, the first in weeks.

“What about us?” I whisper. “What about Zephlyn?”

He swallows thickly before slowly sliding his gaze to the ceiling. “What about me? It isn’t fair to ask me to stay, not when my heart screams in agony every second of every day. It is torture breathing while knowing my brother never will again.”

Suddenly, Axel whips his hand out to the side and the amber bottle I placed in the hall appears in his grip. He swigs it before I can take it from him. Axel doesn’t even pull a face at the burn. He welcomes the pain.

He heaves a sigh of relief after he swallows. “We were twins for a reason. We were tied together. How can you expect me to live with only half of my soul?”

Axel takes another large swig. I intercept and yank the bottle from him this time, but Axel got what he wanted. He bared what was left of his soul and swigged enough liquor to get that hazy, sleepy look in his eyes once more.

“The only reason I’m not dead is because I refuse to leave this world without killing her.”

My breath hitches.

I should call for Knox, I should tell someone what he said, but we aren’t fools. Everyone knows why he drinks.

Harlow was right, he is trying to kill himself.

And watching it is killing a part of me, too.

* * *

An hour later, after teleporting a sleeping Axel into the guest bed on his side, mind you, deep timbre voices greet my ears as I stride down the hall, one voice I would know no matter the circumstance and the other I’ll never get used to. The once lively and charismatic voice is now dull and flat, devoid of any feeling as if they’ve locked their very soul away in the hopes that they won’t feel pain.

Flinging open the study door, I find Knox perched in his seat behind his desk, his features slack with exhaustion while Harlow lounges in one of the armchairs by the crackling fire, cleaning her nails with a dagger.

The voice I refuse to accept, the one I dread to hear, comes from Lenox, who stands rigid beside Knox’s chair, his gaze lifeless as it lifts to mine. Nothing has changed physically—Lenox still has the same thick brown hair, amber eyes, and warrior physique—yet what’s inside him, the essence that made Lenox who he is, has vanished. He assesses me with a critical gaze, noting for injuries, and when he pulls up short, he returns his scrutiny to the map, not daring to ask about his beloved friend’s inebriated state.

Several weeks ago, if someone told me that I’d be standing in a room with Lenox and Harlow in silence, I would have scoffed at the notion. The lively pair used to draw deep belly laughs from everyone within their proximity, and now I can’t remember the last time they’ve smiled, let alone laughed.

It’s another glaring reminder of everything that has changed.

And not for the better.

I refuse to accept that Lenox isn’t inside this masked armor he’s created, that the once fun, loving, bubbly warrior isn’t screaming to be let out of his cage. Kicking and thrashing under the weight of his grief. Knox and I will find him one day, no matter how long it takes.

Behind his desk, Knox lifts his head, meeting me with a plethora of questions swimming in his gaze. I send the memory of Axel passed out in bed down the bridge of our minds. Relief flows through his heart at having Axel safe and sound under his roof, though it may be short-lived once I share what Axel said.

I flinch when Lenox’s cold voice fills the room. “Where is Nolan?”

Knox’s lips flatten as he flicks his wrists. Tendrils of shadows fly for me, brushing along my cheeks with a lover’s caress, and move behind me to shut the door. A silencing shield snaps around the room.

“Cut him some slack, he’s on the front lines. He’ll be here when he can.”

“Have somewhere better to be?” Harlow retorts, her eyes never straying from her cuticles.

A muscle feathers in Lenox’s jaw, the only sign that he even heard the half-witch.

Harlow, it seems, is the only one of us that can face everything head-on and yet she’s as cold and wicked as ever. I try to ignore her retorts; these days she seems to always go for the jugular.

Her words are her weapons, and she never misses a target.

“Just because you were appointed second doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone now,” she quips, and at his silence, she throws her dagger. It flies past Lenox’s head, embedding into the wall behind him. A lock of his brown hair flutters to the ground, the only part of him to move. “Answer me, godsdammit!”