CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 14

Aldert's knees wobbled as he swayed. His hands scrambled pathetically against those tight coils of silver constricting his throat. Blotchy purple stained his cheeks, darkening to blue with oxygen denied to him. His beady eyes bugged. The whites showed all the way around the irises, shining with a film of tears and pure terror.

"I'd remind you, Aldert, exactly who I am." While Aldert's mouth gaped as he tried to draw in an impossible breath, Sirro continued smoothly, "And that you're not irreplaceable. Though I do understand that perhaps you're under emotional strain right now."

Sirro released Aldert.

His dark power, slowly, almost reluctantly, unwound from around Aldert's throat, slinking back across the room to the Horned God.

Aldert staggered. Gasped for breath as he bent, braced a hand on a knee, and massaged his throat.

His son, wide-eyed, remained frozen to the spot in complete shock.

Byron retook his seat, smoothing a hand down his jacket lapels, and slightly tugged his dress pants up to sit more comfortably. "Sit down Aldert," he said coldly.

Aldert twisted around and practically fell down into a chair—a soft thump as his ass hit the cushioned seat.

Garrit nervously chewed his bottom lip, darting frantic looks between his father and Sirro. He slowly lowered himself into his chair. He sat with a straight-rod spine, his feet spread on the floor as if he were still deciding if he should just bolt from the room and leave his father to the Horned God.

My father gave me an imperceptible tip-up with his square jaw, conveying his message with the slight rise of one thick eyebrow. Both of us sat back down in our respective armchairs. Jett slouched against the pillowy backrest, his chest rising and falling with shallow, wet breaths, but he'd discreetly palmed a dagger.

Sirro rose, edging around the coffee table, his Familiar still splayed on the ground beside his chair. He slid one hand into his trouser pocket as he casually strolled across the room. "Your House does have quite the talent for mixing magic and science," he said to Aldert, his voice deceptively calm. But I could hear a cruel edge to his tone.

The Horned God frowned as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him as he stopped to stand beneath the spread leaves of a palm, its fronds dipping low enough to touch. He pinched a broad glossy frond and ran his finger and thumb along the length and held the tip. "But...so does House Simonis." He made a humming sound as if in contemplation. "In fact when I think about it, as your Lower House, Simonis might be doing all the heavy work. They might be the true masters at melding magic and science...not you."

I pressed a fist to my mouth to hide the gleeful grin.

Hellsgate. Sirro was going for the jugular.

I fucking loved it.