Page 258 of Psycho Pack

Hope he takes it as the warning it is.

Azarel tilts his head slightly and looks like he wants to say something else, but decides against it, shakes his head. "I don't have time for this," he mutters. Then his eyes lock onto Plague with an intensity that makes my hand twitch toward my weapon. "The girl. Where is she?"

"She's safe," Plague says carefully. The fact he's not telling his own brother where Cosima is speaks volumes.

And here I thoughtmyfamily was fucked up.

Azarel takes a step closer, and there's something dangerous glinting in those eyes that look so much like his brother's. "You will return her," he says, his voice dropping to a growl. "Immediately."

I watch Plague's eyes narrow as he studies Azarel. I've been on the receiving end of that look enough times to know exactly what's going through his head. He's analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch, building a diagnosis of what the fuck is wrong with his brother.

"You can drop the act," Plague says finally. "You don't need to do Arthur Maybrecht's dirty work anymore. We're extracting you. We're going to attack Reinmich."

The laugh that bursts from Azarel's throat is harsh and bitter, like broken glass in a blender. "Attack Reinmich?" he sneers. "With what army? Your little band of rejects?"

"We have Surhiira," Plague says firmly.

"And some very flashy mercenaries," I add helpfully.

Azarel's eyes snap to me, cold and calculating. "You really think you can lead a full-blown invasion against Reinmich?" His gaze drifts back to his brother. "I always knew you were naive, Hamsa, but this is beyond foolish."

"Don't call me that," Plague snaps.

Huh.

"What should I call you then?" Azarel's lip curls. "Plague? Is that what your newfamilycalls you?"

The way he says 'family' makes my blood boil.

Like we're something he scraped off his fancy-ass boots.

"We're doing this, Azarel," Plague says firmly. "And I have the backing of the royal family. It's your choice whether that includes you or not."

Azarel gives a bone dry laugh. His eyes stay icy, though, which makes it even creepier.

"If you want to get yourself killed, brother, so be it," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. "But I won't let you drag Surhiira down with you. Not when I've spent years protecting?—"

"Is that what you call it?" Plague cuts him off, his voice sharp as a scalpel. "ProtectingSurhiira? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've gone so deep undercover, you've forgotten who you really are."

Oh shit.

This is about to get good.

Or bad, depending on how you look at it.

"And what does that make you?" Azarel snarls back. "A runaway prince playing healer and soldier?" His lips curl into a crueler smile. "Do you really think you can atone for what you did? For killing your lover?"

The temperature seems to drop about twenty degrees. I feel it coming a split second before it happens. That electric charge in the air right before lightning strikes.

Both brothers move at the same time, like this moment has been coming to a head their whole lives. Which, knowing Plague's family, it probably has.

Plague draws his Surhiiran blade. It catches the morning light, all pristine white metal and gold filigree. Because of course even their weapons have to be beautiful.

Azarel responds by drawing a sword from beneath his cloak. One of those Reinmichian ceremonial pieces with the Council's insignia worked into the hilt. They don't just hand those out at company parties.

Bro's in deep.

I feel Ivy tense beside me, ready to jump in, but I hold out my arm to stop her. "Not yet, wildcat," I mutter, not taking my eyes off the fight breaking out in front of us. "This is a brother thing. When they draw guns,thenwe can intervene."