I released Aion and spun toward Skaros. The manticore took off just like the vision had shown, his wings carrying him out of my reach. Or so he thought. He lunged at me, no doubt intending to snatch Aion from me at all costs.
But I was no longer the creature he’d known, the monster he’d fought with in sparring matches. A concentrated wave of hellfire erupted out of my three throats. The blast should have incinerated him instantly, Moirae-woven or not. But Charon’s chains wrapped around Skaros mid-dive, yanking him aside just as flames roared through the space where he’d been.
He hit the dock hard, his eyes wide with the realization of how close to destruction he had come. “Sleep,” he growled, desperation and instinct warring in his voice. His barbed tail curved over his head and struck my flank. “Just sleep, Theron.”
Manticore venom could melt a human’s veins in seconds. To me, it was only an irritant. I shook off whatever effects tried to take hold, the hellfire in my blood burning through the toxin in seconds.
How could I sleep, when Callista was still in the spire, still stolen from me? The mere idea almost made me crumble under the weight of my own fury.
And then, it happened.
Despite the agony that must have coursed through him, Aion stirred from where he’d fallen. He reached for my middle muzzle with one trembling hand. His touch burned against my fur, but he managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Friend. Please, not like this.”
The word cut through rage like nothing else had. Friend. Yes. Beneath the transformation, beneath the fury, something remembered. Aion and Skaros were my friends. They’d risked everything to stop me from destroying myself.
Horror washed through me as I realized what I was doing. Bronze blood pooled under Aion’s battered form, staining my paws. Deep gouges marked his torso where my fangs had penetrated, cracks spreading along his arms.
Charon rushed to Aion’s side, completely ignoring me and dropping to his knees beside his creation. His hands examined the damage with the familiarity of someone who knew every inch of the metal. “I’m so sorry, son,” he whispered. “This happened because of my failure.”
“The ritual...” Aion shook his head, his voice so thin I almost couldn’t hear it at all. “You tried to help.”
“I should have known better.” Charon pressed his palms against Aion’s chest, death energy dancing along his fingertips. “The skill extraction was too dangerous.”
Skaros limped closer, his fur a little singed from my attack. “Will he survive?”
“His soul anchor doesn’t rely on the weave,” Charon replied, not looking away from Aion. “He has a chance.”
Aion didn’t seem to hear his father, not anymore. He reached out and pressed his shattered fingers against my paw. Once, that hand would have rivaled mine in size, maybe even dwarfed it. Today, it seemed so small, almost fragile. As fragile as the broken bonds I’d betrayed in my madness.
But Aion refused to give up on me. “Still friends,” he managed as the blue light under his bronze skin began to dim. “All three of us. Always.”
“Always,” Skaros agreed. If he resented me for attacking him the way I’d done, he didn’t show it.
I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. The words refused to come. My voice didn’t work properly, this body unsuited for proper communication.
Helpless and useless, I watched as Aion’s consciousness started to fade. Charon clutched his creation to his chest and turnedtoward me. “There is nothing left for you here, Theron. But even if our trade failed, you have the power of the original now. There are few things a true Cerberus cannot change.”
“Charon’s right, Theron,” Skaros said. “You can do this. Find her. Bring her home.”
Home. That’s what this had all been about. Not revenge against those who’d tried to help, but bringing Callista back where she belonged. With me.
The killing rage drained away, replaced by something far more dangerous. Purpose.
It was the same goal that had forced me to leave my brother behind in the Erebus Cells. It had brought me here, had made me reach out to the ferryman to try to get her memories back. Nothing about it had changed.
The coins were destroyed. Charon’s trade was finished. But that didn’t mean I’d lost my chances to claim what belonged to me.
In the end, the answer was obvious. My bond with Callista transcended every single arbitrary rule in Asphodelia. If she no longer remembered me, we’d just have to make new memories.
They had taken her through politics and manipulation. I would take her back through fire and fangs. Charon’s ritual hadn’t given me back Callista’s memories, but it had granted me the strength to challenge everything that dared to stand in my way.
I turned away from the destruction, my paws sending tremors through the entire pier. Behind me, Charon’s voice carried across the dark waters of the Acheron. “The true claiming begins.”
Chapter 10
Death Screech
Callista
