Echo (The Soul Seekers #2)(86)

He moves away, but I grasp hold of his arm and pull him back to me. “Who did this to you?” I reach for his cheek, needing to look into his eyes once again, to determine it truly is as bad as I think, only to have him jerk free.

“Daire—please!” he cries, the words spoken with untold anguish. “What you see isn’t me. I’m still in here, I swear. I just—”

I stand before him, too shaken to move.

Barely able to focus when he says, “It’s temporary. It’s what I have to do in order to save you. It’ll all be okay in the end, you’ll see.”

My eyes search his, looking for clues to what that might mean.

“I know how the prophecy ends,” he says, the words causing an ominous chill to creep over my flesh. “It’s the same as the dream, and I won’t let you die.”

I shake my head, needing him to understand it’s not what he thinks. “You’ve got it all wrong—that’s not how it ends—that’s not what it means!” But my words fall on deaf ears.

“This is it, Daire. This is how it goes down. I’ve dreamed it too many times. Seen the writing on the wall—literally. And while I can’t do anything about the sky bleeding fire—I will do whatever it takes to keep the darkness from eclipsing your light.”

“But I’m not the light—that’s not how the dream ends! You’re—”

The words interrupted by the sight of Cade sauntering toward us, casually plucking debris from his clothing and hair, with his faithful coyote trotting alongside him.

“Well, isn’t this a touching scene?” He stops just before us, grinning at Dace as though he’s the special guest he’s long been expecting. “You’ve got quite an arm there, brother—who knew?” He laughs. Cricks his neck from side to side. But aside from the dirt on his clothing, he’s no worse for wear.

Dace shoves before me, in an effort to shield me. Fingers snaking covertly into his pocket, he says, “Figured I’d find you down here, throwing a temper tantrum and sulking like the child you are. How many people need to suffer for your failure to impress Leandro?” He shakes his head. “We’re all aware of your pathetic need for his approval. Must make you feel pretty awful when he yells at you like he did.”

Dace glowers before him, as my gaze switches between them. And all it takes is the almost imperceptible flinch of Cade’s shoulders to know Dace nailed the sore spot.

Reminding me of what I once said to Paloma, when I referred to Cade as a: psychopathic demonic freak driven by a pathetic need to impress Leandro by achieving world domination.

It’s the single seed of humanity that lives deep inside him.

The mine—his presence in the Lowerworld—it’s only partly about amassing a fortune and controlling the Middleworld. At its very core, it’s a bid to wow his dad. Willing to destroy countless lives in an effort to gain his father’s approval. And, according to Dace, he’s failed on every level.

Xotichl and Paloma were right—he’s definitely human.

Though that doesn’t mean I won’t kill him.

“I stood right outside the door and listened to him verbally rip you to shreds,” Dace continues. “Heard the way you begged—your voice high-pitched and whiny when he shot you down, refused to listen. See the smile I wear?” He stands before him, finger arrowed toward a wide empty grin. “It’s nothing like the way I smiled then.” He pauses, pretending that it’s merely an afterthought when he adds, “Oh, and by the way, you so much as go near my girlfriend again—you’re dead.” His fingers slip free of his pocket, revealing the blowgun that didn’t work so well the last time. Though one look at his face tells me he has complete faith he won’t fail again. “Actually, you’re dead either way. So say good-bye, brother.”

Raven squawks.

Wind swirls at my feet.

Coyote crouches, head lowered, teeth bared.

As I take a few backward steps, drop to the ground, and summon the knife to my hand.

Unmoved by the threat on his life, Cade rushes Dace until only a whisper of space lies between them. Gaze probing with interest, he asks, “What’ve you done?”

He leans forward, attempts to grab hold of Dace’s shirt if only to get a better look. But Dace veers from his reach, lifting the blowgun to his lips, as I grasp the hilt in my hand. Confident that from this vantage point, I can nail this particular bull’s-eye.

Cade whirls on me, eyes blazing and red. “Sure you want to attempt that, Santos?”

I glance between them. Noting how aside from the hair, there’s no discernible difference between them. Dace’s eyes are as bleak and empty as his brother’s.

“Daire, leave it. I’ve got this,” Dace says, one eye closed, the other on Cade, taking aim.

And while I’ve no idea what’s happened to make him this way, for now my only goal is to stop the prophecy from claiming his life—his light. So I inhale a sharp breath and hurl the athame at the same time Dace releases the dart.

Mesmerized by the way it glints—arcing in a quick flash of silver—as it slices through the air. Ultimately overtaking the dart to lodge deep in Cade’s neck, just as I’d envisioned.

Only it’s no longer Cade.

The demon has taken his place.