Ashael’s smile widened. “You haven’t guessed?”

Guessed what? Ashael knew what my father was and he knew my true name. The first he could have gotten from Dagon, but I had no idea how he’d learned the second. He could also see the origins of people’s magic; something I didn’t know any demon could do, but what did that tell me? Damned if I knew.

He could feel it when I used my power from my other nature. Odd, but I could also feel his power, so we were even there. Drinking his blood hadn’t intoxicated me as much as it should have. What would cause that?

Maybe he was a hybrid. If he was a vampire-demon one, that would explain his power-filled aura and less-intoxicating-than-it-should-be blood. What it wouldn’t explain was how Ashael could manipulate blood with more skill than I could manipulate water. That wasn’t a vampire trait. I owed my affinity with water to my other nature . . .

Ice suddenly skittered up my spine.

Did you never wonder how the embodiment of the river between life and death found himself acting as a lowly doorman by assuming the role of Warden of the Gateway to the Netherworld? Or did you truly believe your mother was the first to rouse his interest enough for him to stray where it was forbidden?

No. No. He couldn’t be. Could he?

I bent down, dipping my finger in one of the many red splatters that coated the floor. This time, when I tasted Ashael’s blood, I didn’t focus on its less-than-expected inebriating effect. I pushed past that and the noxious taste of demons to search for something else. Something familiar.

When I found it, I closed my eyes with a mixture of despair and wonder. I’d always hoped there might be someone else out there like me. Now I knew there was, and he was a demon.

Or, more accurately, half a demon.

“Brother,” I said, opening my eyes.

Ashael’s smile turned into a smirk. “Little sister.”

I didn’t speak. Oh, I had a million questions, but who knew if he’d answer them, let alone honestly? Demons weren’t trustworthy . . . and there was karma to bite me in the ass again. Out of every species, I had to be related to this one! It proved there was no point being bigoted. Whatever you looked down upon would eventually end up in your own family.

“When did you know?” I finally asked. “When you saw me at the mine earlier today? Or, like dear old Dad, have you known about me my whole life, but decided to ignore me anyway?”

He inclined his head. “When Dagon started telling stories of a Halfling with silver eyes that ripped the blood out of his fiercest soldiers, I wondered, of course. But I only knew for certain when I saw you earlier today.”

“I ripped their water out, not their blood,” I corrected.

He grunted. “Blood is over ninety percent water, so you ripped out both.”

True enough. I searched his features, looking to see if we had any in common. He didn’t have my gold-and-blue-streaked silvery hair, but he might have dyed his into showing only its pitch-black curls. His skin was rich dark brown, whereas mine was golden bronze, and his eyes were a deep walnut shade, while mine were silver. But he had our father’s striking beauty, and Ashael didn’t try to conceal his with glamour the way I did. No, Ashael flaunted his looks much the same way that Ian flaunted his.

Men. They had many strong suits, but subtlety was rarely one of them.

“Show me your real eyes,” I said. All the facts pointed to him being my brother, but I still wanted proof.

“Untrusting,” Ashael said, approval clear in his tone. “Good to know you’re cautious about some men.”

Another Ian reprimand. I was about to tell him where to shove that when the red glow in his eyes turned to piercing silver. Darkness also bloomed behind him, covering the condo’s furnishings with a swath of fathomless obsidian—exactly how Ian had described my transformation. I’d never seen it as I didn’t pause to stand in front of a mirror when it happened. But it proved Ashael was who—and what—he said he was.

Then the silver glow in his eyes darkened back to their natural color while that otherworldly swath vanished, all without the schizophrenic battle I would have had to wage first.

“How do you lock that half of you away without a fight?”

His brows went up. “You’ve kept your other nature locked away?” At my nod, Ashael began to laugh. “No wonder I felt it the two times you finally used your full powers! They must have had to explode out of whatever cage you’ve put them in.”

I opened my mouth to reply—and Ian teleported into me, knocking me over because I hadn’t braced for a large male body suddenly occupying the same space. He caught me using his right arm. His left arm was extended out and away from his body.

“Here’s your sodding horn,” Ian snapped at Ashael.

His head and clothes had gotten bloody since I last saw him. His shirt was also torn from shoulder to wrist, revealing that the formerly stiff horn had now curled itself multiple times around Ian’s left forearm. How? Kudu horn didn’t bend!

Ashael stared at the relic as if he, too, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he laughed, a sharp, grating sound.

“I fail to see anything funny,” Ian said coldly.

“I do,” Ashael said, still chuckling. “And the joke is on me. Clearly, the horn agrees with Veritas about you.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” I protested.

“You and the horn both think Ian is special.” Ashael stopped laughing to give Ian a hard look. “I disagree, but magic as old as that horn chooses its wielder, and only rare, raw power plus the potential for more draws it.”

Chooses its wielder . . . I’d heard of such objects, but had never seen one before. “Are you saying this horn was made?”

Ian looked at me as if I’d recently been hit hard in the head. “It’s a ram’s horn; a bloody ram made it.”

“That’s not what she means.” Ashael’s gaze held mine, confirming my suspicion. Then he turned to Ian. “Most weapons were forged by man, but a select few were made by the gods. You’ll have heard of famous ones like Thor’s hammer, Arthur’s Excalibur, Poseidon’s trident, and Apollo’s bow, but there are lesser-known ones, like Hang Tuah’s dagger, Ninurta’s mace, Huitzilopochtli’s ray . . . and Cain’s horn.”

Ian grunted. “Don’t tell me you believe that dried-up corpse is Cain, too? Can’t fathom how Timothy was deluded into joining a crazed Cain cult, but then he always was a dreamer—”

“The skeleton on the altar is Cain?” I interrupted, astonished.

“So my mate claims,” Ian replied, derision coating his tone. “But even if that was the fabled first vampire cursed to forever drink blood as punishment for slaying his brother, Abel, he’s now as dead as my virginity. Still, Timothy wouldn’t leave him even after I took this”—another shake indicated the horn wrapped around Ian’s forearm—“and this apparently has value.”

Ashael arched a brow. “His acolytes think Cain will rise again, given the right mixture of blood. I’ve seen vampires regenerate from a skeletal state, so I suppose it’s possible.”

I stayed silent. Ashael didn’t need to know that Ian was one of those rare vampires who could degenerate to bones and then regenerate. He knew too much already, family or no family.