Finding Kieran
wasn't hard.
His mind blazed
as brightly as a shooting star in the midst of dull and grasping human
thoughts, streaking through them like a virus with a five-minute incubation
period. They stood no chance. One by one they dropped, insignificant and
quickly forgotten.
Kian understood
that Kieran was angry. It really wasn't all that hard to figure out. That
flaring purple aura leapt and burned, dancing to its own haunting song in its
own amaranthine time, and colorless dreams drowned beneath its crush. He made
no effort to hide his emotions and no effort to subdue them. The maelstrom
lashed through the night with a violent violet crackle, its tail recoiling to
strike with power drawn from his fury.
His twin fed from
the anger and Kian did, too. He did not stop to wonder where it sprang from,
but instead welcomed its existence and followed it. Kieran's anger was hot and
vibrant, trailing fire through the air and leaving stark etchings on his mind.
They scorched a path in front of him, linking the twins as though they were
indeed one.
But where
Kieran's anger seared charred trails and left ashes of destruction in its wake,
Kian's anger cut as clean and sharp as a blade of ice. His frosty touch kissed gently and, without warning,
glacial needles threaded their way like creeping fingers where his gaze
brushed. Layers of frost so thick they seemed endless wrapped around him, anger
boiling through his blood like a raging arctic river. Cold calmness settled
over him to blanket and to trap his emotions. They simmered dangerously below
the calm and threatened to erupt.
Outwardly, he was
calm.
Inside, he was
dying.
He found himself
standing in front of his apartment building with no memory of walking, running,
or even moving. He was simply there, staring carefully into the darkened
windows as if they unlocked the secret to those burning trails. What had drawn
him here, cold and abandoned and unforgiven?
The answer, of
course, was simple. Kieran was here. Pain crawled trapped below both their
surfaces, beneath a smokescreen of fire for his twin and beneath a sheet of ice
for himself. Whatever his twin had
done, whatever battles the two fought, when they were together, the pain would
always lessen.
His own long ago
words filtered into his brain. "We
are the same. Don't you see? We are
the same, Kyaren. Always we will be together. We are One."
And despite
everything, they were indeed One.
Kian's jaw
clenched, bitterness pulsing through his veins. Best not to think of that now. Best not to think of anything but the anger
gurgling quietly and deceptively just below the surface.
He shook the hazy
emotions out of his head, stepping purposefully onto the small, dingy porch.
White pillars soared to meet the sagging roof, their straight backs stiff and
proud despite the woefully chipped paint.
He didn't spare them a glance, knowing that the air current from looking
may very well cause them to fall on his tousled burgundy head.
Carefully, he
opened the battered door. It creaked on its hinges, making a noise similar to
that of a dying cat. The squeal hurt his ears, but fortunately, this time the
handle had stayed attached.
Taking them two
at a time, he mounted the stairs quickly. Through the door. Down the hallway.
Every step he took augmented the feeling of dread inside him. He stopped in
front of his own door, somehow knowing that something was off. The mahogany
entrance swung open. In front of him, the apartment waited silently.
He relaxed,
almost disappointed. Kieran wasn't here.
Stalking lightly
inside, he dropped his keys on an antique coffee table and fumbled for the
light. The wall stayed suspiciously flat. Oh,
come on, Kian, he thought, annoyed, it's
not like the thing moves around at will. His fingers brushed the switch and
light flooded into the room, showing him just how wrong he'd been.
Kieran sat
comfortably in the middle of his living room, almost as if he were waiting for
him. A glass rested in his hand and his feet were propped on Kian's antique
coffee table. He turned when light illuminated the room and Kian tensed.
His twin met his
eyes directly, raising his crystal goblet in a mocking toast. Thick red liquid
sloshed dangerously close to the edge. "Nice place," he said
casually.
Kian's icy shell shattered.
He was across the room before Kieran could blink. Gripping his brother's
tailored shirt, he picked him up and threw him toward the wall. The chalice in
Kieran's hand flew across the room with him, blood spilling on the floor and
splattering over the furniture. Kian followed close behind. "What did you
do?" he growled, slamming Kieran's head against the wall.
Kian looked
vaguely shocked and more than a little angry. "I haven't done
anything," he replied, trying to shake Kian off, "unless my name has
been added to America's Most Wanted list and leaving the country is now a
federal offense."
They stared
silently at each other for several seconds, then Kian's shoulders slumped and
his grip loosened. "What are you talking about?" he asked, suddenly tired.
Glaring from
beneath thick lashes so dark they glistened like hematite, Kieran pulled away
and brushed himself off almost fastidiously. "You asked me what I am
doing," he explained slowly, pronouncing each word carefully and clearly.
Kian knew that mocking tone well. "I am leaving the country. You of all
people should have no problems with that."
Identical violet
eyes locked with his. "Why?"
Kieran shrugged,
easing away and dropping back down on the sofa. He avoided the mess the blood
made on the floor. "Do I need a reason?"
"Need one?
No," Kian replied. "Having one might help."
Kieran laughed.
His eyes lit delightedly and his mouth curved. "I've never claimed to be
helpful. But, if you must know, I've
missed the taste of Irish cream. It's so thick and rich and--"
"And not the
real reason you're leaving," Kian supplied, sitting next to his brother.
He sank into the soft cushions of the couch. His eyes slid shut. "You don't have to lie about it. We
both know it won't change anything."
Amused, Kieran
watched his twin relax against the cushions. "I'm glad to know it,
brother. It would be a shame for me to ruin centuries of feuding with something
so inane."
Without opening
his eyes, Kian responded, "You don't feud, Kieran. You destroy. I've known
nuclear warheads to do less damage than you."
"I aim to
please."
"You aim to
wreak havoc," his twin corrected, "and you do a wonderful job.
Perhaps I should send a thank you note. No, not a note… Maybe I should make you
cookies."
"So you can
lace them with arsenic?" Kieran shot back.
Kian opened his
eyes. "I think not. Arsenic would have the same effect as trying to plug a
leak with a toothpick."
"Now there's
a thought," Kieran muttered. "It depends on where you're plugging
that leak."
A devilish smile
flitted over Kian's face. "Don't give me any ideas," he warned.
"Wouldn't
think of it," Kieran replied cheerfully. "I might have the misfortune
of seeing them carried out."
Kian raised an
eyebrow, drumming his fingers idly against the side of the blue chintz sofa.
"It's not me you have to worry about," he countered softly. His mouth
twisted. "Cameron's grown claws."
"Cameron has
always had claws," Kieran corrected. "She just kept them sheathed
around you. I never got that lucky."
He sent his twin
a cynical glance from the corner of his eye. "You don't think that would
have anything to do with the fact that you were murdering her at the time, do
you?"
Kieran paused,
blinking in mock thoughtfulness. "You know, I often wondered about that. I
think you might be right."
Kian rolled his
eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Admiring
your furniture," Kieran replied dryly.
"How upset would you be if I were to take back Mother's coffee
table?"
"Devastated,"
he said glibly. "Uncle Jareth was staked on that table. It has sentimental
value, you know."
Kieran smirked,
one side of his mobile mouth curling beautifully. "The only intelligent
thing he ever did was to get himself killed, although Mother was quite worried
that he'd ruined the finish." He ran a hand lovingly over the solid oak,
pausing over a curiously deep hollow in the middle.
"Kieran,"
Kian said, exasperated, "what do you want?"
His twin
shrugged. "Nothing. I just thought
I'd stop by before leaving the country and let you know that I still intend to
ruin the decade for you. I'm just taking my time about it."
Staring in
disbelief, Kian leaned away and raised an eyebrow. "The day you stop
making my life miserable is the day I'll have you committed." He shook his
head and looked away briefly. "You didn't have to visit to tell me that. I
already knew."
"I
know," Kieran admitted, "but I thought I'd give you the opportunity
to try to stop me. It only seemed fair."
The breath
stopped in Kian's throat, his eyes flaring hotly. "Fair? Is it fair that
you take away my soulmate in every life? Is it fair that she's only lived one
life past the age of sixteen? Don't try to be 'fair' with me. It's too late for
that."
"I never
said--" his twin started, only to be cut off.
"And what
did you do?" Kian snapped, repeating his earlier question. "If you're
not going to kill her until her next birthday, don't interfere. After taking
away thousands of years we could have spent together, you owe me these months."
It was Kieran's
turn to look tired. "I don't owe you anything," he stated.
Reluctantly, he added to himself, Except
maybe an explanation. But despite his self-confession, his expression was
cold. "And while I thoroughly enjoy your accusations, I have no idea what
you're talking about."
Gritting his
teeth, Kian fought the urge to strangle his twin. "You did
something," he answered flatly.
"Are you so
sure about that?" Kieran asked, amused. "What exactly makes whatever
happened my fault?"
Kian paused,
considering, wondering what had made
him so sure his twin was at the bottom of this. Finally, he answered, "I
saw things."
Kieran looked at
him sharply. "What kind of
things?"
Shrugging
uneasily, his response was sulky.
"Just… things. Glimpses of you and of her."
"Oh, really?"
Kieran asked softly. His voice was silken, dangerous, slipping through the air
like mist. "When are these images from? What happened?"
Kian glared.
"From the last time she died." He didn't need to say who
"she" referred to. It hadn't been necessary through any of the
conversation. They both knew. "You killed her."
"You say
that like it's something different," Kieran responded, brushing the
accusation aside.
"It wasn't
like the other times," Kian snapped. His cheeks flushed with anger.
"She died in pain."
Kieran sighed,
sitting up straight. "Losing blood is never a pleasant experience. Getting
bitten… Well, that all depends on where you bite. What did you think? That drinking someone's blood
makes them want to jump up and say, 'Let's do it again?'"
"Don't
change the subject." Kian's mouth tightened. "I want it to stop,
Kieran."
"Wish for it
all you like," Kieran replied, "but it's not going to end until one
of us is dead." His mouth curled dangerously and he glanced briefly to
meet his twin's gaze. "That rather leaves you at a disadvantage, doesn't
it?"
Emotion washed
over Kian's face, hot and fierce, like a tidal wave crashing over a sandy
beach. "I'm already at a disadvantage," he returned. "Thanks to
you and your games, I'm never to come near her again."
Kieran's eyes
widened fractionally and he sat back again. "What happened?" he
questioned.
Staring at the
wall moodily, Kian responded, "She remembered something. I only caught
shards of the memory, but I know it wasn't pleasant."
His twin remained
silent, waiting for him to continue.
"I think it
happened around twenty years ago--"
"Twenty-one,"
Kieran interrupted, "but I guess that doesn't matter."
Kian shot him a
bewildered look. "I don't suppose you know the month and the day as well,
do you? What about the hour?" He shook his head. "She wasn't
expecting it, that much I caught with very few problems. She trusted you,
Kieran, and you destroyed her."
"March 28,
1980," Kieran replied coldly, ignoring the last comment. "Midnight. I
was in Las Vegas. She was near Vancouver."
Blood rushed to
Kian's face. "That's impossible. You killed her."
"Did
I?" Kieran countered softly. "It would make things simpler, wouldn't
it? You always have been the type that likes things cut and dry."
Kian's response
was calm. "I like my soulmate alive, too, but clearly things don't always
happen the way we want."
Kieran looked at
him, his violet eyes piercing through his skin and pulling his thoughts apart
until they were laid bare before him. "No, things don't always happen the
way we want," he agreed. Quietly, he continued, "I didn't kill your
soulmate, but I know who did."
Eyes flashing
like lightening in a velvet sky, Kian demanded, "Who?"
Kieran smiled
tightly. "That," he stated icily, "is no secret. If you think
about it long enough, you'll know who it was, too. If not, then it's none of
your damned business."
"Would it be
that difficult to just tell me?" Kian wondered angrily.
Contemplating him
quietly, Kieran gnawed idly on his lower lip and traced a thoughtless pattern
on the arm of the sofa. "Yes, it would. Figure it out yourself." He
paused. "Where were you that night?"
No matter how
hard he tried, Kian couldn't remember.
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