House of Night 09 - Destined

Rephaim saw the hard, mean glint in his glowing eyes.
    “You need to leave. Now,” Rephaim said. “You can’t let anyone see you, and you can’t return.”
    “First, Father’s messssage.” Nisroc dropped from the thick middle branches of the oak, landing in front of Rephaim, followed by the other two Raven Mockers, who flanked him. “By Father’s ssside you will be. But here. Watching. Waiting. Ssspying.”
    Rephaim shook his head again. “No. I will not spy for Father.”
    “Yesss! As Father willsss!” Nisroc spread his wings, an action mimicked by the other two Raven Mockers. Highly agitated, he bobbed his head and fisted his hands.
    Rephaim didn’t feel threatened. The physical danger he was in didn’t register in his mind. He was too used to his brothers—too used to being one of them. No, it was more than that. Rephaim was too used to being their leader to fear them.
    “No,” he repeated. “It’s not as Father wills for me anymore. I’ve changed. Inside and outside. Go back to him. Tell him that.” Rephaim hesitated and then continued, “Tell him my choice stands.”
    “Hate you, he will,” Nisroc said.
    “I know that.” Rephaim felt the hurt of it deep inside him.
    “Hate you, I will,” Nisroc said.
    Rephaim frowned. “You don’t have to.”
    “I mussst.”
    Slowly, Rephaim reached out, offering his forearm to Nisroc in the traditionally respectful greeting and parting gesture between Warriors. “You don’t have to. We can part as friends, as brothers.”
    Nisroc paused, cocking his head side to side. His narrowed eyes relaxed. His aggressive stance shifted. He began to move, to speak, but Rephaim would never know his brother’s true intent because at that moment Dragon Lankford’s cry of “Sons of Erebus! To me!” shattered the night and the Sword Master descended upon them.
    Rephaim experienced an instant of body-numbing panic. He stood frozen in the middle of chaos as his brothers, hissing and snarling, met Dragon’s attack. He watched with the terrible, fatalistic knowledge that very soon Warriors would begin spilling from the field house, swords drawn and arrows notched. They would join Dragon and utterly overwhelm his three brothers.
    “Dragon, no!” he cried. “They weren’t attacking!”
    From the midst of battle, Dragon Lankford’s voice carried to him. “You are either for or against us! There is no middle ground.”
    “There is middle ground!” Rephaim yelled back, holding his arms wide as if in surrender. “It is where I stand!” He took a step toward Dragon. “They weren’t attacking!” he repeated. “Nisroc, brothers, stop fighting!”
    Rephaim believed Nisroc actually hesitated. He was quite certain his brother was listening to him, understanding, wanting to retreat. Then Neferet’s voice sliced through the night.
    “Aurox! Protect! Destroy!”
    Neferet’s creature exploded into the scene.
    He came from the wall side of the grounds, facing Rephaim. At first he appeared to be human. He had a human male’s form, youthful and unmarked as a fledgling or a vampyre. But his movements were too fast to be human. In a blur he struck. Attacking from behind he grasped the closest Raven Mocker by his upraised wings and in a single, horrible motion ripped them from his body.
    Over his centuries of existence Rephaim had seen terrible things—he’d committed vile, dark deeds. But somehow seeing from his new, human point of view made the violence he was witnessing more awful. His scream echoed his brother’s as the Raven Mocker’s body fell to the ground, writhing in agony and spurting blood.
    It was then that Aurox began to change. Even though Rephaim watched it happening he could hardly comprehend it.
    Its body became bigger, thicker.
    It grew horns.
    Its fists solidified.
    Its skin rippled, shifted, pulsed as if something beneath was trying to come forth.
    It bent and, almost gracefully, twisted off his brother’s head.
    Even Dragon Lankford paused in his attack to stare.
    Forcing his mind to think through the shock and horror, Rephaim shouted at Nisroc. “Go! Fly away!”
    With a cry of despair, Nisroc, followed by one brother, lifted from the blood-soaked ground.
    The transformed creature bellowed and leaped, trying, futilely, to knock them from the sky. When he crashed back to earth, his massive cloven hooves biting into the winter grass, he turned blazing moon-colored eyes on Rephaim.
    Wishing he had wings or a weapon, Rephaim crouched