She knew.
He stared at her with dead eyes, hating that he felt so little, hating that she saw through him and would always be able to do such a thing. Ezekiel rolled his tongue across the back of this teeth and stared at her too-bright eyes. Part of him wished he could have hated her. Part of him wished he could choose another path. All he was capable of doing was putting one foot in front of the other.
Alaine’s tone stabbed him in the heart like the antler-weapon her son had died on might have done. He finally reacted; he closed his eyes and began to shake his head, taking a tentative step away from her. “I have to, Alaine,” he admitted. Desperation laced every word, and he wished dearly he could have changed things. Then his eyes opened, terrible and hawkish, and he looked to her with deep anger (against himself, against his sister) and spoke lowly. “I’ll destroy you. I won’t let it happen.” This was as much a threat as it was a promise. He had killed her son; that betrayal might kill her in time.
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