Page 216 of When Sisters Collide
It wasn’t a natural rise of stone. The dark mound was unnatural in shape, and at its summit sat a figure.
With no other path before her, Katell forced her legs to move, the mound’s outline sharpening with every step.
A pyramid of skulls—countless, endless—rose before her, each bone stacked upon the next in grotesque precision. Some were fresh, split by jagged cracks; others ancient, their surfaces worn smooth by time. The eerie crimson light slicked the remains in a gruesome sheen, as though the entire structure had been steeped in blood.
At the peak sat a throne—shattered swords, crushed shields, and twisted spears fused together into a seat.
And in that seat, Katell found a man.
Or rather, a god.
He leaned back in his throne, olive skin gleaming in the blood-red light. A deep crimson tunic threaded with gold clung to his broad frame, the rich fabric framing sharp, commanding features. Tousled dark hair shadowed a face carved with raw, effortless beauty—something too striking to belong to mortal men. His dark eyes held no malice, only a knowing glint.
Katell had met Western gods before, but this one looked less wild—more warrior than beast. An embodiment of chaos and power.
Laran, no doubt.
He didn’t hold himself in the rigid posture of a warlord awaiting battle. Instead, he lounged with one arm draped over the hilt of a massive sword, exuding the kind of confidence that came from knowing no one could challenge him.
Katell exhaled a slow breath and forced herself forward. Every instinct screamed at her to be cautious, but she was too drained and disoriented to care.
She stopped before the throne and locked eyes with him. “Laran, I presume?”
His grin widened, curiosity and amusement mingling across his features. He tilted his head, gaze sweeping over her with meticulous scrutiny.
Silence stretched between them, cold sweat creeping down her spine, but she held firm. She would not flinch. And if he expected her to kneel, he’d be disappointed.
At last, his voice—smooth, rich, and dripping with arrogance—cut through the charged quiet. “Hello, daughter.”
Katell stilled.
Daughter?
No—no, that couldn’t be right.
Laran smirked, stretching lazily against his throne as if her shock amused him. His broad frame filled the seat, yet he seemed leaner than she expected—his muscles honed for precision, not brute force.
“No need to look so horrified,” he drawled. “Where do you think that handy healing magic of yours came from? You’re a demigoddess, daughter. That’s why you’re so strong.”
Katell’s pulse pounded in her ears, confusion crashing through her. The Northerner who’d called her a demigoddesshad been right—but she’d never imaginedLaranwould be her father.
“If I’m your daughter…” Her voice faltered, raw with shock. “Then why did you also Gift me?”
He scoffed, drumming his fingers on the armrest. “Gift you? Why would I? You already carry my magic.”
Thoughts racing, she touched the back of her neck. “But my Mark…”
Laran’s hand froze mid-tap, his eyebrow arching. “Yourwhat?!”
Katell hesitated, then slowly pushed her braid aside.
In the blink of an eye, Laran was behind her. His towering presence pressed against her senses, sending a jolt down her spine. Before she could react, a warm finger traced the nape of her neck.
Then his touch stiffened.
“That conniving bitch,” he muttered, fury curling in every syllable. His finger snapped away as if scorched. “I knew she did something to hide you from me. First your mother, and now?—”
“What about my mother?” Katell wrenched away and spun to face him, her heart pounding. “What did you do to her?”
