The study door banged open and his younger brother Brodie stood there, chest heaving as though he’d run the entire way.
“You must come. It’s time.”
Brock licked his thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the candle. He rose from his chair and followed Brodie up the winding, narrow steps to the tower where their father’s chambers were.
They came to a halt outside the room, and Brock opened the door. Their younger brother, Aiden, sat at the foot of the bed, his face ashen.
Aiden stared at the old man lying in the bed. “He’s not going to last, Brock.”
Montgomery Kincade, once a tall, broad-chested and hard man, had become frail, small, shriveled. It was an odd thing to stare at the nightmarish beast of a man who’d hurt him so many times before and see him completely helpless.
Their father
