Aildris and his mother rose from the ground and looked at the intruder. While his mother's eyes fell into despair, his own shifted into something darker and more sinister — rage.
"Tyler Winter," he growled under his breath.
"What do we have here?" Tyler said, his tone engulfed in mockery. "The whore of a mistress and her giftless bastard of a son seem to be snooping around the house."
As he spoke, the air grew colder. With each step he took, a small trail of frost followed his feet.
Tyler Winter was one of the four children of the Winter household. He had always been a spoiled and prideful child, flaunting his Winter name and status wherever he went. From an early age, and especially since his awakening at the age of five, he had been a ruthless tyrant in the lives of Aildris and his mother — a tyrant they could not oppose, despite him being only three years older than Aildris.
Aildris took a deep breath. He needed his mind to be clear; his anger wasn't going to solve the situation, even though he desperately wanted to punch the smug look off the bastard's face.
"This is my mother's room. We have every right to be here. In fact, you're the one trespassing," Aildris replied confidently.
"Your mother's room?" Tyler retorted, his tone nearly a grave whisper. "Last I checked, this was my father's house, and as his second child I have more rights to do as I please than some lowly-tiered whore and her bastard son."
Aildris could see it in Tyler's sapphire-blue eyes — he was enjoying every moment of this, moments where he got to play dominant. Then he felt movement beside him. His mother had already knelt down, her forehead pressed to the ground.
"Please spare us, Tyler," she said weakly. Only she could see the bigger picture. She knew that if they opposed Tyler now, it would only be a matter of time before his mother showed up — and her presence alone could bring hell on earth.
Tyler looked down at the woman kneeling at his feet, his pale white hair falling slightly over his face as he cocked his head to meet her gaze. A sly smirk played at the corners of his lips, and mischief danced in his eyes like mirth in a fire.
"Lick my boots like a dog, and I might just consider your request," he said mockingly.
"Tyler, I think that's enough. Father wouldn't be pleased if he found out what you're doing to Isla. You know how much he cherishes her," a soft feminine voice said from behind. Its owner was a young girl who looked roughly the same age as Aildris. Her eyes were the same sapphire-blue as her brother's, and her pale white hair — the family's signature — fell to her neck, faintly brushing her shoulders.
Her gaze drifted toward Isla, who still knelt on the ground, seemingly torn between obeying Tyler and resisting. Aildris stood behind her, his fists clenched in frustration at his own weakness.
"Father wouldn't do much, maybe scold me a little. And even if he does get angry, you know Mother would defend me. She hates this homewrecker as much as I do," Tyler casually responded.
"Now, Isla, where were we?" he asked sarcastically.
"Ahh…" he sighed in merciless pleasure, shoving his right foot into Isla's face. "Lick them."
Isla extended her tongue, nearly fulfilling his request, when a solid punch sent Tyler stumbling back a few steps.
"My mother is not a dog, and I am not your slave," Aildris said. His voice was low and threatening, but his words carried enough power to be heard.
Something inside him had snapped, and the boiling storm he had so desperately tried to hold back was unleashed. He had decided that, for the time being, even though he was weak and powerless, he would cause as much chaos as he could. To hell with the consequences.
Tyler paused, his right palm grazing the side of his face where Aildris had struck him. His expression twisted from shock to confusion, and then to pure, ugly rage.
"You bastard!" he roared, lunging at Aildris.
Both boys tumbled to the ground. Tyler, using the advantage of his gift, covered his hands with a layer of ice.
Bang!
He struck Aildris on the head. Once, twice — he could no longer count. His fists ached terribly, and the glistening blue surface of his icy knuckles was painted red.
Aildris, on the other hand, lay nearly motionless. His whole body throbbed with pain. He was badly injured and losing blood fast. Each punch brought another wave of pure agony, but he did not scream. He would not give Tyler the satisfaction of hearing his voice.
Desperately, he tried to keep himself awake. His eyes rolled back, but he clenched his fists — he couldn't pass out here.
Then it all stopped. Tyler was getting off him. But Aildris's mind raced. He couldn't let him go unscathed — not after all this pain.
With what strength he had left, he lunged forward and sank his bloody teeth into Tyler's shoulder.
Tyler flinched and tried to push him off, but it was too late.
Bam!
Aildris tightened his jaw, sinking his teeth deeper.
Tyler let out an agonized wail, pain surging through his body as he shoved Aildris with all his might. But still, Aildris did not let go — until suddenly, his eyes grew dark and a throbbing pain bloomed at the back of his head.
His body collapsed to the ground, his vision dimming. He glanced sideways and saw his attacker: the young girl who had stood at the door mere moments ago.
"Jasmine… why?" he managed to mutter before his vision finally went black.