I don’t answer. My mouth is sealed closed by my unwillingness to obey. What’s the point of speaking if everything around me is false?
“Keaton,” another man’s voice booms from behind him, but I’m trapped in my thoughts, swimming in my pity.
“Keres,” Kingston’s dad interferes. “Please, let us hear what your son has to say.”
Keaton stands tall, keeping one protective hand on my shoulder.
Inhale the pain, exhale the agony, live another day.
There’s a long pause before his finger squeezes over my shoulder. “She’s my sister.”
“What?” I think that was King’s dad.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Keaton mutters under his breath. “They have to know about her, or they will kill her.” He must be lying, wanting me to follow his lead in a desperate attempt to save my life. Not sure why. I don’t know why Keaton has been so nice to me, I just bought it down to him not being as dark as he looks. Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe this is all part of their plan. I can’t trust anyone.
“Keres, care to explain this?” Dahlia interferes, and I finally bring my eyes up to her. She’d be beautiful if she wasn’t so hateful. Her long dark hair and almond green eyes. She looks so much like her sons it’s almost frightening. But then you see their dad, and it all makes sense. They get their beauty from her and their manhood from him.
“Stand.” Killian’s hands come around my arm, pulling me up. I obey, leaning into him and not wanting to bring my eyes to anyone. I trust Kill.
“It’s true,” Keaton’s father says, and I turn to face him, wanting to know who this man is who owns such a smooth voice. Like warm hot chocolate on a cold day. He has brown hair that has greys scattering through it and bright blue eyes. His face is muscular, just like Keaton’s.
Nothing like me.
“Her mother hated her,” Keres says to them, but his eyes are addressing me. “They were Klaus and Ash’s love children.”
“Wait!” King’s mom snaps her fingers. “Are you telling me that she’s a Kiznitch, not a little witch?” She exhales. “That still doesn’t defeat the fact that she’s clinically insane and wants to destroy us. She’s a liability. We will make an exception for this once.”
Keres shakes his head, his eyes going to her. “You know good and well how this world spins, Dahlia. Her father who wasn’t Kiznitch blood…” He pauses, and I notice a drastic shift in the room. Why do they keep saying they? “She died, but this one didn’t.”
“This one who?” King demands, but I don’t look at him. I don’t want to. I don’t want to so much as pay him any of my attention. I’m broke, as far as currency spent on Kingston Axton goes.
“Dove, I’m sorry for what happened to you and your father.” Keres walks up to me, shoving his hands into his slacks. “Ash loves you and your sister.” The lines around his eyes deepen.
“’Kay,” I say, but it comes out broken, through cracked dry cement. I can’t wait to meet this Ash, only so I can ask questions. I feel nothing for her emotionally right now.
“Dove,” Kohen murmurs from behind me, and I turn to face him, ignoring everyone in here, especially King.
His eyes laser into mine, and the world slows for a few seconds. He opens his mouth. “Do you still have that burn mark over your hipbone?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
Kohen’s eyes darken as obvious triumph comes over him. “Do you still have that burn mark over your hipbone?”
I lift my shirt, as if I didn’t already know the answer. “No?” I run my thumb over my bare, smooth skin.
The room silences.
Keaton sucks in a breath.
Killian yells, “Fuck!”
“Jesus Christ.” Dahlia massages her temple and takes a seat back on her throne. People are still watching, and the room is caving in. “That could have ended tragically.”
“Why would you ask me that?” My eyes go back to Kohen, who is smirking like a Cheshire Cat.
“Because Dove Hendry was burned Christmas 1998 after she fell against an iron fire pit.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I argue. “I mean, not that I remember. I don’t remember much.”
“You don’t fucking say,” Dahlia groans. “We’re about to lose him,” she whispers, but I don’t miss it.
“No,” Kohen murmurs. “You weren’t burnt. You’re not my wildcat.”
“I don’t follow.” His footsteps come closer, the room smaller.