shoulder and landing on someone else. “No, you ain’t. I would know, because Dove was my girl. You are not her.”
I swing around, finding King standing still, motionless with all of the color drained from his face.
“Elaborate!” I search Kohen’s deceitful eyes.
“You’re Persephone Noctem Hendry, not Dove Noctem Hendry, and you’re not my girl.” Kohen’s eyes flash back over my shoulder, and he points to King. “You’re his.”
I pace back and forth in my father’s office after telling everyone to get the fuck out. Dove—fuck—Persephone is still sitting in the sitting room, this time talking with Keaton and Keres. Her name has always been weird as fuck, but it’s pronounced per-SEF-un-nee. I always called her P.
“There’s no way that’s her,” I mutter, my hands running through my hair. “P is fucking dead. The reason why she’s dead is exactly why I killed her fucking parents!” I glare at my dad. Keres, Kratos, and Kallisto are all in here, as well as Kyrin and Killian.
He exhales, placing a cigar in his mouth. “She doesn’t have that burn mark, son. You were there when Dove got that. It was lethal. She was in the hospital with first-degree burns. That type of scar doesn’t disappear. There’s no other explanation, and besides that,” he tests out, his eyes coming to mine, “your brother knew.”
“And I fucking didn’t?” I argue, my anger bubbling to the surface, because if Kohen knew, why the fuck didn’t I?
“Did you fuck her?” Dad asks, throwing me off slightly.
“Yes,” I seethe.
“So, you fucked her when you thought she was Dove?” He’s judging me now, the smug fuck.
“What can I say?” I add dryly. “I was starving.”
He watches me carefully. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, and Kohen won’t know, but that girl is not Dove Hendry. She is Persephone. Your brother will now have to mourn the fact that Dove has been dead all along, and it was Persephone that was alive.”
My fist flies into the wall, and I feel myself slowly start to lose control, everything crumbling around me. “How can we give her back her memories that Keres took?” I ask, my lip curling as I watch him. I glare at my father. “And Kohen is barely sane. He didn’t even recognize her when she walked in until one of them barked off Little Bird.” Little Bird was what they were both called by everyone. Confusing, but convenient, when no one could tell them apart.
Keres looks at me, his rough edges smoothing over him. “It was simple hypnosis. As if dealing with addiction, I didn’t take her memories away. I simply made her feel like she didn’t need them after the incident.” He stands, going straight for the whiskey stand and pouring himself a glass. “If she gains them back, she will know everything, King. Everything. Are you sure you want that?” He turns to face me, his eyes going to my father. “It would make her a liability. She’s not known this life. Ever. She doesn’t know the code we live by nor has she been acquainted with her duty as a Kournikova. Her father was weak against her, and her mother was merely a civilian whore.”
“You can’t do that, P. Our parents will know.” P shrugged her small shoulders, a smirk that raged mischief dangling off the edge of her soft lips.
“So what?” she said. “As long as I stay top in my class, Momma doesn’t care what I do during the day.”
I looked at her closely. P was always mischief. She liked to tease people, torment them, and enrage them all at once, right before she’d charm their pants off. Hoping when she’s old enough, it won’t be literally. You see, Persephone Hendry was handcrafted for an Axton. Not just any Axton—me. She was named after a great Greek Goddess who was married to Hades, where they both ruled the underworld. She was born to be a pain in the ass. But my ass, that is.
“P, please stop doing that!” Dove whispered, her small frame coming into the room. Dove and Persephone Hendry were identical twins in every sense of the word, but their looks was where their similarities ended. Dove was demure. She was the peace to which P was the havoc. In peace there would always lie havoc with these two.
P kept swinging higher and higher on the aged swing that hung by rusted nails in the old tree at their house.