Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
A risk, but as ruthless as Nox is, they have a soft spot for broken toys. And innocence. Maeve may think that she’s broken right now, but she firmly lands in the latter category. “So you put yourself in danger, interacting with the Cŵn Annwn, because of Nox?”
She gives me a wan smile. “That’s two questions.”
Frustration threatens to take hold, but we’re having a conversation without sniping at each other, and she’s readily answering my questions. I suppose it’s not too much to ask that I continue this little game. “Fine. Ask.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“That’s not a question at all.”
She raises her brows. “Are you dodging giving an answer?” Intrigue colors her tone. “Fine, I’ll play by the rules properly. What is your family like?” She exaggerates the lift at the end of the last word. Little brat.
I almost give the pat, neat answer that I provide whenever I’m forced into this kind of conversation. There are only seven bloodline families in my realm, and though vampires engage in varying levels of secrecy, everyone in the paranormal community knows of our existence. At least in theory. So when they come across us, there are inevitably questions. Not even fear is enough to completely drown out curiosity. It’s inconvenient.
But when I answer, it’s the truth that slips from my lips. “My father is dead and has been since I was a small child. My mother rules the family with a bloody iron fist. She’s taught me everything I know. My younger brother is the family fuckup. He was supposed to be my right hand, a built-in support for the day when I take over, but he’s always chosen to go his own way.” Currently, his own way is giving my mother fits of rage, possibly because he’s finally beyond her reach. He’s created a sickeningly cute little polycule with Mina, Rylan, and Malachi . . . all of whom are members of other bloodline families. Not even my mother would risk war by daring to cross so many powerful vampires.
“You almost sound like you envy him.”
I glare. “That’s also not a question.”
“Lizzie.”
“What’s the point of playing a game if you don’t follow the rules?” Granted, I’m more than happy to discard whatever rules don’t serve me. Though, from the look in Maeve’s large eyes, I’m not going to escape this subject on her next question. In an attempt to distract her, I say, “Who took your pelt?”
Instantly, all relaxation banishes from her face. I watch her close down in real time, her expression shuddering and her spine straightening. “His name is Bronagh.”
I open my mouth, but she beats me there. “Why are you so resentful of your brother?”
“I don’t want to answer that question.” I don’t mean to say it. This game started as an attempt to get more information out of her, to understand the enigma that is Maeve, and yet I feel like I’m the one being stripped bare. She sees more than most people. Even Evelyn never really asked me about Wolf. Or my family, for that matter.
Maeve smiles slightly, the twist of her lips bittersweet. “Then I think this game is done, don’t you?”
It should be. It’s a smart idea. I don’t know how situations continue to slip out of my control time and time again. It’s never been a problem before. Usually when I’m backed into a corner, I just kill my way out. Or I avoid a fight altogether by virtue of my reputation. Neither of those has been an option for too many of the uncomfortable situations I’ve found myself in since I came to Threshold. They certainly aren’t an option now.
More than that, I want to know about the bastard who took her skin. I want to know the story of how it happened and why. I can barely acknowledge the motivation behind that desire for knowledge. It’s not mere curiosity, though that would be significantly less complicated. No, the sensation inside my chest when I think about him is furious . . . and almost protective.
That fucker put the bruised look in Maeve’s eyes. He hurt her, carved out a piece of her, and took it with him when he left. Unlike most exes, he did it literally.
I want to see what Maeve is like when she’s not mourning a lost piece of herself. I want to know what kind of woman she is when she’s at peace. Whatever that looks like.
A deep breath does nothing to settle the jagged pieces inside me that grind together when I think about my brother. “Wolf has never cared about our mother’s expectations. He moves through life driven by desire and . . . love, I suppose. He doesn’t seem to feel the same pressures I do. He doesn’t conform. He doesn’t break himself until he’s unrecognizable, all to fit a mold created by our mother. I suppose I am jealous of him. It makes me hate him sometimes. I’ve certainly hurt him enough over the centuries. But nothing seems to stick. He endures whatever punishment my mother decrees and then moves on. I don’t understand it.” The words feel sharp in my throat. Painful. I’ve never admitted this out loud, not to anyone.