Though he doesn’t say it, I suspect Cyrus feels unworthy of compliments or high praise. He sees himself as a monster because of the choices he made to save me. “You played the role of a villain, Cyrus. It doesn’t mean you are one,” I exclaim softly, my fingers wiping away small tears that slip down his cheeks.
Then Cyrus’s hands travel up to cup my face as he sighs, “You were always my first priority. You always have been, Iris.”
“When I discovered Cane had been the one to scar your face, I felt so much heartache and pity that I could hardly breathe. And that your father had tried to kill you because he didn’t think he could save you—how did you survive the chest wound?”
“I had an ally,” Cyrus answers cryptically. I wait for an explanation, but no more words are dispensed on the subject. “Do you pity me still, Iris?”
“Yes, I do, Cyrus,” I confess as I remember the day I found him in the tent after Cane had so cruelly tortured him. “I’m afraid a part of my heart will always be broken over everything you endured because of me.” You think of yourself as a monster, but the reality is that it’s me! I almost shout, the truth of my words creating an insatiable, hollow void in my chest. I’m the poison in your veins, Cyrus. You called me your flaw, but really, I’m your worst enemy. Don’t you see that? All of your pain and suffering would never have happened if you hadn’t attached yourself to me!
Cyrus’s body becomes unnaturally still beside me, his hands carefully lifting away from my skin. I immediately miss their warmth, and it’s an effort to keep my face from leaning closer to him, seeking his touch once more. “Hatred, loathing, confusion, pity, guilt, and heartbreak. Not exactly a strong chance for love to grow in the midst of all that, is there?” I can hear the sorrow he carries in the way his voice wobbles.
How could you still want love from me? I wonder, surprised that he can regard me with any measure of tenderness. Rather than ask the question aloud, I simply lean my head onto his shoulder, scooting closer so I can drape my legs across his lap. His arm wraps around my waist, securing me to his chest as though it is a natural response to my closeness. My eyes overflow with unspent tears that soak into his shirt, and I feel his own drip down onto my hair. I do not know how long we sit there, clinging to each other’s broken heart in the grieving darkness. Yet, in this moment, I know I would not choose to be with anyone else.
***
“I’ve dispatched two patrols to search for signs of nameless unchosen in the area. Any that are found will be immediately sold to your border guard contact, Matthias. The rest of the men are waiting for your orders. Where are we going next?” Jackal stands ramrod straight as he gives his report to Wolf, who reclines behind a ramshackle desk in the House of Piranhas.
“Everything’s so clean here,” Wolf muses, staring at the whitewashed walls that seem to be permeated with the crisp, fresh scent of the salty ocean air. “It’s like the entire house resets at night. A new day, a new life, a clean slate. Not unlike this one here, huh?” Wolf murmurs, jutting his chin toward Lynx’s baby. Her strapping young son slumbers against Wolf’s shoulder, healthy and strong after such a long, difficult labor. His chubby little fingers curl in the fur on Wolf’s mask, and he coos softly like a little dove with every exhaled breath. Little Dove. Wolf repeats the nickname in his mind, his frown deepening. That won’t do at all! “He needs a mighty predator’s name,” Wolf declares, shutting away all thoughts of birds and their connection to the House of Vultures. “I wonder what he will choose for himself when he is of age to take a mask.”
The juxtaposition of battle worn leader and fragile, sleeping newborn unnerves Jackal’s normally unflappable resolve. “Sir? Do I send the men to track and destroy the Ddraigs? Or do you have another destination in mind?”
Wolf raises a finger to his lips, freezing when the child moves. He sighs with relief when the babe does not cry out. “This one’s kept the whole house awake since his birth,” Wolf whispers to Jackal, a strangely wild look crossing his eyes. “He likes me, though. I’m sure he always will, unlike some fickle-minded woman.” A sharp, aching pain lances through his temples, reminding him of the naming bond that still holds sway in his thoughts. How do I break free of her? He wonders with a frustrated growl, pulsing starbursts of light erupting in his vision. How do I remove this hold she has over my mind?
“Sir? The Ddraigs?” Jackal insists gently, watching Wolf’s hands tighten around the baby’s back, as though he fears someone now comes to try and take the child by force. The claws on Wolf’s fingers dig into the newborn’s tender skin without bringing blood. Jackal holds his breath, silently hoping his leader does not screw up and hurt the baby. Despite his loyalty, Jackal cannot help but wonder if recent events have caused his leader to finally lose his mind. Wolf’s erratic, thoughtless behavior and constant obsession over his brother and Iris only fuel Jackal’s suspicions. “What should I tell the men—?”
“Send half the soldiers after the bitch and her new lover,” Wolf growls, standing up and hurrying over to a makeshift bed of folded animal skins. He roughly sets the newborn onto the pile, not even flinching when the child hiccups awake.
