I’d never dreamed he knew where I kept the weapons, let alone that he’d stolen one. And now he was clinging to the demon and the knife, not even to defend against the magicians but to protect that thing from— because he was scared of—
I can’t write it. My little Alan, my baby boy.
What would Marie think, if she saw what had become of him?
“Come downstairs,” I said. “I’ll get breakfast.”
We have never spoken of that night. He pretends it never happened, hugs me without hesitation, still brings home good marks and trophies like offerings, acts like he has never doubted or feared me for a moment.
It scares me sometimes, how well he can pretend.
Mae stopped reading, breathing as if she’d been running a race. Her throat felt too small, as if it was closing up in an attempt to stop the words coming through.
“Another human reason to hold hands,” Nick said, his voice distant. “Crossing the street. See? This isn’t my first time.”
Mae’s voice came out stifled. “My mistake.”
Nick’s eyes did follow Alan. It was one of the first things Mae had noticed when she was getting to know him as more than just a devastatingly good-looking jerk. She’d seen and thought he was as scared for his brother as Mae was for hers.
“Why are you holding on so tight?” Nick inquired. “To comfort me?”
Mae looked down at their linked hands. She could barely feel her own hand, she realized slowly. She was holding on to his so hard her fingers had gone white and numb.
“I guess so,” she said softly.
Nick’s voice was freezing cold. “It doesn’t work. I can’t imagine why you think it might.”
“Okay.”
“Can I stop touching you now?” Nick snapped. “I don’t like it. This whole idea was stupid!”
Mae pulled her hand sharply away and into her lap, where she held it with her other hand, trying to massage warmth and movement back into her fingers. Nick rolled off the bed and caught his sword up from the floor, stalking over to the window and starting to put away his sharpening kit.
She thought of Alan, seven years old and barring his bedroom door because he was terrified of what his own father might do.
“Alan’s fine,” she said. “He’s all right now.”
“Sure,” said Nick, staring out the window and rolling his shoulders as if he was planning to punch someone. “Why wouldn’t he be? Dad’s dead. Mum’s dead. Every human he ever thought of as family is either dead or wants nothing to do with him. Whatever game I want to play with him, whatever purpose I have for him, I can go right ahead. The monster has him all to itself.”
Mae took a deep breath. “Don’t talk about yourself in the third person. It makes you sound like a serial killer. And Alan has me and Jamie too.”
Nick sheathed his sword and turned away from the window. Sunlight did nothing to soften his face at all. It just lit up the restless, dangerous glitter of his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, suddenly predatory and intent. “Alan seemed happy this morning. You two have a nice night, did you?”
Nicholas Ryves, ladies and gentlemen, Mae thought. The only person in the world who could make a matchmaking scheme sound like a death threat.
“Sure,” she said, her voice chilly.
He’d made it extremely clear he wasn’t interested, but this was just rubbing it in.
“How nice?” Nick demanded.
“None of your business!”
“Oh?” he said, and smirked. “That nice. No wonder he was in such a good mood.”
“There were—” Mae said, and stumbled on her words. She glared at a random corner of the room rather than keep looking at Nick. “A lot happened at the Goblin Market, you know. He had plenty of things to think about.”
“Did he kiss you?”
Her gaze snapped up from the corner to Nick’s face, an outraged reply burning on but not leaving her lips.
“Yes,” she answered slowly, instead of telling him exactly how inappropriate his question was. He had no reaction to the news that she could see. “It wasn’t that big a deal,” she went on, putting one verbal foot carefully in front of the other. “We’re not going out or anything. I mean, for God’s sake, he also seemed to have a good enough time kissing Liannan last night.”
That got a reaction.
Nick lunged across the room at her, and she jumped off the bed and stood with one hand raised, knowing that there was no way on earth she could stop his vicious rush.
He stopped himself, body straining as if he’d hit an invisible barrier. “What?” he bit out, with the force of a blow behind the word.
“Liannan,” Mae repeated, trying to make her voice so light it couldn’t disturb the fragile equilibrium Nick seemed to have reached.
