“You called?” Hex asks as he strolls into the room from the kitchen, giving a short bow.
28
ENZO
Hex comes moseying out of the kitchen, half a bite of sandwich in his mouth, as calm as you please. He reads the surrounding room, then catches the knife sticking out of the wall closest to him. The smile that comes over him tells me the fucker is enjoying this a little too much. Where I would expect concern or maybe even fear, the fucker is smiling, amused.
“Was that you, darlin’?” he asks, tipping his chin at Althea, who is still nestled up against me. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but Nazario is within his rights to punish or even kill Althea for her actions. Hell, he could order me to do it.
But you wouldn’t.
No. I wouldn’t.
“The tension in here is, whoo …” Hex breathes deep, his eyes tracking around the room. “It’s a bit stifling. Would you all mind bringing it down a notch? You’re making some of the occupants … well, a little nervous.” Hex looks at each of us, but not directly. It’s almost like he’s looking past us. Until he gets to me.
When he gets to me, his head tilts and his face contorts into one of curiosity and then whatever he finds must be what he’s looking for, because he gives a small nod and a soft smile.
“You and I gotta have a talk, brother. But we can’t do it here. I’m going to need a bit more …spacefor this conversation to happen in.” Hex doesn’t appear to be asking. His eyes have a strange look about them. A weird glow. I’m almost certain is one of his parlor tricks, but there’s a strange pulling sensation in my gut that makes me feel like I can’t deny him.
A second later, Daemon walks through the same door, pushing past Hex, his hands firmly placed in his pockets and his eyes cautiously scanning the room. I feel more than hear Althea’s gasp when she sees him. She begins pushing off my chest, trying to free herself from the safety of my hold. I’m hesitant to release her for fear of what the others in the room may do after she’s threatened essentially everyone by throwing the knife at Naz.
You’ll protect her.
I will. But at what cost?
“Nias?” Althea says, shoving out of my hold. Her body slams into Daemon, her arms wrapping around his waist. He looks stunned and unsure. But the vision of her body wrapped around another man’s is doing nothing to help keep me calm. It doesn’t matter if he’s her brother.
“God, I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry.” Her voice is a shaky, breathy whisper of sound. It’s similar to the way I found her in the tub yesterday. The vulnerability of it stirring every protective fiber in my body.
Daemon looks at Althea quizzically, then back at everyone else. His brow is furrowed. His eyes sharp, calculating. When they land back on Althea, something familiar flashes in his eyes, but he seems uncertain of the situation. Or maybe it’s Althea he’s uncertain of.
Or maybe it’s the deadly glare you’re giving him because your woman is touching him.
When she realizes he’s not hugging her back, Althea takes a small, tentative step back, reaching her hand out to touch his face, but Daemon pulls back. He grips her wrist, holding her at bay, then looks at me with concern—probably for his life.
Smart man.
“Who is this?” Daemon asks, addressing the room rather than Althea. I can’t see her face, but I hear the hurt in her gasp as I watch her hand drop, and her shoulders sag a bit.
“You don’t recognize me?” Her voice is soft.
“Should I?” Daemon tilts his head, his eyes scanning over my little devil from head to toe. He’s not doing it in a way other men would do, which is good for him or else I might act on the urge to gouge his eyes out. No, the way he’s taking her in is similar to that of someone trying to piece together a puzzle.
“I’m Althea. You’re my …” Her breath hitches, a soft, stuttering sob. She clears her throat and tries again. “We’re twins. You, uh, went missing when we were really young.”
Daemon stares at Althea. I don’t know if he recognizes her or the people in this house. I have no idea what traumas he remembers going through as a child. What scars or damage Gianni Levanesse may have left behind. But there’s a small glimpse of recognition in Daemon’s eyes that he quickly denies.
“Yeah, they told me the story, but I don’t know what they’re talking about. My name is Daemon. I grew up here, in the Academy. My parents abandoned me when I was a kid, and the people at the Academy raised me.”
Althea takes a step back. Her hands ball up into fists at her side. Flexing and releasing. Does she see the same thing I do? The recognition and denial?
“You’re safe here, son.” Nonno tries to coerce Daemon into speaking freely, but Daemon doesn’t change course.
What the hell is he hiding?
“I don’t feel threatened,” Daemon quips.
He should.
