Emory’s scowl did not believe him. “You’re not sick, you’re upset.”
Naturally, their parents chose that exact moment to approach, and Branson swallowed a groan. Tarius sighed, shoulders sagging. So much for figuring this out before his family got involved.
“What’s going on?” Dad asked, his keen gaze shifting between Branson and Emory. “Boys?”
“Apparently, someone needed to ruin my new year by siccing a process server on me,” Branson said. He waved his hand, and Tarius held out the papers. “About some bullshit in Sonora Province that makes no sense.”
“What?”
Papa took the papers and read through them, his expression going from confused to furious in the span of twenty seconds, and it was a little terrifying. Papa was alpha, and he had an alpha’s temper, but Branson rarely saw it. Only when Papa was truly scared, like after Emory’s kidnapping or Caden’s overdose.
“Ronin, what is it?” Dad asked, an odd quaver in his voice.
Papa’s hands trembled once, and he looked slightly ashen, which terrified Branson on a cellular level. “A seventeen-year-old omega is claiming Branson is his half-brother, and he wants Branson to take custody of him until he finds a mate.”
“What? A seventeen…” Dad went horribly pale, and Papa grabbed him by the waist. “Holy fuck, he didn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“Who wouldn’t what?” Branson asked. Dad’s reaction scared him more than anyone else’s. This wasn’t outraged shock; this was horror and grief. “Who is Jeuel Alder? What do you know, Dad? How could I possibly have another sibling? You’re here, and my sire died years before this person was born.”
“We need to go home,” Papa said. “This is not the place.”
“For what?” Branson took a half-step back, and his elbow hit Tarius in the belly. Tarius gently wrapped an arm around his waist and held him tight. Branson couldn’t look away from his omegin. “What do you know?”
“I d-d-don’t know anything,” Dad replied. “Not for sure.”
“But you suspect something about who this Jeuel is.”
“I can’t be right, though.”
“Okay,” Papa said with enough growl to make Branson flinch. “Emory and Eriq, please go back to the ball. Branson, you need to come home with us.”
Branson grunted. “Tarius is coming.”
“This is a family matter.”
Anger surged through him in a brand-new way, and Branson squeezed Tarius’s hand. “He’s family to me. I trust him.” For thefirst time in his life, Branson wasn’t sure he trusted his beloved parents. “We’ll meet you at your house.”
Papa didn’t look happy, but he nodded anyway. The next twenty-ish minutes were a blur for Branson, as they collected their coats, said goodnight to a few people, and eventually found themselves in Tarius’s car, on their way to the Cross house. Branson held the papers on his lap. They didn’t speak. He had no words and no idea what to expect when they arrived. None. There was no way he had another brother out there.
It did not. Make. Sense.
Fine tremors ran through Branson’s arms as they walked as a unit to the front door. Went inside. Dad and Papa were seated at the dining table with a bottle of bourbon and four glasses. Papa poured them each a drink but Branson didn’t want his. He didn’t sit. He stood on the opposite side of the long table, insides flipping all over the place. Stomach on the verge of erupting.
“You suspect something,” Branson snapped. “You both do. What don’t I know? Because Dad only has three kids, and my sire died when I was an infant. I could believe having a half-brother older than me, given the stories about Krause Iverson, but not so much younger. It’s impossible.”
“Itisimpossible for Krause Iverson to have any children younger than you,” Papa said, his normally booming voice soft. Tentative. He looked like he wanted to be sick, and he exchanged a look with Dad that intensified Branson’s nausea. “But it’s not impossible for your biological sire to have kids younger than you.”
The oddest sensation raced through Branson. It was like being spun around in a circle, over and over, until he was too dizzy to stand, and then being jerked to a halt. The world twisted and tottered while his brain whirled. He didn’t understand what was going on. All he could do was blurt out, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that a lot of legal paperwork was signed when you were a baby. Paperwork meant to protect all of us, and there were NDAs in place. Gag orders.” Papa’s lawyer façade broke and he blanched. “If this got out, he must be dead.”
Branson’s face flushed as he nearly shouted, “Who?”
“Your actual sire,” Dad sobbed, tears tracking down both cheeks. “We didn’t know, not until the end of my trial, when you were found and given back to me. The DNA test we did to prove you were mine also told me that Krause wasn’t your other parent.”
Branson couldn’t breathe. He grabbed Tarius’s arm so he didn’t fall over—or worse, grab a chair and break it against the wall. Words stuck in his throat. Krause Iverson had been an abusive, disgusting rapist who beat Dad on a regular basis, and Branson had learned to cope with knowing those things. He’d accepted his parentage. Accepted that the monster who’d sired him was balanced out by the gentle soul who’d birthed him.
How much worse of a person could his actual sire be if Krause had been an acceptable lie?
