“Play by preying on those weaker than himself,” Thing adds grimly.
Hannah slides the finished egg dishes onto plates, one for each of us. “So what finally stopped him?”
“Layden,” Thing says quietly. “Our brother suffered more than any of us. The hunger... it lived inside him too.”
“And sweet Layden didn’t appreciate Father murdering his own consort,” Remus adds with that sharp grin, eyes flicking toward me meaningfully.
My fur bristles. The implication in his look makes my chest tight with something that might be shame or fear.
“The food is ready,” I say quickly. “We should eat.”
But Remus isn’t finished. “Our Father killed his consort,” he repeats, and I see Hannah’s eyes widen with shock.
My first instinct is to say it was an accident, but the words die in my throat. Father didn’t accidentally throw her down those stairs. He was violent and careless, and she died. Those are the facts.
“Layden lost control,” I say quietly. “He attacked our father. It shocked all of us—none of us had ever...”
“He’d made us such faithful dogs,” Remus continues with bitter pleasure. “We obeyed without question. But when Father struck Layden down after torturing him as an example to us...” His teeth flash. “It had the opposite effect.”
Hannah’s hand goes to her heart, her food forgotten.
“We thought slicing off Layden’s wings and pouring burning hell-metal over his back would be enough punishment,” Remus says. “But Father wasn’t satisfied. He drove a hell-metal sword through our brother’s heart while we watched.”
“What happened then?” Hannah whispers.
“Abaddon moved faster than I’ve ever seen,” Remus says with something like pride. “He yanked the sword away and drove it through Father’s heart before the bastard could react. Father looked so shocked that his most loyal son would finally bite back.”
“He was the one who needed to be put down,” I say simply.
It had been instinct in that moment—seeing Layden’s light snuffed out, seeing the monster our father truly was. If I have regrets, it’s only that I didn’t act sooner.
“Storytime’s over,” I declare, noticing Hannah hasn’t touched her food. “You need to eat.”
“I don’t know if I still have an appetite.”
I frown disapprovingly. “Think of our child. I won’t share stories like this again if you won’t take care of yourself.”
At that, she quickly grabs her plate and utensils, tucking into the food right there at the counter. The kitchen will have to do for now—especially since Romulus destroyed our dining table during his scrying accident.
For my part, I won’t be leaving her side again. Not when there’s so much at stake, and not when she finally looks at me like I might be worth saving.
FORTY-SEVEN
ABADDON
This past weekhas been a revelation. Hannah and I have found our rhythm: in the kitchen where she teaches me about seasoning and patience, in our bed where she shows me what tenderness feels like, and in the quiet moments between where I discover what it means to simply exist beside someone who chooses to stay.
Right now, I’m watching my brothers attempt to construct a dining table, and I’m torn between helping them and pulling Hannah back upstairs. The way she’s leaning against me, warm and content, makes every protective instinct I have purr with satisfaction.
“Get your hands out of my face!” Remus snarls at Thing, who’s trying to help hold multiple boards while Remus handles the more delicate work.
“Which hands?” Thing asks with genuine confusion.
“All of them! If you don’t move, I’ll remove them for you!”
I glance down at Hannah, giving her the look that’s developed between us—the one that sayslet’s abandon thischaos and find somewhere private. But she just smiles and rolls her eyes before turning back to watch my brothers’ struggle.
They’ve been at this for days. The first day was entirely consumed by arguments between Romulus and Remus about construction techniques, with Thing standing patiently by, arms full of tools and lumber. At least Romulus and I eventually agreed on how to plane the raw wood into proper boards.
