Glancing to the bay kitchen window, I check the sun. It’s still dark. I have to be up for rounds, not because I want to; she should still be asleep. “Trouble sleeping?”
Maeve shrugs, curling into the kitchen chair. Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen isn’t designed after medieval castles. With sleek stainless-steel appliances, cream cabinets and thick white granite counters, it’s a chef’s wet dream come to reality.
My favorite part is the large picturesque window by the table, with a built-in window seat. Right outside are three large hydrangea bushes—violet-blue flowers bloom in the spring and last all summer until late fall. The flowers are dead, but I swear I can smell their heavy perfume.
It’s the one spot where my mother's roses were never planted.
Placing the kettle on the gas stove, I wait until the flame flickers to life before turning toward my sister. She’s so small, sitting in the darkness, holding the mug to her chest as if it will save her. An old book sits by her elbow, the cover worn and unreadable.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, still looking away.
I pull on my sleeves. “Better. Not great. But better.”
It’s been days since Bruno’s attack. Thankfully, my rounds were done and I only had a few classes to attend, with Hayes as my trusty shadow. The panic I thought I would feel, never returned. It was silenced with Hayes’ presence.
Today, I had to return for clinicals and I’m on guard. Though I know Hayes will be with me, Roman doesn’t give up so easily.
The kettle whistles and I make my tea, sliding into the seat beside her.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I saw my older sister kill a man days ago in cold blood. The sister I could never get a read on—who actively tried to be anywhere but with me—killed a man and is sitting here, drinking coffee as if it’s nothing.
No guilt. No pause. Just the fortitude of her mind and the steel of her back.
Kinship blooms in my chest. I knew she was Pops’ heir, but I never knew we could understand each other on this level. Never knew she was capable of such things.
That I wasn’t alone.
“Where did you go when you left?” I ask timidly, sinking into my oversized pajamas. At her raised eyebrow, my hand waves into the air. “When I came home. You and Killian ran out.”
Rolling her lips, Maeve sets the mug on to the table. “I got even.”
“How?”
Her green eyes—flecked with gold like our father’s, roll skyward. “This isn’t something I should be discussing with you.”
“Maybe, but I’m not Sloane,” I defend. “Pops kept her out of the family, but he dragged me into it, kicking and screaming. He wanted me to be the clan doctor.”
Those eyes narrow. “I know,” she says coldly. “But that doesn’t mean I want that.”
“I’m going to medical school for this.”
“You’re going to medical school because youwantedto be a doctor,” Maeve argues. “Since you were a little kid. You wanted tohelppeople. That’s why you’re going. Not because Pops wanted it.”
She grabs the mug, coffee sloshing over the edge. “And just because he wanted it, doesn’t make it right.”
Sighing, I rub my forehead tiredly. “I don’t want to argue. But it’s my life you’re messing with. And there aren’t many secrets left between us.” She freezes, remembering I watched her slice a throat and left the blood to pool under her boots. “I should know how I was avenged, if at all.”
She scoffs. “You doubt I wouldn’t defend you to Bruno?”
I clasp my hands. “Maybe. You have to show face. I’m part of the clan. An attack against me strips you of your power.”
“Going after you,” she says, licking her lips, “is an attack on my blood. Forget my power. Bruno doesn’t get to hurt someone I care about.”
My eyes water, but I don’t cry. That’s as close as she’ll ever get to telling me she loves me. Sighing, I gesture to the air. “Then what did you do? I can handle it.”
“Just like I could handle you telling me about what Pops did to you?”
Now, it’s my turn to freeze. My lungs stop functioning, air trapped in my throat. Did it suddenly get hot in here? Sweat dots my brows. Why can’t I breathe?
