“Very few people do. I’m supposed to be a Veirmont. The prodigy son. They’ve always needed everyone to believe in the strength of the bloodline.”
“So your real parents...?”
“Never knew them.” He lifts a shoulder. “My dad was just, some guy, apparently. Knocked up my mum and vanished. And she died giving birth to me.”
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”
My fingers trace along the lines of his back, skimming over the edge of his tattoo. He shivers slightly beneath my touch.
“It’s okay,” he says after a beat. “I was placed into the Veirmonts’ care when I was barely a month old. Never known anything else.” A pause. “Only thing I have of hers is the talisman. It was hers, my birth mum’s.”
All this time I've hated him for his name, for what it represents, and he's not even one of them....
“And the tattoo... is that a Veirmont thing?” I ask, fingertips brushing along the edge of it.
He laughs, low and rough. “No. I got it after I made a deal with someone. It’s a reminder.”
“A deal?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions tonight… when we could be doing something else.” He shifts, moving over me again, body warm and heavy, eyes already darkening. Just the weight of him alone makes heat flare in my belly.
“Okay, okay,” I breathe, laughter slipping out as I arch into him. “But one last question. Promise.” His head drops against my shoulder with a dramatic sigh. I soften my eyes, then slide my hand between us—wrapping around him. He’s already hard. Already ready. “I promise to behave after,” I murmur.
He groans, twitching in my grip. “Okay, one more,” he mutters, playful frustration laced through his voice. “Make it quick.”
“When I was pushing you—when you tried to stop me—you said you had more control over this than I understood. That I wasn’t ready for how good you are at it... But if this Thread transfer thing has only happened once before, how could you know?”
He lets out a long exhale, “Fuck,” he mutters. “That’s not a quick one.”
“I need to know,” I say, soft but firm.
Another breath. Then he rolls off me with a groan and flops on to his back, one arm over his face like I’ve just ruined all his plans.
“Okay,” he sighs. “I know you’re still waiting for answers. Some I can’t give you, and some I probably shouldn’t. But this one? It’s mine to tell. So I will.”
I shift on to my side, arm bent under my head, watching him.
“Look, this connection, this bond thing between us, it's new. Being able to share what I’m feeling with you, that's new. I'm still figuring it out, but I did have a bit of a head start.” A pause, “My Threads… they’ve, well, they’ve always allowed me to sense the vibrations people give off—emotional ones.”
“So... you can tell what someone’s feeling?” I ask, prodding gently, not letting him slip into vague.
“Yes and no,” he replies. “It’s not specific. I can’t read minds, but I pick up general things—fear, joy, pain. Like I couldn't pick up on what Beth was planning,” he grits his teeth, “no matter how much I fucking wish I could have.”
I stare at him. “That’s…” impressive, scary, creepy, “...that's a lot”
“It is, I know...” He gives a tired laugh, runs a hand over his face. “But that’s not all… I can also… influence them.”
“Influence how?” My voice goes flatter. More cautious.
“I can’t increase or invent emotions,” he adds quickly. “I can’t plant things. But I can… adjust the balance. So if someone’s feeling a dozen different things all at once, I can quiet some of the noise. Turn the volume down on one, so another one can come through.”
“So you can manipulate people?”
“No, well, sort of. I can’t make someone angry or make them do something they don’t want to. But for example, I could calm their anger so that they are more likely to listen to me when I talk... which comes in handy a lot.”
No wonder he’s risen so high within the Citadel, with that type of power, influence, over people.
“Only two other people know,” he goes on, “and I don't use it that often; it drains me a lot. Plus, I'm sure it would become more obvious and people would get suspicious if I did it all the time.”
