I never admitted I would die for them. I would eat their food, play with their toys, and fuck their oldest son, but I wouldn’t die. If the Weaver Wailer collar couldn’t come off until my death, I planned to wear it until I died in my sleep at a very old age.
Kes and I walked in awkward silence, neither of us willing to go too deep. The Hall grew smaller behind us as we traversed the lawn, heading into the woods.
Silently, I offered him my packet of crisps. With a sideways glance, he took it.
A bird of prey swooped from a tree as we moved further into the forest.
Kes paused. “See that?” Slowly, so as not to spook the animal, he pointed to his bare forearm and the bird tattoo inked into his flesh. “See how similar they are?”
My heart beat faster. I peered into the foliage. The plumage of the bird glistened like fine auburn.
“That’s a kite—see him?”
Something twisted inside at the mention of Kite.
I narrowed my eyes. The raptor spread its wings, soaring away. Glancing at Kes’s tattoo, I said, “It didn’t match the bird on your arm.”
He nodded. “That’s because mine’s a kestrel. They’re from the same family, though.”
Everything went very still.
Was this it? The admission.
Nerves scattered over my spine as Kes looked at me with tension etching his jaw. “Same family, same genes, just a different name.”
I stopped breathing.
He stepped away, popping another crisp into his mouth.
Dammit.
Why didn’t he just come out and admit it? I didn’t want to have to prompt him, but I was done waiting for the truth.
Wiping my crumb-riddled fingers on my shorts, I asked, “Same family just a different name. Tell me, Kes, do you have another name, or was that a riddle I’m supposed to never figure out?”
He stopped, sucking in a breath. “If you’re asking if I have another name, I do.”
My knees wobbled, waiting.
Go on...
I waited. And waited. Tension thickened.Come on. Admit it. Admit that you’re Kite.
Admit that, until recently, you were the man I spoke to every night. The man I relied on for my sanity, even while you were cruel and unpredictable.
My heart bucked in sadness.
I’d been kidding myself. I would miss Kes. I would miss our affinity and dirty conversations. I would miss the strength he gave me and the sexual power that came from talking like a masturbating minx.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to give him up.
He was the missing link—the brother so different from Jethro. Maybe I could have them both—have a balance of nasty and sweet.
My eagerness to uncover the truth waned.
Taking a step back, I whispered half-heartedly, “What is it? Your other name?”
Kes shook his head. “I don’t want to tell. It sucks.”
