HisBreedmate.
Willow mentally shook herself. Her mind was stressed out. That had to be why she wasn’t thinking clearly now. Trauma was making her feel closer than she should to Razor. Grief and her new state of aloneness were making her yearn for some sense of connection—even to him.
That had to be it.
Because any other explanation was more than she could handle right now.
She wasn’tanythingto Razor—not even his friend. She had to remember that. If she’d been born human, he wouldn’t even be here with her now. As much as she wanted to convince herself she didn’t need his help, she had to admit she did feel safer when he was around.
She didn’t feel completely adrift and alone.
In her lengthening silence, he scoffed then blew out a frustrated breath. “Your mark makes you one of the rarest, most precious women on this earth, but you talk as if yours is as insignificant to you as a blemish.”
She didn’t need to justify her feelings; she knew that. But he sounded so incredulous and offended she felt she owed him some kind of explanation. Besides, they had hours of travel ahead of them by his estimation. She’d go mad if she had to spend the time with only her thoughts.
“I grew up wishing that’s all it was,” she admitted softly. “Laurel and I both did. We’d have given anything if we could’ve changed what we were. No one asked us if we wanted to be part of that other world—the Breed world. We were born into it, and then that same world ripped our parents from us when were barely old enough to crawl.”
He was quiet beside her for a moment. “What happened?”
Willow closed her eyes in the darkness, but it didn’t keep the old memories from flooding her mind. The cold, late December night. Christmas lights twinkling on the big tree in the family’s Darkhaven living room. Willow and Laurel playing on carpeted floor with some of their new toys as their parents sat nearby.
“Twenty-two years ago, my parents were killed by Rogues that broke into our home.”
“Twenty-two years,” Razor repeated grimly. “You’re talking about the night of Dragos’s global attack. The Rogues he turned loose around the world.”
“Yes. Laurel and I were too young to understand what was happening. All we knew was the terror. The screams outside . . . the sirens . . . the gunfire. I can still hear it ringing in my ears. What’s even worse is the sounds of my parents struggling, fighting for their lives—for our lives.” Willow shook her head, trying to push the terror down even now. “My father rushed Laurel, me, and our mother into a closet upstairs. They told us to be quiet, no matter what. We tried not to cry, but we were just babies—barely two years old.”
Razor made a low sound as he exhaled, an acknowledgment of what Willow struggled to say. “The Rogues found you.”
“They found us,” she whispered. “One of them came upstairs. He tore the closet door off its hinges and grabbed for our mother. She fought him. She fought with everything she had, but it wasn’t enough. The Rogue slaughtered her.”
Razor’s voice was deep with sincerity. “I’m sorry, Willow.”
“Me too.” She took a breath and rallied herself to keep going. “My father was Atlantean.”
“Of course,” Razor said. “That explains how you and your sister were born Breedmates.”
“Right. He was stronger than our mother, who was human. We later learned that he had killed three Rogues singlehandedly that night before coming upstairs to try to save us. He was bleeding everywhere and badly injured. We had no idea how severely until it was all over. He killed the last Rogue and ran with Laurel and me in his arms to find shelter. He must’ve run with us for miles before he stopped. A small church outside the city took us in.”
Willow had been young, but the memories were seared into her consciousness as clearly as if it had only happened yesterday. She shuddered with the weight of those awful recollections.
“After he made sure my sister and I were safe, he went back for our mother.”
Razor grunted. “He couldn’t leave her there. I would’ve done the same.”
“More Rogues had come by the time he got there. He was found the next day, bled out and holding my mother’s savaged body in his arms. One of his Atlantean gifts was the ability to heal others, but he was too weakened from his own injuries and my mother was too far gone to be saved even if he’d had the strength.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Razor’s response hung in the quiet of the container. For the longest time, he said nothing more. Then, he let out a slow exhalation.
“That’s why you wanted me to take you to Laurel’s body. You were born with your father’s gift. You hoped you could bring your sister back.”
Willow held back the knot of emotion gathering in her throat. She was thankful for the darkness of their surroundings now, glad that Razor couldn’t see the pain written on her face. “I knew it was pointless even to try. I can’t reverse death. I just didn’t want to believe she was really gone. My sister was all the family I had left.” Her voice caught on the words, but she fought it and kept going. “I’ve been alone most of my life, but I always knew Laurel was out there. Even though we had been apart for years, we kept in contact when we could. No matter how much distance separated us, I could still feel her and know my twin was still connected to me.”
“What happened to you and your sister after the Rogue attack?”
“The church my father brought us to that night found a place for us at an orphanage in Quebec City. It was an orphanage exclusively for girls like us.”
