“But it’s not me.” I folded my legs in front of me. “It’s not real. It’s not who I am; it’s because ofwhateverI am...” My voice cut out, coming back soft and wobbly. “What am I, Ash?”
“I don’t know.” His tone was quiet, matching mine. “But I swore to you I’d help you figure it out, and I meant it. I’m not going anywhere until we do.” His sentiment caused my eyes to sting with tears. He cupped my hands in his. “And Brex...” He squeezed my fingers, lifting my focus back to the sincerity in his eyes. “It’s not because of what you are... it’sallbecause ofwhoyou are. You can’t be one without the other.”
A small smile pinched my lips, my chest lowering with Ash’s support and love. It would be so easy to fall for him. Not just gorgeous and intelligent, he was a good man.
Except I didn’t seem to like nice men.
I liked assholes.
Before Warwick could take any residence in my brain, I blocked all thoughts of him, turning back to the book. “Okay, let’s do this.” I breathed out, my hands still in Ash’s.
“Probably won’t let me go with you, so remember to ask precisely for what you want.” He lowered our arms to the cover, the tingle of magic rubbing against my palms like a cat. Blowing out tension, Ash placed our hands on the book.
The familiar burst of magic whipped through my body, twirling my mind into a vortex. Electricity pumped inside my veins, crackling at my skin.
“Brexley Kovacs,”the raspy inhuman voice greeted me.“The girl who defies nature... the one who should not have survived or even exist.”It had called me that from the beginning, but I never really questioned why.
“What do you mean?”
“Is that your question?”the book replied.
There were far too many other things that came first over his cryptic greeting. Various inquiries rolled around my head, but the most direct came off my tongue.
“Where is the nectar now?”
“Not all questions have a clear answer.”Before I could even reply, images flipped through my mind. Nausea thickened in the back of my throat.
Images flickered quickly through the scene in the tunnels with Killian and the pirate. Them running out with the box. I followed them for a while, everything on fast forward. They headed toward the river to a ship. My skin prickled as dark figures shifted in the shadows, moving toward them, expanding across my vision like fog.
Then it went dark, stepping into a black void almost like the pages were cut out or history just stopped.
“Wait?” I spun around. “What happened? Why did it stop?”
Instead of answering, I felt myself tumble, scenes flipping again, like pages being thumbed through in a picture book.
Now I stood in a small cottage-style house. There was a bed in the corner, a sofa and chair in front of the crackling fireplace, a table and two chairs by the tiny kitchen. Simple, clean, and cozy.
I had been here before. In my dream. This was the same house.
My gaze caught on a coat hanging from the coat rack by the door. Grief punched a hole through my lungs, a soft sob hiccupping in my throat, my eyes burning. The coat was my father’s. I’d know his officer’s coat anywhere. Long, gray with red trim, a patch on one elbow, the recognizable metals and insignias on the breast and arm. One I knew he got in a battle a year before his death.
Like a magnet, I ventured to it, the floor squeaking under my feet as my hand reached out slowly. A gasp hitched my throat when the wool material brushed my fingertips, the rough fabric of the military bands sewn onto his sleeve. How many times as a child had I traced them? Felt the scratchy material on my arms and legs when he picked me up?
Gritting my teeth, I leaned over, inhaling the familiar scent. Tears choked my throat as the comforting smell of my father, his cologne, pounded into me in brutal waves. Joy and sorrow so deep my legs dipped. The few things I did have of his, which were still back at HDF, had lost his smell years ago. Now I had nothing. I wanted to wrap myself in it, pretend for a moment he was alive, that we still had time together. Imagine it was his love surrounding me again. Hugging me and telling me it was all going to be okay.
A pop from the fire twisted me back to the room. Nothing really stood out about the place. There were no pictures or personal touches, but I sensed something homey about it. Made me feel protected and safe.
Why was I here? Why was my father? And why was the book showing me the same house from my dream?
An object on the small table caught my attention, pulling me closer. A journal lay open, and a picture was stuffed behind one of the pages. My heart thumped against my ribs as I pulled it out, seeing a beautiful, dark-haired woman laughing, her hand on her growing belly.
My hands shook as I plucked up the picture, another violent wave of emotion smashing down on me as I stared into the stunning face of my mother. The only picture I ever saw of her was a blurry, faraway one. People told me I looked like my father, but I could see I had her smile and onyx eyes.
Tears slid down my face as I took her in. Her hand lovingly rubbed her belly.
Me.
Little did she know, I would take away her smile, the love of her life, my father’s heart. The night I came into this world, I destroyed both parents, even if I only killed one.
