“Haven’t you guessed? I’ve the same bastard blood running through me as you and you.”
Maxen shot to his feet and took two steps back. “Impossible.”
“There it is. The look I’ve been waiting for. The one where you realize you can never win against me. Your brother. Your family.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Drake said darkly.
“You think you’re the only bastards that man sired? The late Duke of Crane planted his seed far and wide.”
“I hunted down all his offspring.”
“You missed one.”
Bloody hell,no. Maxen refused to believe it. Granted, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe there weren’t any more. But Maxen had found all the ones who’d been disregarded. All the ones struggling to claw their way out of misery.
“How old are you?” Drake asked.
“Why, the ripe old age of thirty.”
Maxen’s mind raced. They were thorough. They had men all over Britain keeping score on that filth’s affairs. Serpent had been the last sibling they’d tracked.
“You said you spared Miss Turner. What did you mean by that?” Drake asked.
“It means someone wanted her dead.”
Maxen’s hackles rose again. “I thought you said you weren’t working for anyone.”
“I’m not.” Peregrine spit more blood to the side. “I’m working with him. Or was. I draw the line at killing, too, you know. But our uncle has quite the bone to pick with you lot.”
Bloody everlasting hell.
Uncle.
“Let me guess, you’re the reason he’s returned,” Maxen growled. “We missed you and you went to him? Why the devil didn’t you come to us?”
“Because I didn’t know you existed!”
“Maxen,” Drake said, shaking his head. He turned to Peregrine. “How old were you when our uncle found you?”
“Seventeen.”
So thirteen years ago.
“He got to you before we could,” Drake said. “He must have erased all trace of you.”
What the devil was this? What was he supposed to do with this claim? Could he even believe a word from Peregrine’s mouth? How many times had they been deceived by him over the years? And all thiswhile knowing who they were. That they were blood. This could be another damn farce. A trap. “You expect me to believe a word from your tongue? You reek of lies.”
Peregrine chuckled. “Believe me, don’t believe me, it changes nothing. Blood tells, Fury. You cannot scrub it away, no matter how many thrones you build in England’s gutters.”
Drake stepped closer, torchlight casting long shadows across his brother’s scarred face. “If you share our blood, why side with him? Why the devil would you cling to our uncle? You must know what sort of man he is.”
“Why, to get your attention, of course.”
“Attention?” Maxen bristled. “Stabbing from the shadows?”
“You yourself know what man he is. Appearances must be kept.”
“And he ordered you to kill Calliope.”
