He’d have no reason to. Money—he had plenty. Power—more than enough. What else would be worth selling your soul to the devil, or worth watching the entire world burn for? An idiot, yes. But he was no monster.
David nodded, as if agreeing with the emotions I now radiated.
“Faelad and Lochlainn have had a strained dynamic for years. Something to do with the death of Lochlainn’s parents, ages ago, before you were born.” He paused, the memory replaying in his mind. “But when Faelad talks about him, I don’t sense suspicion. Not really.” His shouldersslumped. “It feels more like hurt when it comes to his nephew.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. A part of me felt deeply sad for them both—for the bond they were cheated out of. Something I understood all too well.
I looked down, thoughts pressing heavier with every second.
“Out with it,” David urged gently. He looked calm, but the creases in his eyes gave him away. “I can feel your emotions brewing.”
“I just—I feel sorry for them,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek. “They’re family.” I shrugged. “It probably would have been easier if they outright hated each other. Instead, they’re both wounded, carrying around whatever painful scars they acquired from each other.”
David’s brows drew together, puzzled.
“Hate and suspicion, those are easy.” I met his eyes. “But hurt? That’s messy. It always comes with blurred lines, complicated answers, and injuries that don’t always heal right.”
A flicker of my inkling stirred, just enough to give me a phantom ache behind my ribs. Or maybe it was the hangover tiptoeing in.
I dragged a hand over my face, trying to wipe the weight of the night away, too distracted to notice Wyatt and David having a silent conversation.
Wyatt stood in the kitchen doorframe, a shoulder leaned against the wood. His steely gaze was locked on David. Behind it, a flash of serious reprimand.
David’s face contorted, eyes quickly snapping back to me. A disheartened frown shadowed above his jaw.
“Ma Cherie,” he said softly. “It’s time to get you to bed.” The warm kiss he planted on my forehead lingered for a heartbeat longer.
I was too tired to fight back. To coax out whatever else troubled his thoughts.
So my legs stood, feeling like lead. A pathetic groan escaped me.
“Get some beauty sleep.” Wyatt flashed me a foreboding grin. “You’re gonna need it. Wyatt bootcamp starts in the morning . . .early.”
Ugh.
35
CARWYNN
“Wakey, wakey! Eggs and bakey!”Wyatt’s shout had my eardrums thrumming like someone jabbing a butter knife into my skull.
Groaning, I smacked my mouth open and shut. It was dry, so dry. Like scorched grass layered in the aftertaste of regret.
I’m never drinking again . . .
My head throbbed as if it’d been slammed into concrete repeatedly and hurt worse every time my brain replayed visions of the night before in vivid, mortifying detail.
Liplock potion, Rainbow Roulette, my confession, Finley’s tongue, Pogue’s stare.I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to smother myself with a pillow. Or throw up. Perhaps asphyxiate on vomit to get two birds with one stone.
I pushed the down feather blanket away and squinted toward the corner of the room. An athletic outfit was already laid across the blue, whimsical accent chair. A passive-aggressive reminder that it was Wyatt Bootcamp time.
Ugh.
Everything in this guest room was too damn bright—the floral wallpaper, the blindingly white comforter, the piercing rays of light shining through the transparent curtains.
“Cursed things are useless!” I grumbled under my breath, evil-eying the drapery like they’d swung first at me.
Why bother with curtains if they weren’t going to do theironejob? Stupid. The most unintelligent form of fabrics. They didn’t deserve to have ruffles. I hoped they attracted moths.
