Now that Anarchy has answered my questions about her curse and why she attacked Lucian, my focus is on him.
What happened to his mother has clearly driven his decisions, and I need to understand his motivations—especially as it seems that both of our mothers were destroyed by our father.
“Your mother was a gargoyle,” I say quietly. “Can you tell me about her?”
His smile vanishes and his expression immediately closes off, so I’m surprised when he gives me an answer. “Her name wasJalinda. She belonged to the clan Anarchy spoke about. They were all brutal gargoyles who, over time, earned a reputation for solving problems that eluded other methods of resolution.”
“You mean you could hire them to kill your enemies,” I say, drawing conclusions from Lucian’s guarded speech.
My brother inclines his head. “For the right price.”
I blow out an exhale. When I was negotiating with James Vanguard for a way in to the Nostra Empire, I used that same language. The right price. But as I discovered, sometimes the price is too high.
“Well, my mother was hired to take out our father,” Lucian says. “That was how they met.”
I’m surprised. “So your mother, like the other members of her clan, was an assassin for hire.”
“At that time, Jalinda wastheassassin-for-hire. She was the clan’s leader and the only one with an impeccable track record of kills.” He grimaces. “But unbeknownst to her, our father was already negotiating with one of her rivals in the clan. He knew the attack was coming, captured Jalinda, and gave her a choice: death or a life with him. Either way, her rival took control of the clan and our father forged an alliance with them so they’d never come after him again.”
Damn. “Her clan betrayed her,” I whisper.
Lucian falls silent. He’s told me more than I thought he would, and I give him a moment, not wanting to push it, but it seems he isn’t done talking when he continues.
“You might be surprised to learn that Dad treated Jalinda like a queen,” he says. “He showered her with gifts. Gave her everything she asked for. Never raised his voice to her or belittled her. Not that I saw, anyway. But he had two rules. The first rule: He had the right to disciplinemehowever he saw fit.”
I flinch at how coldly Lucian speaks about discipline, but he continues before I can say anything.
“And Jalinda was never to pick up a weapon again.” Lucian’s eyes meet mine. “I can’t forget the way she would fixate on dinner knives… or on the guns that the human mafia would bring to meetings… or the katana that James Vanguard carries on his back. It was like she was searching for pieces of herself.”
“You can’t take a warrior and turn her into an ornament,” I murmur.
Lucian nods. “Over time, Dad grew complacent about Jalinda’s safety. When I was seventeen years old, which was only four years ago, she went to a restaurant for dinner and her body came back riddled with bullets.”
Lucian’s expression is scarily blank. “A rival family—an emerging one—arranged the hit. I expected Dad to rage after them. Seek retribution. Take them out. I expectedwarand I was fucking ready for it!”
He sucks in a sharp breath and suddenly, his gaze is piercing. Angry. “Instead, Dad had Jalinda cremated without a funeral and that was that. When I dared to question him, he told me that his rivals killed her to draw him out. They wanted to make him so emotional that he’d make mistakes. He said he would not be so weak.”
Lucian turns on me now and I’m stunned by the way he seems to direct his anger at me, the way his golden eyes burn.
“I told you before that I knew nothing about you and hardly anything about your mother, Galeia. But today wasn’t the first time I heard her described as nearly immortal. James Vanguard said Galeia was like a sister to him. He called her a ferocious warrior, practically unkillable.”
Lucian’s jaw clenches. “Mymother was murdered. I watched her dead body be put into the flames. Butyourmother disappeared. There is no body.”
He barely takes another breath before he shoots a question at me. “Is Galeia really dead?”
I’m still trying to process everything he told me about his own mother, and I stumble over my response.
“Yes,” I manage to say. “She died in my arms.”
He shakes his head at me, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Are you sure?”
A cold anger rises within me. “Of course I’m fucking sure. She died.In my arms.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“I… What?”
I’m frozen.Why the fuck would he ask me that?
