Holy fuck.
I swallow and focus on trying to explain. “She thought she was being chosen,” I expand. “Thought it was an honor. A fucking privilege. She was just going to walk into the viper’s fucking den willingly. She has no idea what they were planning to do to her.”
That part makes my jaw tighten.
Because she really didn’t know. Still doesn’t know. She thought Damien Snow was a potential fairy-tale fucking husband. Thought it was exciting to get to fly to New York and spend time at his penthouse. Thought it was just the beginning of this new, glamorous life she’s been preparing for since she was a kid.
“Fuck me,” Cal sighs. “You met her at the preview, didn’t you?”
“What preview?” Rook asks, his head swiveling back and forth between the two of us.
But neither one of us wants to admit to him the big risk we took by following Holland to that masquerade party—the same event that Holland planned on bringing Kylie to.
Cal’s jaw ticks as he stares at me. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
He’s pissed. And I don’t blame him. I’ve kept him completely in the dark on purpose like a total fucking asshole.
“She didn’t know the truth, Cal!” I snap. “She thinks it’s some kind of fucking fairy tale! Her goddamn mother was helping her shop for clothes! I couldn’t not step in. I couldn’t not save her. I had to. I fucking had to.”
I don’t mention Mark. Or Evan. Or the fact that I left their lifeless bodies in front of the Windsor mansion. I also make a concerted effort not to think about it, so Rook can’t use his telepathy voodoo on my brain. It’s an unfair omission, but fuck, my brothers aren’t ready to hear the rest of this story. They’re not ready to learn that I’ve probably—definitely—put us in an all-out war with the elites.
“Fuck, Kane,” Rook mutters. “Fucking fuck.”
“She thinks she knows,” I continue. “But she has no clue. I couldn’t let her go there. I had to stop it.” Because if I hadn’t, the odds of her coming back were zero.
“You’re locked in,” Rook whispers.
Cal’s head snaps toward him.
“This isn’t just any woman, Cal,” Rook says. “This isher.”
The word lands heavier than it should.
Her.
Fated mate.
Mine.
“Oh fuck,” Cal breathes. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Kane. Do not tell me this is what I think it is. Please, do not fucking tell me.”
Sorry, brother, but it is. It most certainly is.
I adjust a still-bucking Blair on my shoulder. And I know it’s high time I stop tiptoeing around the truth. Clearly, my brothers know.
“Cal, you remember when you asked Rook if it was immediate with Kylie?” I toss out, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. Between the pulsing bond that threads me to Blair and the reality of what I’ve done, I’m a bundle of nerves. “Well, I can confirm that it is, in fact, immediate.”
Rook looks up toward the ceiling, running a hand through his dark hair.
Cal stares at me with his jaw gaped open.
Both of their minds are probably racing with the reality—I’m still twenty-seven years old. The change,this bond, isn’t supposed to be possible until I turn twenty-eight. And sometimes, even then, it can take male vampires until they’re thirty to find their fated mate.
As far as we all know, this istoo early. This shouldn’t even be possible. And yet my body recognized her like it had been waiting for her for centuries.
Silence crashes down around us.
Blair is still fighting me. She’s still terrified and thinking I ruined her life. And she most certainly has no clue that I just declared open war to keep her breathing.
