Lucien’s words make terrible sense. My parents never denied me information about Supernaturals or Ruby Springs, never pretended the magical world didn’t exist. They kept me far from this place, giving me just enough knowledge to make me aware without being ignorant, like they were preparing me for a world I could observe but never truly participate in.
“If it happened that early,” Ezra says quietly, “it wasn’t impulsive. This wasn’t someone acting in anger or fear. It was strategic, calculated. Someone planned this.”
“Strategic,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.
“To remove you from something,” he continues. His voice takes on a distant, thoughtful quality, like he’s already working through possibilities in his head. “Or someone.”
My fingers curl slightly against the polished wood of the table, nails digging into the surface as I try to hold myself together beneath the weight of what he’s suggesting.
“To remove me from what?” I ask, though part of me already knows the answer, has known it since Sir first explained what an Anchor truly means to a place like Ruby Springs.
“The Anchor position,” Lucien answers softly, and there’s something in his voice, recognition, perhaps, or the satisfaction of puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. “Ah, this makes sense now. The timing, the precision of the binding, the way you were taken from Ruby Springs as an infant.”
“What makes sense?” I ask, but my question is interrupted by the sudden, sharp sound of a car door slamming outside, loud enough to make us all freeze.
All three men move in the same second, flanking me as we rise from the table in unison. There’s something almost choreographed about it, like we’ve done this dance before, like they know instinctively how to position themselves to offer protection without making me feel diminished, which I appreciate more than I can express.
“Are we expecting anyone else?” I ask, keeping my tone light despite the way my heart has started hammering against my ribs. I mean, I’m not opposed to more unexpected guests. This evening has certainly been full of surprises. I’m just not sure who else might show up at Thorne Manor this late in the evening.
“No,” Maceo says, his voice low and rumbly in a way that makes me think of growls and territorial warnings.
We move through the foyer like a small army, my personal squad of Supernaturals at my back. A smile tugs at my lips despite the tension. The surreal nature of my new reality, that I have three devastatingly attractive men willing to face unknown threats alongside me hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Sir pads ahead of us, his tail lifted high in offense, as though this interruption personally affronts his dignity and disrupts the proper order of his evening routine.
The manor does not open the door for me this time. The heavy wood remains firmly shut, locks clicking into place with an audible snick that somehow manages to sound disapproving. The house’s refusal to welcome whoever stands outside speaks volumes, this gesture alone should let me know that the manor doesn’t approve of our unexpected visitor.
When I pull the door open manually, fighting against hinges that seem reluctant to cooperate, the evening air brushes cool against my skin, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmineand something else. Something sharp and bitter that makes my nose wrinkle. I cross my arms over my chest to ward off the chill and immediately lock eyes with a woman who looks startlingly, unsettlingly familiar.
She stands beside a sleek dark sedan parked along the curb with mathematical precision, pacing in short, controlled movements like a caged predator, as though the very street itself has somehow inconvenienced her by existing. The porch light catches the sharp, expensive lines of her tailored charcoal suit, the glint of her thin-framed glasses, and the disciplined sweep of her salt-and-pepper hair pinned into an elegant updo. She oozes authority and composure from every pore, the kind of woman who’s used to being the smartest person in the room and never lets anyone forget it.
When she turns toward me, I see my mother in the strong line of her jaw, the aristocratic slope of her nose, the way she holds her shoulders like she’s balancing an invisible crown. The resemblance is uncanny enough to make my breath catch. The Thorne genes are indeed strong in our family, too strong, perhaps. I see myself in her as well, in the stubborn set of her mouth and the way her dark eyes seem to catalog and dismiss in the same glance.
Lucien’s voice comes quietly from just behind my shoulder, close enough that his breath stirs the hair at my nape. “Lenora.”
The name drops like a stone into still water, sending ripples through my consciousness. I swallow hard before I answer, my throat suddenly dry despite the chocolate cake I’d been enjoying moments before.
“That’s my aunt,” I manage, though I expect more words to follow, some expression of surprise or familial warmth. Instead, I find myself with absolutely nothing else to say. There’s no sudden urge to run into her arms for a reunion hug, no innate connection awakening at the sight of family. By the way she’sstaring me down, measuring and evaluating like I’m a problem to be solved, the feeling appears to be entirely mutual.
Lenora takes a deliberate step forward, her expensive heel striking the pavement with crisp precision that echoes in the quiet evening air. Then she stops abruptly, her body jerking to a halt as though she’s walked into an invisible wall. She looks down at something in front of her, something I can’t see, then purses her lips in a way that transforms her elegant features into something cold and frustrated. She tries to take another step, pushing forward with visible effort, only to stop again with the same jarring suddenness.
Her body remains frozen just short of the walkway leading up to the manor, as though she’s reached an invisible threshold she cannot cross, cannot even approach. She glances briefly toward the house looming behind me, and something unsettled moves across her carefully composed features before she smooths the expression away with practiced ease.
“She cannot come further,”Sir says calmly, his mental voice carrying a note of satisfaction that feels distinctly smug.“The manor will not permit her presence on the property.”
“But she’s family,” I reply through our mental link, confusion and a strange sense of protective loyalty warring in my chest.
“Yes, but she is not welcome here. The house does not deem her worthy of entry. There are . . .complications with her connection to this place.”Sir’s tail flicks with irritation.
Understanding dawns slowly, bringing with it a chill that has nothing to do with the evening air. The manor is actively rejecting her presence, preventing a blood relative of the Thorne line from setting foot on family property. That level of supernatural protection doesn’t happen by accident.
I step off the porch and onto the walkway, and the guys move with me, forming a quiet line at my back, Maceo’s solid warmth, Ezra’s careful attention, and Lucien’s ancient patience formingsomething dangerously close to comfort. Together, we create a united front that feels more natural than it should, given that I’ve known these men for less than a day.
“Keisha,” Lenora calls, her voice even and controlled, modulated with the practiced charm of someone accustomed to getting her way through diplomacy rather than force. “It is so wonderful to finally meet you in person. It truly is a shame your mother never brought you back to Ruby Springs for visits over the years.”
There’s something in the way she says it, not quite an accusation, but not entirely innocent either. Like she’s testing the waters, seeing how much I know about the family dynamics that kept me away from this place.
“You’re out rather late for a social call,” I reply, keeping my tone carefully neutral despite the way every instinct I possess is screaming warnings.
“I heard through the grapevine that you had arrived safely,” she says, folding her hands neatly in front of her in a gesture that manages to be both elegant and dismissive. “I thought I should stop by to welcome you properly to Ruby Springs. It seemed only right.”
