“Maybe—maybe you two will work it out,” she said with a chipper air. “Be a family.”
Unlikely.
He started to move again, but Autumn’s hand stopped him. Shechecked behind herself, then stepped close enough to whisper, “We need to talk about Anna.”
He blinked.
“I don’t know how no one has figured out her secret, but your mother should be told.”
His stomach whooshed with a sudden bolt of panic. She’d heard their thoughts, hadn’t she? When she’d snuck up on them in the library.
“No,” he said.
“Your bloodline is the only one to have that magic in centuries. Where did she get it?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Your mother can help her?—”
David wrenched his arm from her grasp. “She doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Autumn’s smile tensed. “This secret is dangerous. We could help her.”
“Until she asks for help,wewill do nothing. She is an adult and can make her own choices.”
“But—”
“No, Autumn. No. Do you understand?”
A beat passed before she nodded, and he left her there in the hallway, eager to be alone where he could think without interference.
Later that evening, David sat with a deceptively relaxed air in their smallest sitting room, facing down a silent Sean Archer on the couch opposite while he sipped the minty lemon concoction always fully stocked in the cookery, this time chilled over ice. The women chatted in the dining area, but neither he nor Sean had spoken a single word in several minutes.
Was it proximity that lessened the intensity of his hatred? Sean’s presence didn’t make him want to destroy things like it used to.
“You meet your mom?” Sean asked after a time.
David said nothing.
A smile lurked in Sean’s obnoxious blue eyes. “You do that thing you do? Find the exact right words to tear her to pieces?”
“I reserve that for people I truly hate.”
The grin broke across Sean’s face. “Training again tomorrow.”
“I’m aware.” Where exactly was he going with this?
“You think they’ll ever let us fight each other?” Sean asked, head cocked, messy black hair falling into his eyes. He had one arm thrown across the back of the sofa and an ankle resting against the opposite knee. He looked exactly like Lhynion.
“Why?” David replied. “Planning to kill me?”
Sean laughed. “You’re the one more likely to commit murder.”
“Am I? Lhynion was a trained warrior, Sean. Did you forget about that?”
The humor in his eyes died. “I’m not Lhynion.”
“And I’m not Galadaine.” David rather felt everyone needed reminding of this fact too frequently. He looked like the man, yes, but the similarities ended there.
