I knew it was hard for him. Father’s death, the breaking of a mate bond. I’d lost the parent bond. Together we might have mourned, but instead we both closed up, turned away. He left me with nannies and tutors. I graduated early. After that I had a car, some friends, and I was left to my own devices.
“You provided me everything,” I countered.
“No. I didn’t. Not the love and healing you needed.”
I blinked away a sudden sting, shaking my head.
“I should have been there. For you.”
“He kept me from you. And afterward, well, what were we left with?”
“Each other,” Dad answered. “He’s not entirely to blame. I could have inserted myself more. Insisted on it. I worked seven days a week, long days. That was my choice, not a necessity. And I regret it. I love you, Malin. You are a gift. You were only ten. You’re not to blame, either.”
I opened my mouth but the words were suddenly lost as I felt hot splashes of liquid on my cheeks.
Dad moved forward without warning. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” His arms went around me. For a moment, I floated, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. The first thing I became aware of was his scent. He smelled like his garden: grass, flowers, weeds. A memory flooded me. I’d been very young, not much older than Remington was now. Dad had come in from the garden to sit with me by the fire. He had a book. I remember his voice. I remember being on his lap as he read me a poem about a baby dragon learning to hold back his fire so he didn’t accidentally burn things up. Then Father came and took me. I yanked on Dad’s shirt but was pulled away. Dad did nothing. Just looked at me as I began to cry. I held my arm out to him but he turned away.
The memory faded. Now strong arms held me. I was twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight, an adult now. But Dad felt like he did when I was four and he was reading to me. Holding me.
I pressed my face into the top of his shoulder. My breaths came in fits of coughs and gasps.
He repeated himself over and over. “Malin. I’m so sorry. Sweetheart, you don’t know how sorry.”
Slowly, my own arms came around him. My dad. Daddy. So much time. So much emptiness.
When I finally calmed, I pulled back. Dad’s face was wet, too.
I sniffed and glanced about the room. “Where’s Cassius?”
“At lunch. With Kirion. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.” I swiped at my eyes. “Yeah.” But all I could think about was that I needed my mate near me. His presence grounded me. When I was around him, my emotions weren’t such a mess.
Dad put his arm around my shoulders, squeezed once and said, “Let’s go eat.”
In the dining room my heart soared to see Cassius and Kirion chatting happily.
Still a bit shaky, I sat next to Cassius. He glanced at me, eyebrows narrowed, then under the table he touched my thigh and grasped my hand, reaching for me as if to hold me in place. Our mate bond breezed to life like fresh air to starved lungs.
Dad sat across from me next to Kirion and Remington. I saw Kirion look at him. Between them there was a silent communication. Remington turned toward both of them, as if sensing it, all smiles.
I braced myself to feel my usual jealousy when someone had something I wanted. I prepared to control myself around my brother and never show disrespect. But as I watched them, their little family of three, the jealousy didn’t come. In its place wassomething warmer and a gratefulness that my little brother was being well taken care of.
My tension released. I found I could eat and enjoy the food. Conversation around the table was somewhat trivial, but it sparkled because we were a family. That was all that mattered.
Dad said my old room was made up for me and Cassius. “You are spending the night, yes?”
I looked at Cassius. “You okay with that?”
“Sure. I want to. I want to get a better look at this place.”
“I guess we’re spending the night, then.” I met Dad’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Later, in the evening, with Remington put to bed, Dad and Cassius walked off together to look at some statue. I found myself momentarily alone with Kirion. We were back in the second living room having tea. He leaned back, both hands on his cup, his feet propped on the coffee table.
“When I was a kid, I wasn’t allowed to do that?” I pointed at his feet.
“Oh. Well, you can put your feet up now if you want. I won’t tell.”
