Page 121 of Serpent & Saviors

With the knowledge he had about me, the things he knew I’d endured, my fear of not being enough hit. I only had broken pieces to offer, and in the depths of my heart, I needed his love to be real and lasting.

Andrew caressed my shoulder before turning my face to look up. His eyes were filled with a mixture of wonder, pain, and desire. Every feature of his face, from the curve of his lips to his soft eyes, called to me.

“Stunningly beautiful, as you are. This is what you do from now on. Do you understand me?” Another command and I could only nod my head.

His powerful arms surrounded me. Andrew was right, as always. The piano, once my source of pain and torment, would be my vessel of healing. I made a silent vow to reclaim it, along with the parts of myself that I threw away so long ago. With him by my side, I could do this.

Winter would understand.

The rhythmic melody of the waves, the tang of the salty air, and the soothing sensation of the sand beneath my feet had always been my happy place. Images of the many summers all of us spent plotting our lives whirled inside my mind. I drew in a deep breath.

I never imagined I’d ever experience this. I closed my eyes and mouthed her name, loving the way it felt on my tongue. My mind drifted to the night when she played for the first time for me. That was several weeks ago, and now my beautiful girl played weekly for us.

Sometimes she’d play and Kinsley would sing. There was something magical about those nights. Isabella would often draw the two of them. There was always a sadness in her eyes, and it only fueled me.

The need to find their missing season sister had become a personal mission of mine. Oftentimes, I let it consume me. How would she fit into our family? Would she be willing to move here to be with us? Did she have a husband and children of her own?

There were so many unknowns. The only man with information about her true identity was dead. The records that Owen had originally sent were given to Fedorov and had been destroyed years ago. Once the operation was complete, and the Mask was no more, there wasn’t a need for them.

Fedorov didn’t leave traces. He was meticulous—a way for him to keep up the facade he operated under. So it only made it harder to navigate. Knowing the vast size of the United States made it daunting in every way. I shifted my focus and took several cleansing breaths, letting a sense of serenity envelop me.

Just last summer, we welcomed Kinsley into the family. Now it was Victoria and Declan’s turn. My head whipped up as the warm, gentle breeze carried the joyful laughter of my son playing outside on the newly built playground. His bare feet scampered across the sand, and his gleeful giggles punctuated the air.

My heart swelled large inside my chest as I gazed out through the open window. Christopher King and Vincent Caruso ran around kicking his favorite ball with him. Sophia King and Martina Caruso clapped happily as they supervised the rambunctiousness.

The sun played off Declan’s hair and painted the scene with hues of burnished copper and gold. I shivered, a chill running through me despite the warmth of the day. The hair stood up on the back of my arms and neck, and I could almost hear her voice in this place.

“Be the glue.”

“Vanya,” I whispered her name.

Vanya and I were two lost souls when we met. I’d never forgotten the day she tenderly tried to help remove the marker from my face. I’d been shocked when Ivan handed her a bottle of vodka. I had no idea she was going to use it to remove the stain. I foolishly thought they’d brought it to numb the pain of some other type of removal. Easily, I slipped into the past.

She squeezed my hand. Hers was small and warm, like Ivy’s. Thinking about what a mess that had been made, my throat tightened. Vanya’s eyes met mine again. There was no flinch of disgust, no hesitation. Just understanding as she stared at the wound on my wrist.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the bed.

I didn’t argue, though I wanted to run, to disappear, to do anything but sit. I lowered myself onto the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped as she sat beside me, close but not too close. Her room was painted a lavender shade and smelled of vanilla. It had a haphazard feel, other than the small desk in the corner, which was neat.

Textbooks sat in a pile. The lamp on the table gave off a soft glow. The posters lining the walls were all of bands I didn’t know. They looked edgy, full of defiance and maybe rebellion. She pulled her knees up, resting her chin on them as she studied me.

“What happened?”

I swallowed, my throat thick. I didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to say. Whatever it was, they did a number on you didn’t they?”

I nodded and then hung my head. She didn’t push. The silence stretched between us, then a sense of peace followed.

“It was Cameron Evans.”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’ve heard he’s a mean one. Makes me glad I don’t go there.”

“Where do you go?” I asked.

“Private tutor,” she mumbled.

“Oh, can I get their name?”