Page 107 of Hellebore

“Green leaf… I like them green—pretty petals,” Nicholas mumbles, the words thick and dreamy.

Enzo growls beside me, tension radiating off him. “Please tell me he is not admitting to what I think he is⁠—”

I release a slow breath, but it does nothing to loosen the knot of feral hunger twisting tighter in my chest.

“There’s a leaf we need to find,” Easton continues, calm as still water. “A pretty one, with blue eyes.”

“Yes… blue and black.” Nicholas’s gaze locks onto some shadow on the ceiling, unfocused and far away. Sweat drips into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“Yes. Exactly.” Easton’s tone never wavers, too calm, too controlled for the violence simmering in the room.

“I give them water,” Nicholas continues, almost reverent. “They like it.”

For fuck’s sake.

“We need to give the black and blue one some water,” Easton presses smoothly, “but we need to find her first.”

“Lawrence… He owns the leaf.” Nicholas mumbles it like a secret, then drifts into a broken, shitty song under his breath, voice cracking.

“Lawrence?” Enzo steps closer to the table, eyes narrowing. “Isn’t that your father?”

My heart slams against my ribs, the air turns thick, impossible to pull into my lungs.

My fucking father?

“He wouldn’t dare.” The words scrape out of me as I take a stumbling step back, the warehouse tilting at the edges of my vision. “He knew. He knew exactly what she means to me.”

No. He had already stolen six years of my life to save his own. He would never⁠—

So was Archibald, my mind hisses, and he still sold his own daughter.

The thought lands like a blade between my ribs.

He killed your mother’s flowers because no one can be happy.

No.

No.

No.

Fuck.

Briar—my father.

I look up. The twins are staring at me, their expressions sharpening in the dim light.

“Drystan?” Enzo calls.

I stare at him, but the word rips out of me anyway, raw and shattered. “My father raped her.” The denial chases it immediately, louder, desperate. “No—you’re lying!”

I lunge. The distance vanishes in two strides. My wrist slams into Nicholas’s nose with a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone. Blood explodes across his face, hot and metallic on the air. He screams, high and broken, but it only feeds the roar inside me.

Easton grabs me from behind, arms locking like iron bands around my chest, hauling me back. “He fucking hates you. You know that—that fucker doesn’t care about anyone⁠—”

I fight him, thrashing, boots scraping across the filthy floor as I try to reach the table again. Chains rattle. Nicholas whimpers. The shadows seem to pulse with my rage.

“No! It can’t be him—” My voice tears out, rough and animal.