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I couldn’t understand what’d just happened.

“I didn’t plan this,” Lux said. “I swear I didn’t. I had no idea. I-I wouldn’t—”

“We need tomove!” Rafael slammed a fist against the table. “Go, Nix. Tell everyone what I’ve told you. Go!”

CHAPTERELEVEN

VÉA

Nix charged in the front door covered in blood.

Aein was on my hip, and she clutched my shirt tightly.

I spun her around, set her on the floor beside her brother, and hurried into the hallway after him.

“You can’t do that.” I had to take two steps at a time to keep up. “You can’t just show in front of the children looking like that.” He didn’t respond, only hurried to the bedroom of the twins. I stayed close at his tail. As he reached into the closet, I said, “Damn it, Nix, what happened? Whose blood is that?”

“Go get us some clothes together,” was all he said, still not meeting my gaze.

“Um, excuse you.” I propped my hands on my hips. “A ‘please’ would be nice.”

He slammed the closet door shut and started past me to the dresser.

That was when I saw his face and noticed the tears running down it.

“Mi lim.” I walked to him, putting a hand on his bicep. “What happened?”

“We don’t have time!” He yanked away, shoving as much linen into the bag as he could fit. “Go pack a bag, Véa!”

Nix did not yell at me. He knew better than that.

And yet…

I tempered my voice as I lapsed between him and the dresser, so close that our chests were flush. “I will. But I need to know what’s wrong.” My hands found his cheeks, thumbing some tears away. “What happened, Nix? What’s going on?”

His lip trembled, and a soft, almost inaudible weep left him. He shook his head quickly, as if he didn’t believe it himself. For a second, I thought he’d push me away again, but he leaned in instead, taking my face in his shaking hands. He didn’t speak. He only stared into my eyes with grief, and pain, and remorse.

“Nix,” I whispered, wiping the next trail of tears as they fell. “Talk to me.”

He took in a deep breath, lip trembling. Once he regained part of his composure, he opened his mouth and shut it a few times. I waited, watching his eyes soften each time I wiped a tear away.

Finally, almost too quiet for me to hear, he said, “I’m so sorry, do gràs.”

“For what? What happened?”

His face screwed up as the tears overwhelmed him again. He released my cheeks, spun around, and cupped both hands over his face. I wasn’t sure if he was muffling a sob or wiping the tears.

But he went back to the closet and began shoving clothes into the bag. “I’ll explain when we get there. For now, please, just go pack.”

“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me what’s wrong.” My tone hardened, stance broadening. “Why are you sorry? What happened?”

“We’re not safe, Véa, and we don’t have time to—”

“I’m not afraid of Lux. He won’t—”

“It wasn’t Lux.”

“Well, it certainly looked like it was when he showed here sobbing and—”