Page 18
18
MAX
W hen Max returned to the living room, Kyra looked a little less frazzled, and it seemed to be because of something Jade had said to her. He'd only heard the last bit of it, something about drawing strength from the children, but more must have been said before his arrival.
"Ready?" he asked.
Kyra nodded with a smile. "You clean up nicely." She lifted a hand to his wet hair. "I didn't like the dark color. I like you blond."
"Thanks." He wanted to say that he liked her dark beauty, but it wasn't something he was comfortable saying in front of an audience. Perhaps later, when they were alone in their room…
Yeah. Don't think about it now . The last thing Yasmin needed was to see a guy with an erection drooling after her sister or niece, depending on how Kyra was going to introduce herself .
"Let's go," she said, walking toward the front door of the apartment.
They took the stairs up to the third floor, and Kyra knocked on the door. "Can we come in?" She asked loudly enough for Yasmin to hear her.
The eldest son opened the door and dipped his head, motioning for them to come in.
Max activated the teardrop in case he needed to say something, even though he wasn't planning on doing much talking. This was Kyra's stage, and he was there for emotional support.
Yasmin sat on the couch with the little girl asleep next to her and another child, a little boy, on her other side.
In the kitchen, Nadim's cousin was busy preparing a meal, but snacks had already been served on the coffee table, along with tea and juice for the kids.
Except, it looked like nothing had been touched.
"Is it true?" Yasmin asked in a near whisper. "About my husband?"
Kyra knelt beside her but kept a respectful distance. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "There was nothing we could do. He fought bravely, but he was outnumbered and overpowered."
Yasmin closed her eyes, pain washing over her features, though it was clear she had already suspected the truth.
"Why?" she asked. "Why is it happening to our family? First, they take Soraya and Rana's girls, and then they come for us. Why?"
It was the question they'd been expecting, but one they weren't prepared to answer fully—not yet, not until all the sisters were safe and the truth about their nature could be revealed in a controlled environment.
"You have something they want. A rare genetic trait you and your sisters inherited from your mother and passed on to your children."
Yasmin narrowed her eyes at Kyra. "Who are you really? The Kurdish resistance can't do what you did." Her gaze flickered to Max, standing silently in the doorway. "These people are not Kurds. Especially not the two with the Russian names that don't look Russian. They didn't speak Farsi or Kurdish either."
"Dima and Anton are not from here, and they also have a rare genetic trait."
It was a good way to say that they were also part alien, and for now, it was enough.
"Do you have that trait?" Yasmin asked.
"I do. And so does Max. It's very valuable, which is why these bad people want it. We are here to help you and your children and get you to safety. We will also protect your sisters. Those people might come for them as well."
"All of my sisters?"
Kyra nodded. "All of them and their children. We're going to get them out and bring them somewhere safe. "
Yasmin seemed about to press further when Fatima intervened, placing a fresh cup of sweet tea in front of her.
"Drink," she urged. "Eat something. The children need to see you taking care of yourself." She looked at the frightened children. "They haven't touched anything. They are waiting for you to show them it's okay."
It was a masterful redirection, appealing to Yasmin's maternal instincts. The woman hesitated, then lifted the cup with a small nod of thanks.
Max remained standing by the door, watching Fatima continue her gentle ministrations, offering food to the children with soft encouragements. The oldest boy refused at first, but when Kyra spoke to him, he reluctantly took a piece of baklava and began to munch on it.
Fatima saw him looking at the delicacy and brought the plate to him. "Take one. I made them myself."
"Then I have to." He took the flaky pastry that was filled with finely ground pistachios and, by the smell of it, was drenched in a saffron-rosewater syrup.
As the decadent sweetness swept over his taste buds, his eyes rolled back in his head. "This is so good," he murmured.
Fatima beamed with pride. "Take another one," she encouraged.
He shook his head. "Give it to the kids. I'm saving my stomach for what's cooking in the kitchen. "
"Lamb and Persian rice," she whispered conspiratorially. "You'll be licking your fingers."
"I bet."
She turned to Yasmin. "Should I serve the meal at the table, or should I bring you the plates here?"
"We'll eat at the table." Yasmin rose to her feet and glanced at her sleeping daughter. "She can eat later when she wakes up."
After they moved to the dining table and Fatima served up a large platter of lamb chucks over fragrant rice, she took another platter just as big and headed downstairs to feed the rest of the crew.
At first, the kids barely touched the food, their teary eyes and sad faces tearing Max's heart apart. He could only imagine how difficult it was for Kyra, and yet she managed to interact with them with respect rather than pity, encouraging them to eat.
It was, Max realized, the same quality he'd noticed in her interactions with her nieces at the penthouse in Los Angeles—a natural ability to meet them where they were, to offer strength without demanding they hide their vulnerability.
They were innocents, caught in a war they didn't even know existed, and targeted for a genetic quirk they didn't know they possessed.
Table of Contents
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- Page 18 (Reading here)
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