Page 47 of Dark Rebel’s Reckoning (The Children Of The Gods #93)

47

MAX

M ax's phone buzzed in his pocket just as he was about to head up to the penthouse.

Glancing at the caller ID, he saw Bridget's name and answered immediately. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Bridget's calm voice came through. "Can you take Fenella back to the penthouse? The others are done and went ahead, and she doesn't have access to the elevator controls yet."

"I'm on my way." He ended the call.

Bridget had sounded a little off, and it got him worried. Jasmine had texted him earlier with a message from Kyra that everything was alright and that she'd tested negative for pregnancy, which had been a huge relief, but what if Fenella's news was not as good?

The clinic was only two levels up from the dungeon, and as he exited the elevator, he had to force himself not to jog and limit himself to a fast walk.

When he opened the door, he found Fenella sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, a magazine open on her knees. She looked up at him and smiled.

"My knight has arrived." She rose to her feet and turned toward Bridget, who was in the office, sitting behind the desk. "Thanks again, Bridget. I guess I'll see you tomorrow when you come to talk to the girls?"

The doctor nodded. "Don't tell them that I'm coming. I want to do this casually."

"Got it." Fenella gave Bridget the thumbs up.

Fenella was fronting the tough-girl persona, but even though they weren't an item for long and it had been half a century ago, he knew her well enough to see the cracks in that facade. Her eyes were slightly too bright, her posture too rigid, and he got suddenly anxious. Despite everything she'd been through, Fenella had been unshakable so far. What had happened to tip her over the edge?

He prayed to the Fates it wasn't a pregnancy.

As soon as they were out the door, he turned toward her. "Everything alright?"

Fenella shrugged, the motion a bit too casual. "Fine. I'm not pregnant, and there's no lasting damage. No great surprise, since my body's really good at fixing whatever gets broken."

She spoke the words like something she'd prepared to say before he arrived, but he decided to let it go.

"Good to hear," Max said. "That's one less thing to worry about." He kept walking.

When they reached the elevator, she turned to him. "Did you call Din?"

The question caught him off guard. "Not yet. I had to put some work in or my boss would have been cross with me."

It was an exaggeration. He could have easily composed a text or called, but he needed a little more time to mentally prepare for the confrontation.

"I need Din to check on my family." She crossed her arms over her chest. "My parents are gone, but my brother's still around, and he has kids, who probably have their own kids by now."

"Your brother can't transfer the genes to his kids. Did your mother have sisters?"

"No. She had two brothers. One younger and one older. Why?"

"There is no reason for the Doomers to look for your family, if they know that. Did you tell him about them?"

Fenella laughed, a harsh sound that was devoid of humor. "I probably told him about every shit I've taken in my seventy years of life." The bitterness in her voice was palpable. "He interrogated me endlessly, while drugged, semi-sober, or sober, and he never pulled his punches."

The casual way she referenced the abuse made something dark unfurl in Max's chest. He'd known intellectually what had likely happened during her captivity, but hearing her speak of it so matter-of-factly drove home the reality of what she'd endured.

With a soft ping the elevator announced its arrival, and the doors slid open, but Max remained motionless, a sudden rush of rage freezing him in place. He could feel his fangs pressing against his gums, demanding release.

"Max?" Fenella's voice seemed distant.

He tried to clear the red haze of rage, to force the primal response back down, but it was no use as horrific images kept bombarding his mind, and his fangs punched through, sharp and prominent, a physical manifestation of his fury.

Fenella took a sudden step back, her eyes widening with fear. "Your fangs..." she whispered, her Scottish accent thickening with alarm.

The fear in her voice snapped Max back to the present. He immediately raised a hand to cover his mouth, realizing what he'd triggered.

"I'm sorry," he managed, willing his fangs to retract. "Don't be frightened. It's just a protective response. I swear."

"His fangs would elongate like that every time before he started beating me," Fenella said, her voice hollow. "Sometimes I wasn't sure if it was real or if I was hallucinating."

"It's not the same," he said carefully, ensuring his fangs were fully retracted before lowering his hand. "I'm not like him, Fenella. I would never hurt you."

She nodded, though wariness still lingered in her posture. "I know that. Logically, I know that."

The elevator doors had closed in the meantime, and Max called for it again.

"When immortal males feel protective, our fangs emerge," he explained, keeping his voice steady and calm. "It's a sign of aggression toward an enemy or someone who threatens us or anyone defenseless around us. It's an instinctual response. I was just so angry thinking about what he did to you."

"Protective," she repeated, as if testing the word. "But I wasn't a threat to him or anyone else and still his fangs came out."

Max met her gaze directly, wanting her to see the truth in his eyes. "There's a difference between fangs elongating in response to aggression or in response to sexual desire. The Doomer couldn't have been able to do both simultaneously."

"Why not?"

"The chemicals released in the venom glands differ depending on the trigger. Aggression produces a paralyzing toxin meant to incapacitate enemies, while sexual arousal produces something much milder, designed to enhance pleasure."

"But the Doomer…"

Max felt his jaw tighten. "An immortal male shouldn't be capable of doing both simultaneously. The systems are supposed to be separate, so I must assume that his was triggered by desire, but because he is a vile pile of shit, he hurt you."

The elevator arrived again with another soft ping. This time, Max held his hand against the door to keep it open.

Fenella stepped inside and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

He took the opposite side and mimicked her pose. "I'll call Din as soon as we get upstairs. It wouldn't hurt to check on your brother and his kids and grandkids."

She chuckled. "Grandkids. Can you imagine? I could be a great-aunt."

He was glad that she was back to her old self. "You get used to that when you're immortal. No one even speaks of ages in our community."

She nodded, and then let out a breath, the smile sliding off her face. "I wasn't scared of you. It was just a knee-jerk reaction."

"I know. I'm still sorry about it."

"Not your fault." She attempted a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "This whole post-traumatic thing is a bitch."

"Is that what Bridget said?"

"Among other things." Fenella shrugged. "Apparently, it's normal to be fucked up after being abducted, drugged, beaten up, and violated."

Despite her flippant tone, Max caught the vulnerability underneath. Fenella had survived fifty years on her own, relying on no one but herself. Acknowledging any kind of weakness, even to herself, had to be difficult.

"If you need someone to talk to, we have a great counselor."

"So I've been told." She glanced up at the floor indicator, watching the numbers climb. "Not sure I'm the therapy type, though. I don't have patience for someone asking me how I feel about this or that."

The elevator reached the penthouse and the two of them stepped out, but Max wasn't in a rush. "Immortals have unique challenges when it comes to trauma. We live so long that unprocessed experiences can compound over centuries."

"Are you talking from experience?" she asked, studying him.

"Some," he admitted. "Five hundred years gives you plenty of time to accumulate baggage. And plenty of time to learn how to unpack it, too."