Page 48 of Dark Rebel’s Reckoning (The Children Of The Gods #93)

48

KYRA

A fter returning to the penthouse, Kyra had escaped to the luxurious bathroom of the master suite for a few moments of quiet. She could have just closed the door to her room and sat on the couch in the sitting area, but she'd pretended to need to use the restroom, so here she was, looking in the mirror and brushing her hair, trying to arrange it into something that had shape.

Everything about Bridget's appearance had been polished, including her hair and subtle makeup. Standing next to her, Kyra felt exactly like who she was—a rebel who had spent most of her nights in a tent, who was lucky to wash her hair once a week, and who had used a conditioner for the first time on the plane that brought her out of Iran.

Oh, well. Hopefully, there would be time to do all those feminine nonessentials when she returned with the rest of her family. With so many females, they could have giant makeover parties.

The thought made her chest feel lighter. Then she heard the doorbell ring in the living room, intensifying her buoyant feeling.

Was it Max?

Putting the brush aside, she raked her fingers through her hair, flipping it to one side the way she preferred, and headed toward the living room.

She heard Max and Fenella talking before she saw them, and even from more than twenty feet away she could detect something in Max's tone that sent a pang through her chest.

Their conversation sounded intimate, and her gut clenched when she saw them standing close together and looking into each other's eyes with some kind of shared understanding.

It wasn't just the intimacy of their conversation that made them look like a unit. More tellingly, they both seemed slightly unsettled, as if they'd shared an intense experience.

Max glanced up, catching her eye, and something in his expression shifted. Was it guilt? Regret?

"There you are," he said, his tone sounding deliberately casual. "I wondered where you'd gone."

Had he?

"I was in the washroom." She forced a smile and turned to Fenella. "How did it go?"

"I'm not pregnant, and pending the results of the blood tests, I'm a perfectly healthy immortal."

Kyra forced down the uncomfortable feeling squirming in her stomach.

What was wrong with her?

She had no claim on Max. They had shared a few kisses, nothing more.

It couldn't compare to the history he had with Fenella. The two had been lovers, even if it had been a brief affair, and as much as Kyra hated to admit it, Fenella's personality was much more compatible with Max's than hers.

They were both irreverent and snarky, and they didn't take anything too seriously, or at least pretended not to.

"That's good," she said, her voice sounding strained even to her ears.

The rational part of her brain tried to tell her that she was being ridiculous. Max was a free agent. Fenella was attractive, and they had a past. If they wanted to rekindle something, she had no right to interfere.

It wasn't her place to feel possessive over him.

Her pendant suddenly hummed against her skin, warming rapidly until it became uncomfortably hot. The sensation was so intense that she had to pull it out from beneath her shirt, letting it rest on top of the fabric where it couldn't burn her.

Mind your own business , she thought irritably toward the pendant. The amber stone seemed to pulse once in response, as if offended by her dismissal, before settling down.

She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation.

"Everything okay?" Max asked.

"Fine," Kyra said quickly. "It just gets warm sometimes."

He nodded and then checked his watch. "If you'll excuse me, I have something I need to attend to. I'm going to step out onto the terrace for a bit."

A look passed between him and Fenella, and she gave him a slight nod.

What the hell was that? Were they planning to meet outside to rekindle their romance?

As Max walked toward the sliding glass doors, Fenella stepped closer to Kyra. "Can I have a word with you for a moment?" she asked, her voice low enough that only Kyra could hear.

"Of course," she said.

Fenella led her toward the kitchen, glancing at the girls as if to check whether they were within earshot. "Bridget thinks we all need to talk to a therapist about what happened to us."

The statement was so unexpected that Kyra momentarily forgot how upset she was. "A therapist?"

"A psychologist. You know, lie on a couch, answer questions that start with 'how do you feel about that?'" She mimicked a pretentious accent for the last part.

"I see," Kyra said, considering the concept. In the resistance, psychological support was given by your comrades in arms, and trauma was simply something you pushed through because you had no other choice. "Why does that bother you?"

Fenella crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought to warn you that it's coming not just for us, but for the girls as well. Bridget plans to talk to them tomorrow, and since you'll be gone and you are their aunt and all that, I thought you should know. You should say something if you are not okay with her talking to them while you are not here."

Therapy might help, and she didn't know why Fenella felt so strongly about it.

"I think it might be good for the girls," she said carefully. "They've been through so much, and I have no idea how to talk to them. I can't treat them like fellow rebels, and that's all I know."

Fenella's lips lifted in a small smile. "Hey, maybe that's exactly what they need. Tough love and all that."

An awkward silence fell between them, and Kyra's mind wandered back to Max and what he was doing on the terrace. Was he really attending to some business or was he waiting for Fenella?

The pendant warmed against her shirt as if it was angry at her for having such thoughts.

She wanted to tell Fenella to keep her hands off Max, but what right did she have to do that? If Max and Fenella were reconnecting, who was she to stand in their way?

The doorbell ringing saved her from saying something she would have regretted later, although she wasn't sure what it would have been.

Stay away from my guy or good luck?

When Ell-rom opened the door, two big guys wearing the same uniform as Max entered, each balancing a towering stack of boxes.

"Delivery from the personal shopper," one announced, his voice muffled behind the packages. "Where would you like these?"

"By the door is fine." Ell-rom pointed.

The men deposited their burdens in the foyer, creating twin mountains of shopping bags and boxes, each neatly labeled with a name.

"This can't all be for us," Kyra said, eyeing the enormous piles with disbelief.

The taller of the two shrugged. "Whatever you don't like, put back in the bag or box it came in and leave it out in the vestibule. We will send it back to the shopper. Those were the instructions she left."

"Thank you."

The girls gravitated towards the piles like moths to a flame.

"Are those for us?" Donya asked hesitantly.

"They're for all of you," Jasmine said, appearing behind them. "Brandon's personal shopper is the best in the business. She'd outfitted Morelle, Ell-rom's twin sister, with a wardrobe worthy of a queen. Go get it, girls."

They gave Jasmine one more tentative glance before going for the loot.

Watching them carefully examine the labels, looking for their names with growing excitement, Kyra got emotional and had to wipe her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie.

Despite everything they'd endured, they could still find joy in something so basic.

"Thank you," she told Jasmine. "That was a stroke of genius. I just don't know how I will repay the person who financed all this."

"Don't worry about it." Jasmine regarded the girls collecting their packages with a smile. "If you find Khiann, all debts will be repaid."

"Find who?"

It had sounded as if Jasmine said Kian, but he wasn't lost.

"Never mind." Jasmine wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "That's something that will wait for after you return with the rest of our family."

The sliding door opened, and Max stepped back inside, clutching his phone. His expression was unreadable as he surveyed the scene.

"What's all that?" he asked.

"Brandon's personal shopper came through once again," Jasmine said.

Max walked over to Kyra. "I have something for you," he said, showing her his phone screen. "The message came through while I was outside." He handed it to her.

It was the prearranged signal from her rebel contacts to check the secure messaging app, and her heart rate quickened as she opened it.

The message from Soran was brief and couched in their standard code, but its meaning was clear: suspicious activity in Tahav near the destroyed compound. Unknown men asking questions of the local residents. The rebels are moving to a new, more distant camp as a precaution.

"Bad news?" Max asked, watching her face.

"Potentially," Kyra said, handing the phone back. "Some men are poking around Tahav, asking questions about the compound. My people are relocating as a precaution."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Someone was bound to investigate what happened there."

"Do you think it's related to my family?" Kyra asked, lowering her voice to prevent the girls from overhearing.

"It doesn't sound like it. Your sisters all live in Tehran, and your friends didn't mention any women accompanying these men, right?"

"They didn't, but maybe they had left the girls somewhere while they were snooping around the compound. Did your contacts in Iran find anything about my family yet?"

"I haven't heard anything from Kian, so I assume he hasn't heard anything from Turner."

Jasmine had sent over the information about her sisters and their families, but it was nighttime there, so Kyra shouldn't be surprised that there was no news.

"I still need to make that call," Max said, gesturing toward the terrace.

"Of course," Kyra said, stepping back.

As Max turned to leave, he caught Fenella's eye across the room, and once again, something unspoken passed between them—another of those significant looks that made Kyra's stomach tighten uncomfortably.

Fenella gave him a slight nod in response.

Whatever was happening between them, they were clearly in sync, operating on a wavelength Kyra couldn't access, and the realization hurt.

Her pendant warmed again against her shirt, almost in sympathy with her aching heart.

She watched Max slide the door closed behind him, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the late-setting sun. Tomorrow, they would leave for Iran together, and Fenella would stay behind. Perhaps by the time they returned, things between them would sort themselves out.