Page 50 of Dark Rebel’s Reckoning (The Children Of The Gods #93)

50

KYRA

K yra smoothed her hand over the soft fabric of the tactical pants she'd just folded into the closet drawer. The material was unlike anything she'd worn during her years with the resistance—lightweight yet durable, with reinforced knees and a multitude of cleverly designed pockets. No more makeshift gear cobbled together from whatever they could scavenge or buy on the black market. This was top-of-the-line stuff, far too fine to be military gear. Perhaps some Hollywood stars enjoyed the style, and an enterprising designer had created items that looked like they belonged on soldiers but felt like they belonged on royalty.

The personal shopper had thought of everything. High-performance base layers, a selection of tops in various weights, and boots that fit like they'd been custom-made for her feet.

After arranging the last of her new possessions, Kyra closed the drawer with a small sense of satisfaction. Having proper clothing felt like another step toward reclaiming her identity.

Heading out of her room, she intended to check on the girls and see how they were doing with their new wardrobes, but something—or rather someone—drew her toward the living room.

Was Max back inside, or was Fenella out on the terrace with him and were they sharing passionate kisses that should belong to Kyra?

When she cleared the hallway, the sight that greeted her was worse than anything she could have imagined, and she stopped short, her body freezing mid-step.

Max and Fenella were locked in an embrace, with Fenella's arms wrapped around Max's neck and her face pressed against his chest.

Something sharp and painful lanced through Kyra's chest at the sight, her earlier suspicions confirmed in vivid detail.

She should turn away and retreat down the hallway before they noticed her standing there like some pathetic voyeur, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from what was a horror show to her.

Then something grabbed her attention.

Max was awkwardly patting Fenella's back in a manner that didn't suggest anything even remotely passionate. He looked pleased, happy even, but his eyes didn't glow the way they had done when they'd kissed. They weren't hooded with desire either.

That didn't look like a lovers' embrace.

Kyra had confronted armed patrols, infiltrated military installations, and negotiated with tyrants who thirsted for her blood, so she could face whatever this was. She hadn't survived two decades as a resistance fighter by evading uncomfortable situations.

"What happened?" she asked, walking up to them, her voice steady and filled with just the right measure of concern.

Fenella had already stepped away from Max, and as she whirled around, she looked more animated than Kyra had ever seen her, her usual sardonic mask replaced by excitement.

"Max called Din," Fenella said. "Din is booking a flight to California to come see me."

"That's nice." Kyra glanced between Fenella and Max, reassessing the scene she'd witnessed. "But I thought you didn't want to see him. You gave me the impression you weren't interested in Din, and that you'd rather check out other guys in the immortal community."

Fenella shrugged. "I know I talked shit about Din earlier, and he deserved it. But the guy is flying halfway around the world to see me. That has to count for something, right?" She struck a coquettish pose. "It makes me feel special. No one has ever invested that much effort into seeking me out and wanting to be with me before." Her expression turned reflective. "And the fact that he was mad at Max for half a century over supposedly stealing me? That's significant too. Not many men would hold a grudge that long over a woman they'd never even dated."

Kyra was relieved that her suspicions about Max and Fenella were proven wrong, and that all those secret looks were about Max calling Din for her.

On the other hand, though, she didn't like what she'd learned about Din so far. A guy who'd nursed resentment for decades and blamed others rather than take action himself was not the sort of man Kyra would have chosen for herself or anyone she cared about.

"I hope you won't be disappointed," she said, and immediately regretted the words.

Fenella was a grown woman, and she didn't need Kyra to question her judgment or offer unsolicited advice.

Fenella waved a dismissive hand. "I'm going in with low expectations. The guy supposedly fell in love with me when I was just a bartender in a village pub, and then spent fifty years being angry at Max for getting to me first. I'm curious to see what he's like now." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Besides, if he turns out to be a dud, there are plenty of other immortal males around, right? It's not like I'm committing to anything by agreeing to see him."

Despite herself, Kyra smiled. It was impossible not to like Fenella despite her snarky attitude and excessive use of profanities. She was beginning to understand why Max had a soft spot for the woman.

As long as it wasn't romantic, Kyra didn't mind. Well, she would need to work hard on accepting their friendship and not get jealous, but she'd overcome bigger challenges before.

"Dinner is on its way!" Jasmine called. "We should move to the dining room so there is space for everyone. I ordered from the Golden Dragon—one of my absolute favorites. You are in for a delightful feast." She glanced around the room. "Are the girls still trying on their new clothes?"

Kyra nodded. "I'll go let them know about dinner."

"I can do it," Fenella offered, already walking toward the hallway. "I want to see what they got anyway."

Max reached for Kyra's hand, his fingers warm as they closed around hers. "Did the shopper do okay with your things?" he asked. "Everything fit alright?"

The simple touch sent a current of awareness up Kyra's arm, and she was struck again by how physically drawn to him she was—something that was still new and exciting to her.

"Everything is incredible," she said, squeezing his hand. "Even the tactical pants and jacket are made from the finest fabrics—soft and comfortable, but durable too. They feel like a caress against my skin." The phrase sounded oddly intimate once it left her mouth, but Max's pleased expression encouraged her to continue. "And the boots! Such soft leather, yet so sturdy. They fit like they were made for me. Even the socks are amazing—cashmere! I've never had socks that felt so incredible."

Max's smile broadened at her enthusiasm. "I'm glad. I like you to have nice things. You deserve it."

The warmth in his gaze made her heart flutter.

This gorgeous, super-confident immortal, who could probably have his pick of women, looked at her like she was something precious, which was difficult to reconcile with what she'd seen in the mirror a few minutes ago.

She was no beauty, not in the conventional sense, and yet here he was holding her hand, looking at her with an intensity that turned her knees to jelly.

"Thank you," Kyra said. "I like having nice things, too. Who doesn't, right?"

He smiled and his fingers tightened briefly around hers before reluctantly letting go as voices approached from the hallway.

The girls tumbled into the living room, each wearing a selection from their new wardrobes. Their transformation was remarkable. They looked like ordinary teenagers. Even Arezoo, the most reserved of the four, had a glint in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"You all look beautiful," Kyra told them.

"Is it too much?" Donya asked, smoothing her hands over the colorful tunic she'd paired with leggings. "I've never had anything this nice before."

"It's perfect," Kyra assured her. "Very fashionable."

Jasmine emerged from the dining room and beamed at her cousins. "Look at all of you! You are gorgeous."

When the doorbell rang, Ell-Rom and Max went to get the delivery, and minutes later, the dining table was laden with boxes of fragrant dishes: glistening stir-fries, steaming rice, dumplings that released aromatic steam when pierced.

Kyra couldn't remember ever having Chinese food before, but she recognized the dishes and could name each one. The smells were appetizing, and she eyed the various dishes Jasmine was transferring onto platters with curiosity.

Her nieces, however, seemed hesitant about trying the unfamiliar cuisine.

"We've never had anything like this." Laleh eyed a platter of orange chicken. "Is it very spicy?"

"Not at all," Jasmine said. "It's delicious. Try a little of everything. Whatever you don't like, you don't have to finish."

The meal unfolded in a surprisingly relaxed atmosphere, and after a few minutes of hesitation, the girls piled their plates.

Jasmine showed them how to use chopsticks, and after a few attempts they could all manage, albeit clumsily.

As chopsticks clicked and conversation flowed, the girls opened up and began sharing information about their mothers and aunts.

"My mother, Soraya, is about this tall," Arezoo said, holding her hand at shoulder height. "She has your eyes, but her hair is lighter. More brown than black, and she's heavier. She also knows a little English. She wanted to study in the USA, but after you disappeared, that wasn't an option for her anymore."

Kyra felt guilty. Because of her, her sisters had been denied a chance of a better life. She had to make it up to them.

"Aunt Rana, Aiden's mom, always wears blue," Laleh said. "She says it brings good fortune."

"She's also the most religious," Azadeh said quietly. "She prays five times every day, without fail."

Kyra absorbed these details hungrily, trying to construct mental images of her sisters. "What about Yasmin and Parisa?"

"Aunt Yasmin is the tallest," Arezoo said. "She walks very straight, like this." She demonstrated, sitting up ramrod straight with her chin lifted. "Uncle Javad jokes that she can balance books on her head."

"Aunt Parisa is the youngest," Donya murmured. "And the prettiest, everyone says so. She has a beauty mark right here." She touched a spot beside her left eye. "She likes to hum when she's cooking."

Each detail was another piece in the puzzle of Kyra's forgotten past. She leaned forward, hanging on every word.

As the girls moved to describing their cousins, thinking about the logistics of rescuing so many people seemed daunting.

As the meal drew to a close, a sudden hush fell over the table. The girls exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them before Arezoo cleared her throat.

"We have something for you," she said, her usual assertive tone turning soft. "We wrote messages for our mothers. It will make it easier for you to convince them to come with you." She chewed on her lower lip, something Kyra often did as well. "We didn't write about what was done to us. We said that we were kidnapped by people who wanted to ransom us for money, and the rebels saved us, and that you were their leader. I know it's not the truth, but we couldn't write about you being immortal and all that. We wrote that you are Kyra's daughter, Jasmine."

One by one, the girls handed their notes to her. She would read them later, making sure nothing in them could put her team or the immortals in danger, but for now, Kyra put the folded pages in her pocket.

"Tell her I'm safe," Arezoo said, her composure finally cracking. "If she can't come with you, tell her not to worry about us. Tell her..." She swallowed hard. "Tell her I remember what she taught me about being brave."

"Tell my mother that I've been looking after Laleh," Donya added, putting an arm around her younger sister. "That I haven't let her out of my sight."

Laleh wiped at her eyes. "Tell her I love her."

Azadeh's message was the briefest but perhaps the most poignant. "Tell my mother I understand now. About the blue. I understand."

The cryptic nature of the message raised questions in Kyra's mind, but the raw emotion in Azadeh's voice made it clear this was deeply meaningful to both mother and daughter.

"I'll tell them," Kyra promised, her own eyes misting. "And I'll make sure they know how brave you've all been."

The pendant at her throat warmed against her skin, not the uncomfortable heat from earlier but a soothing pulse, like a heartbeat, echoing the promise she'd made.