Page 34

KANE

L ennox stands beside me at the altar and Rowan takes the place I’m sure the priest should be in. I don’t know what ceremony I need to complete when I already have our marriage license to prove that she’s mine, but I remain in place, waiting for my wife as the pews fill up.

The only people I recognize are Delilah’s family. Ruby hasn’t come back from whatever she’s doing. Daigon sits alone and no one has attempted to invade his pew as he widens his legs, taking up half of the bench.

Part of me, the old me, warms at the thought of seeing Delilah walk towards me in a cathedral with her family surrounding us.

The new me, the stronger part, burns because she’s ruining yet another thing that was sacred.

She’s effectively pissing on the memories of her laying on my chest with her fingers threaded through mine as she watched the stars and I watched her hand, imagining the day that I could love her openly.

Every little detail was clear then. It would be the perfect day.

One where I’d have a brother who wasn’t obsessed with controlling everyone around him.

Asher would be standing beside me, my parents watching proudly, and my wife would walk towards me with a smile on her face.

The same smile that she always had when she would watch the stars would be solely for me in an outdoor wedding at midnight so that I could watch her face light up.

Looking through the pews, I search for anything to settle the ache in my chest. I can’t place the reason for it, but since stepping onto the altar, there’s a gap.

It’s not sadness or nerves. Just this empty space where there should be something, anything.

The front rows are left empty on the side closest to me out of the three aisles arranged in a loose semi-circle.

The seats where my family should be are empty because I’m alone.

Rowan and Lennox both stand taller as their heads turn, facing the door.

I expect Delilah to walk into the cathedral.

Instead, the large cathedral doors slowly part with a guard on each side.

All the guards lining the perimeter of the cathedral do the same as my uncles, standing straighter as they adjust their masks as though they’re going to be graded while keeping one arm tucked behind their backs.

The click of heels is timed with another metallic tap and every head turns towards the sound.

I straighten my spine to copy the rest of the room as an older woman walks in.

Her hair is pure white, and she wouldn’t look out of place in an old Hollywood movie.

Wealth seeps from her pores more than a number or a lifestyle.

It’s like she embodies it. The hide she’s wearing still has the head attached and the lower portion of the panther’s jaw has been removed.

Its fangs rest on her crown like a hood and she carries an ornate gold stick.

The bottom portion striking the floor is made in the shape of a curving serpent’s head and it merges into a lion beneath her palm with horns protectively covering the back of her fingers, extending out of the mane.

My mom had a pendant with the Chimera on it and she would hide it under the floorboards.

The secrecy drew me closer to it and I searched everything I could find on them.

Every story and myth of the female monster that was more dangerous than any human mind could conjure up.

But it’s the ram’s horns curling over the woman’s aged hand that makes me pause, because the Leroux family crest has a ram in the center.

The curl pattern extends out in the exact same way as the ram tie pin Harkin is wearing.

The serpent’s head slowly kisses the stone floor with each step she takes until she pauses between the rows of pews.

Each section stands and act like fucking freaks.

They walk to her in a single file line then bow their heads as they greet her.

The pews furthest away kiss her hand then the mane of her stick.

The closer she gets, so do the people’s lips to her face.

Rowan tenses with each new row lining up to greet her.

His jaw grinds and his face is set in hard lines as he glares at each person touching the woman.

The arrogance he usually possesses is nowhere in sight as he balls his hands into fists while Lennox discreetly tilts his body to block the sight of them from the guests.

But I can hear his molars clacking against each other and his breathing escalating as the woman gets closer.

She pauses between the pews containing Delilah’s family and Daigon on the other side. He doesn’t stand or look at her. He keeps his head straight, looking directly at the altar, and his entire body is still, almost deathly.

Harkin and Lizbeth stand, drawing the woman’s attention to themselves. She slowly turns her head away from Daigon as Lizbeth gently places her hand on the horns. My mother-in-law, who spent my childhood lecturing Delilah about decorum and grace, places her lips over the old woman’s.

From my position, I can see their lips parting, their tongues diving into each other’s mouths as I attempt to contain myself instead of visibly gagging.

But it’s not sexual, it’s just…fucking weird.

Her husband is standing beside her with his palm flat on her back as she tongues this old woman while she caresses the goat’s horns in a pattern of three like a squared bracket.

The fucked up moment doesn’t stop when she moves to the side without a smudge of her lipstick. Instead, Harkin takes her place and I nearly audibly gag. It’s fucking nasty and no one reacts to it. The fuckers all act like this is normal.

Harkin steps back and the old woman lifts her aged hand to his cheek.

Her palm ghosts over his skin, the same way someone would a child despite the fact they’ve just swapped saliva, and she whispers something too low for me to hear.

She traces the same shape Lizbeth did. Starting under his left eye, she strokes down his cheek to his jaw then across his chin to go back up and stopping beneath his right eye.

Lennox doesn’t look at me as I gently nudge him with my elbow.

All these weird cunts are setting off a million alarm bells and he’s the person who’s supposed to be on my side.

But his focus is on the old woman as she swipes her stick in the gap between Delilah’s parents.

They part, standing like soldiers at her side until she passes them.

Lennox takes two steps forward in the same dutiful manner then lowers his head as he extends his hand to help her up the small steps to the altar.

Rowan forgets anyone else exists, his elbow slamming into mine in his haste to get to her.

There are only three steps between him and the woman, but he’s nearly running as Lennox calmly walks closer to her.

She looks at them, her eyes hardening, and Rowan freezes in his place. Oh fuck, he better not tongue her.

She doesn’t acknowledge Lennox as she makes the same motion with her stick as she did between Delilah’s parents.

Lennox takes hold of her hand and Rowan takes her other side.

This close with the three of them standing together, I can see a resemblance.

They have the same light, near white eyes.

But where my uncles have darker hair, hers is free from any color.

It’s pure white and the contrast of the deep panther head makes it appear even starker.

The freak of a woman slowly makes her way to me. Her eyes assess every inch of my body and I fight the urge to cover myself with my hands. Despite being clothed, she’s able to strip me bare with her creepy fucking eyes.

She stops in front of me, and her features are perfectly symmetrical. Rowan and Lennox bracketing her adds to the symmetry and she presses the serpent end of her stick directly between my feet. I look down my nose at it, then flick back up to her eyes that haven’t left my face.

“You,” she croons, “are the first.”

Every pair of eyes is enraptured with whatever bullshit is going to come out of her mouth. Probably because their tongues have been inside it.

She lifts her chin, pressing her stick harder to the ground.

Her finger is curled, and her nails are painted to match her skin tone.

It’s the same thing my mom would do, and she would never have them another color as though she needed them to blend in.

I’d always think it made it look like she was wearing gloves, but now I realize it was a habit.

Something of her mother, the weird fuck who tongues everyone, that she kept.

“Helene,” I deduce, and she smirks.

She nods once, slow and disconcerting. “Yes, sweet boy.” Rowan tenses, and hate emanates from him, solely directed at me.

If he’s jealous of his mother speaking to me, he can fuck off and keep the weird cunt.

It’s immature when he’s in his forties and I’ve never cared about grandparents.

His hate intensifies as she strokes my cheek and whispers, “You’ll pay for destroying what I created. ”

I pull my head out of her path and give her the polite smile the old Kane had perfected. Only, I’m not that boy who wanted approval anymore and I couldn’t give a fuck about having any family who don’t offer me the same.

“Sit down,” I say while smiling. “You don’t want to miss your only grandson’s wedding.”

Her eyes darken and the serpent loudly scrapes against the stone floor as she drags it back, leaving behind a small groove.

And I must be fucking seeing shit because Rowan’s fingers curl around her hip, pulling her into his side.

The fur of the hide is flattened, and he possessively holds his mother the way a lover would. Filthy fucking cunt.