Page 35 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Liana

Boston

T he screen went dark, and for a long while, I just sat there, my fingers resting lightly against the control panel, my body still and perfectly composed. It was how the world knew me to be.

But inside?

I was unraveling.

Amara’s face lingered in my mind like a ghost, those perceptive eyes watching me too carefully, the corners of her mouth twitching with restraint. She was too poised, too polished.

Just like me when I was lying.

Just Europe, she had said.

It was a lie. I knew it. A mother always knew.

My phone buzzed and I wasn’t surprised to see Emory’s name flash on my screen.

I slid the message open and my suspicion was confirmed.

Emory: Amara’s lying. I don’t know what’s going on, but she’s definitely up to something.

I rose, my chair sliding back across the marble floor. The city blinked back at me through the tall windows of my penthouse, but I looked at it without seeing it. All I could feel right now was this space growing between me and my children.

My hand met the windowpane. It was ice under my palm.

Jetmir. Elira. Amara.

I had crossed oceans, spilled blood, and buried ghosts to protect them. And now I could feel them slipping from my reach, one by one, like sand I couldn’t hold, no matter how tightly I closed my fists.

God, what was happening? What were they up to? What if I lose them?

There was one man on this planet who wouldn’t tolerate my three children getting into trouble: Kian.

No one knew my children’s world the way I did except for Amara’s birth parents.

My husband was their anchor, their light, the steady presence they could always trust. Emory and Killian were their warm and cozy corner.

But Kian and I?

We were the shadows behind them, the ones who didn’t hesitate to draw blood in their defense. We weren’t the gentle ones. We were the ones who killed first and asked questions only if we had to. It wasn’t malice; it was instinct. That’s how we were wired.

I pressed the call button and waited. When he didn’t answer, I tried again. No answer. So I used our emergency method, and he finally answered on the third ring.

“You need to tell me something,” was my greeting.

But instead of a response, I was met with… a moan.

A woman’s moan.

There was rustling, then a distinctly male groan that could only have come from one place.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose. “Kian, if you’re inside your wife right now?—”

“Couldn’t your call have waited ten more minutes?” he asked, and I could practically hear the grin in his voice.

In the background, his wife laughed—laughed—while I sat here unraveling by the minute.

“You didn’t think to send my call to voicemail?” I snapped. “It’s about Amara, and how I just got off the phone with her where she lied to me like it was second nature. You’re lucky I waited this long.”

That shut him up.

I sank back into the chair, this time letting the exhaustion bleed through my bones. My heels hit the floor with a thud as I kicked them off, the pressure in my temples pulsing like a drumbeat.

“Put your damn pants on,” I muttered, “and meet me on a secure line in five. This isn’t a social call.”

He inhaled sharply, the mood between us shifting in an instant and Kian dropping the charm.

The call ended, and for the next five minutes, I paced like a caged animal as I waited for his call.

“What happened?” he asked as I hit accept on my end.

“Amara’s hiding something,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “I know it. She’s afraid. Saying the right words with the wrong eyes. She’s drifting. And the twins are acting off too.”

Although I had yet to hear from Jet. Jesus Christ, the joys of motherhood were certainly rivaled by a fair share of anguish.

“Are you sure they’re not just kids being kids? I mean, they’re adults now. They’ll want their space. You’re just too used to having them close, Liana.”

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me.

“No, it’s more than that. My instincts tell me something’s off.”

His heavy exhale came through the line.

“Fine, I’ll check it out and call you back if I learn anything. In the meantime, go find your husband and enjoy the alone time with him.”

Then he hung up.

I stayed where I was, staring blankly at the flickering lights of Boston beyond the glass. My responsibilities had me often roaming the world: Russia, Venezuela, Boston, and England since Jet and Elira went to college there. Truthfully, no place was my home without my children.

On the shelf to my right, two photos stared back at me. In one, Jet and Elira were frozen mid-laugh and caught in that fleeting, golden age just before adolescence. They clung to the swings’ ropes, legs flung high into the air, faces lit with joy. As if nothing could ever touch them.

In the other, Amara sat beside me on a patch of sun-warmed grass, her small hand curled tightly around mine, watching her older siblings with a grin so wide it nearly swallowed her cheeks.

Back then, she held on to me like I was the center of her world.

Like I was gravity, and if she let go, everything would drift.

Now?

Now she held on to the distance like it was a shield.

And the worst part was that I couldn’t blame her, because I was the one who taught her how to build walls. I was the one who taught her how to lie.

And now all I could do was wait. Wait and wonder just how far away my children really were.

Not in miles.

But in spirit.