Page 129 of Horror and Chill

“Agatha, this is our dad, Henry.”

Agatha’s eyes narrow, recognition flashing across her face.

“Wait,” she says slowly. “Did I call you once—about a ring?”

Dad freezes, then smiles. “Could have. I get a few of those calls now and again.”

“I knew it!” She points. “Dead Man’s Forge. You made the rings. The ones your sons wear.”

She grabs his hand before he can dodge, eyeing the band. Then she looks at Mom, who just grins and holds out her right hand, same ring just more delicate shining in the morning light.

“It’s our family’s mark,” Mom says softly. “A sigil of loyalty. Every one of us wears one. We know who and what our boys are. But they're ours, and they're good men. A little dangerous and deranged, but good men. They're my boys. Their sister, dad and I all wear the same sigil of loyalty to them. Someday if Mason finds out, he'll swear and be given a ring. We wear it to remind us we stand together—always.”

Agatha blinks. “Do I get a ring then? Is that why I’m here—to swear silence?”

“You’re here to meet our parents, not join a cult,” I cut in fast.

She crosses her arms. “You sure? Feels pretty culty to me.”

I grin. “Don’t worry. You’ve already been initiated. Just took a little blood, fire, and a few felony charges.”

Her lips twitch. “Then I’m in good company.”

“Corwin,” Mom warns, that sweet tone that means I’m a step away from a backhand. “Don’t be rude. She’s the first girl you’ve brought home, and I already adore her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “She’s a real charmer.”

“Keep it up and I’ll charm you with a kitchen knife,” Agatha whispers under her breath.

I stick my tongue out. Mom sees it and smothers a smile with her knuckles.Traitor.

Mom grins. “Good. Now let’s have cider. It’s cold enough for it.” She disappears into the kitchen.

Agatha follows her, offering to help, and I catch myself watching them go—my mother and the woman I’d kill for, moving in perfect step. For a second, I almost say something, some stupid line to ruin the moment. I keep it in. Some things are better left hanging in the air.

“Let’s go,” Dad says, nodding toward the back door. We line up like good little boys and follow him out to the back porch. Dad leans against the railing, spinning his ring on his finger while his eyes move from me to each of my brothers. Garron and Evander go to the wicker couch and plop down, but I stay standing across from Dad with my arms crossed.

“This the one?” he asks quietly.

We all look at one another and nod.

"You're sure?"

Evander nods without a pause. “Absolutely.”

“One hundred percent,” Garron says.

Dad looks at me. "And you, Corwin? You're the wild card here."

"I’m obsessed with her," I say.

“That isn’t an answer,” he says. "Is she it for you?"

"Yes," I bite out through clenched teeth. "She makes me feel things other than murderous rage."

"Then make sure you treat her well. Taking a woman between three men, triplets or not, is hard. But add in your guys' extracurriculars? Don’t let her be your downfall. Your mother isn't built to visit you on the other side of plexiglass while you wear jumpsuits."

“We know,” I say.