Page 54 of Seared Fates

If only it were that simple.

If only…

Rurik surprises me by trapping me in a headlock, laughing at how easily he caught me. “You think too much, Maker.”

“At least I do.” Grinning, I grab hold of his forearm and manage to throw him off my back and onto the ground.

No matter what Rurik says, I know my offspring. Apollo’s rejection created a wound deep enough that nothing else compares. His easy forgiveness comes from a place of exhaustion, his every ounce of strength fixated on the soulmate who wants nothing to do with him. Rurik has nothing left to waste on me.

So as Rurik aims a punch at me, like he did when we first met in a windswept, shitty Russian tavern centuries ago, I pretend I’m forgiven. All the while vowing our family will be different. Better. Exciting.

Happier.

Chapter twenty-two

Kai

Istomp down the rickety wooden stairs, my blood reaching temperatures not even my purple flames could match.

‘Vidar!’ I scream that bellend’s name in my head like a curse. That absolute bastard. Vidar finally says he wants to turn me into a vampire, but not because we’re soulmates. In his dumb caveman brain, I’m just another person he gets to boss around. Not that I should listen to most of what comes out of his mouth, it’s too muffled by the foot he’s got rammed in there.

I squeeze the spray bottle I forgot to leave upstairs. Better that than wrapping my hands around Vidar’s stupid, thick, annoyingly sexy neck.

“You alright, babe?”

I jolt back to find Summer in her paint-covered overalls, an air filtration mask hanging around her neck and blond hair twisted into a messy bun. The bleached light from the cheap overhead bulbs catches a few loose strands, making her hair shine silver.

Near the colour of Vidar’s eyes.

Inwardly, I groan at thinking of him again, but outwardly shake my head when I realise I haven’t answered. “I keep getting stuck in my own head,”

“It’s okay, you look like you’ve got a lotta stuff on your mind,” Summer says while using an old rag to clean paint off her hands.

She’s thrown white sheets over the three broken chairs we were too lazy to move out, and opened the rectangular windows close to the ceilings as wide as possible. The cold might make me hug my leather jacket closer, but at least I’m not breathing in paint fumes.

“Lotta someone,” I correct on a scoff.

With the fresh coat of white paint and empty of the ever-present cobwebs, the basement appears massive.

“Looks good,” I say. “VeryRobert Rauschenberg.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Summer replies with a smile, tucking the rag into her pocket. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

I shove my hands in my jacket and rock absentmindedly on my heels. “He did a white-on-white minimalism painting thing. Sold for a real nice bit of change, like millions.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think I understand art.”

“No one does, mate,” I snort, then scan Summer over while she packs away tools.

Summer appears her usual bubbly self, but something in her movements seems slower. Distracted.

“Let me help you,” I say, then pick up her paint brushes and take them to the sink. I take off my leather jacket, grateful I’m wearing a hoodie, and hang it up behind me before turning the water on.

“Thanks, Kai,” she replies, taking the mask off and dumping it next to her bags.

Summer’s about to pick up her paints, but I stop her by saying, “Nah, leave them. Come keep me company for a bit.”

She shakes her head as if she sees right through me, but drags her feet over and hops up on the counter beside the sink, resting back on the wall. Twisting the black rings on her fingers.