Page 10 of Thorns of Death

I didn’t want to end up like my mother, being second best to a man. I didn’t know much about her, but what little I knew made me determined not to find myself in her shoes. Ever.

When I was a little girl, I questioned Illias, my big brother, why our father had never married my mother. He avoided the answer for years until I finally built up the courage to corner him.

The memory from when he’d visited me at boarding school came back to me as though it were yesterday.

“Isla, just drop it,” he grumbled. My hand tugged on my brother’s suit sleeve, making him groan in annoyance. Even at fifteen, my hand looked small and childlike on Illias’s. “The dead deserve some peace, too, and talking about them won’t bring you any answers.”

“I should be the judge of that,” I protested, my voice whiny. “I’m certain you know something, but you’re being a stubborn pig.”

“That’s my job.”

I shook my head. “No, your job is to tell me everything you know about our father. My mother. I deserve to know.” His jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, I continued, “You know how shitty it feels not to know anything about your parents.” I took a deep breath into my lungs. “Even a simple biological test on trait similarities to your parents. I don’t know if I have them or not.”

I could see the dark expression cross his features, and I thought I heard my brother’s teeth grind.

Silence stretched. Other parents came and went, throwing us curious glances but neither one of us acknowledged them. As always, Illias had come to this parent-teacher conference as my guardian. Almost twenty years my senior, Illias had been my brother, my mother, and my father. My entire family. Our other brother, Maxim, helped too, but Illias always managed to fill the role more effectively. He had the aura of a god—tall, strong, and powerful. His dark hair and piercing obsidian gaze made it difficult for women to resist.

So of course, female teachers swooned over him and male teachers felt uneasy around him.

A soft breeze swept over the grounds of my school. I only had another ten minutes or so before he left and I’d have to get back to my dorm room. Reina and Phoenix were there already. Their father had come and gone, both of them relieved to be left alone.

I didn’t mind it here, but I loved being home with my brothers. I loved being anywhere with them.

“You look like her,” he finally said. “In fact, you’re the spitting image of her.”

My eyes widened. “Really?” A terse nod was my answer. “But you didn’t like her?”

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and something bitter passed through his eyes.

“I didn’t know her well enough or long enough.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “Well, you knew her for at least nine months.”

After all, it was at least that long that I cooked in her tummy, and I knew Father brought her home to Russia because that was where I was born. Plus, Illias was the one who helped the doctor deliver me.

“I didn’t interact with her much,” Illias retorted back dryly. “I was busy with running…” He faltered, and it felt like he almost slipped, but he quickly got himself together. “…the businesses Father neglected.”

My shoulders slumped. Illias was always so in control, and I really wished he’d slip so I could get information. Any information, because I was certain he was hiding something.

He’d pulled me into a hug and his familiar scent seeped into my lungs. “Let it go, sestra. If not for you, then do it for me.”

After that day, I never asked him again. I tried to learn some information about my mother when it was time to apply for my passport, but Illias had it magically worked up for me. And the renewals.

Thrusting my attention back to the present, I shoved the memory away. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know my parents. I had realized over my twenty-three years that I was luckier than most girls. At least I had protective brothers growing up who would’ve burned the world down for me.

I took a deep breath into my lungs, letting the fresh air and the distant notes of a familiar song seep into my blood. Paris in the morning was the best Paris. Locals sang old melodies as they prepared their shops for yet another day. The scent of croissants drifted along the cobblestone paths. The soft buzz of the city as it was just waking up. Fall was in the air, and the month of October didn’t draw tourists as much as the summer months did. In my humble opinion, it was the best time to visit this city. The crowds started to thin in September, but by October, it was as if they were never here.

The smell of fall in the air, cooler temperatures, and the rustle of leaves under your feet made the city feel softer… more romantic. The drizzling, rainy days—like today—gave the impression that the city was weeping with you.

Not that I was crying or anything. It wasn’t like I’d just had the best sex of my entire life, or anything. I knew that didn’t mean much since it was only my second time, but something told me it’d be impossible to compare anyone else to him.

Enrico.The cheating bastard.

I wasn’t entirely certain what pissed me off more: the fact that he was married, or that I couldn’t have more time with him. To have him inside me. To have his mouth on me. Good Lord, the man fucked like a stallion. My insides clenched, already craving another taste of him.

I sound like a sex addict already,I thought as I entered the apartment building.

I saw the doors slide open, along with the telltaleUparrow flashing, and picked up speed so I wouldn’t have to share the ride with anyone. A minute later, I tumbled out of the elevator that had to date at least a hundred years back. One of these days, it’d stop working. Hopefully when I was nowhere near it.