Page 17 of Worse Fates

I let go of his curl and stand back, allowing myself that single touch and nothing more until he requests it. His lust for me was obvious, but so was the way he pushed me away.

I tilt my head towards the heavy oak door. There is no noise, but the faintest shift signalling a presence.

With one last adoring glance at my mate, I ensure he’s safely tucked in, then step into the hallway. The second the door clicks shut, I feel our separation, it’s as if fate’s string is tied to my middle and tugging me back to where I belong.

But I ignore my instincts and find my brothers, Rurik and Ramy, in the large living room decorated in inviting, but boring, colours. Instead of sitting on either the cream-coloured sofa, or matching armchair, they whisper beside it with the lights off, both tense. They silence when they catch sight of me.

Rurik’s shoulders are bunched. “Luc. You’re mate.” He curses himself. “I had no idea.”

“He’s weak but mostly unharmed.” I clap him on the back. “If he’d been hurt more you’d be dead by now.” I can’t imagine Rurik not by my side, but for my mate I would tear the world asunder.

“I would’ve expected nothing else.”

We share a look of mutual understanding; he had a mate once, too. I squeeze his back, showing Rurik my love for him remains unchanged, before dropping my hand and letting loose a deep sigh.

It’s been a very long night.

“How is he?” Ramy asks. He moves towards the window, moonlight highlighting his features in a sheet of silver.

“A part of him remembers me, of course. There’s always a part. But Golden’s scared and angry. I think he’d rather fight me than love me.”

“Golden?” Rurik chuckles. “Francisco with his gold hair. Tristan and his golden eyes. Samuel with that gold crucifix he’d never part with. And now your mate is simply Golden.”

I laugh in agreement. “Fate has picked a theme for me, that’s for sure.” Sobering, I change the subject of conversation to the real reason they’re both here. “We need to talk about Vidar.”

“I moved him to the farm house while you dealt with this,” Ramy says, his voice far away.

“How did our Maker treat you?” I ask.

Ramy says nothing, his gaze lost to the distance. A heavy deep-blue curtain leisurely waves in the breeze drifting from the open window, obscuring him.

“Maybe I should finally kill him,” I say, frustrated.

Rurik moves closer to Ramy, offering him his silent comfort. “If you’d been a second slower, Luc, I would’ve killed Golden because of him.”

The thought is too offensive to linger on.

Golden would sooner flip me off than beg for his life, but in the dark bedroom he was vulnerable. Speaking my name as if it was a secret treasure he didn’t know how to unlock yet.

“Guarding him from all harm is my focus. Vidar—” I spit his name, “—is not.”

Ramy shifts, looking away.

“You want to defend him, Ramy?” I demand.

His eyes close for a second, then he looks over his shoulder to meet my gaze, full of too many regrets and longings.

“I don’t.” His voice is unwavering, but quiet. “If you have to take your revenge, I understand. But let me mourn him.”

Rurik’s fingers tangle in Ramy’s hair, pulling his face up to meet his pale blue eyes. “You’ve never met the real Vidar, Ramy. The man you’ve known in your short ten years as a vampire is a defeated one.”

Ramy matches Rurik’s hard, but loving, stare. But our youngest pulls himself away, his black hair slipping free like water as he turns his attention back to the window.

“That defeated man is all I’ve known, and his love might be…difficult, at times,” Ramy replies softly. “But he’s my Maker, our Maker. So, kill him if you have to, but allow me my feelings.”

Rurik and I watch Ramy, my regret a fist in my chest. Could I even really do it?

“There is no line I wouldn’t cross for Golden.”