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He grumbles but strides over, scrapes a chair across the floor, and sits. They cut an imposing sight with matching blue fated mate marks on their arms. His shirt can’t contain his broad shoulders. His long silver hair is pulled back to reveal tufted shifter ears that twitch in vexation. His alpha gaze is impossible to hold for long.
Next to him, my mother seems delicate, with long fiery hair that’s always disheveled. She was in her mid-twenties when the nuclear winter froze everything, including her, two thousand years ago. Freckles sprinkle her flawless skin. She’s stunning, tenacious, and loyal. When my father found her thawed and washed up on the shores of a lake, he was covered in curse marks and invisible to everyone but her.
I was conceived during that curse, and even though they’re now blessed, I’m far from it.
She stares at the collection of stones with a far-off look in her eyes.
“Clarke?” my father prompts.
“Hmm?” She moves the stones around, sorting them into collections. Her mind has wandered. We’re used to it. Sometimes she’s here, sometimes distracted—deep within a psychic vision or on her way to receiving one.
Dad’s dark brows lower, and he turns the full force of his displeasure on me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Despite his ageless appearance, his tone reminds me that he’s not twenty-five. He’s a few centuries old, has seen many wars, and suffered much.
“Are the twins okay?” I ask.
“They’re fine,” he grits out. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”
That wasn’t what I was getting at, but it’s useless to defend myself now.
I have millions of questions. Why me? What did I do to deserve being curse-born to two perfectly heroic parents? Why was I chosen from millions as the obsession for six soul-stealing, freakishly beautiful, and corrupt males? Why did Rory sacrifice her life for mine? Why did she think I was worth saving when the Well decided I wasn’t, when it took back the power it gifted me at birth?
But I hold my tongue. I always do with them. Tinger was my only confidant.
“Can I go to bed now?”
“Go to...?” Dad is baffled, his mouth agape.
My muscles cramp under the strain of stifling the urge to fight. The only trait worth anything in my soul is resilience—this strange ability to wake up day after day, to push back when someone holds me down. With the rate things are going, I’m not sure how much longer it will last.
“What about these stones?” He gestures roughly at the collection. “Why are you stealing when you could have just asked? We’re all on the same side here, Willow.”
How do I tell him that I can’t trust anyone? How do I tell him that my decade with the enemy was filled with Nero repetitively tampering with my thoughts, so I would forget the trauma of killing, only to bring them back to life and be attacked all over again? Sometimes, the victims were animals, sometimes innocent humans dragged from the streets. I still feel sick when I remember them walking into the garden with grubby, awe-struck faces, thinking they’d won a prize to meet their president.
There is much about my time in Crystal City I don’t reveal. Some of it is too painful to relive. But mostly, I know my parents blame themselves for not seeing the depraved depths of the Six’s plan to claim me as their queen.
I tell myself it was the taint on the Well that blocked my mother’s magic from working clearly. She had to trust six Guardians who were supposed to be heroes. But it was all lies. The six Sluagh who lived in this house were villains in sheep’s clothing.
I might have escaped being their queen, but it wasn’t without a cost.
I frown when I notice more gouges on the table top. More counting. The air thickens with alpha power and tastes like a storm. My father sees me swipe one of the marks and must know who made them.
He snarls, “If I ever see them again, I’ll kill them.”
“Good,” I return. “I’ll help you.”
“No, you won’t,” he growls. “Because I forbid you to go anywhere near them again. Right, Clarke?”
My mother finally looks up. Something in her eyes gives me pause. Then she glances at her mate and sighs. “You both know they’re gone.”
Dad’s jaw clenches. He hates not knowing how to fix something.
“I’m throwing this out.” He jabs a finger on the table. “We’ve been busy after the twins were born, but it’s time. The sooner we erase all evidence of their existence, the better.”
“Is that what you want me to do?” I whisper. “Erase my past too?”
“Are you telling me youwantto keep reminders of them?” Disgust rolls off his tongue. He’d probably burn the house down if he knew what’s hidden in my room.
