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She shook her head but subsided.
I was visibly pregnant now. In a month, I’d gone from thick around the middle to holy crap, she swallowed a basketball. Talon and I were both on the tall side, and Olivia had told me the baby was big for his gestational age.
“You—” Dad pointed at me—“should have used protection.”
“We did,” I said, starting to get angry. I slathered butter and honey on the oatcake with quick, hard strokes.
My father loved me. I knew that. When I’d arrived, he’d opened the door before I could knock, then, without speaking, pulled me into a hard hug. But he was upset. He hadn’t wanted this for me. He hadn’t even wanted me to become a thrall, but at twenty-one, I hadn’t needed his permission. I hadn’t expected he’d be overjoyed to find me pregnant with a syndicate baby, but his disapproval still hurt.
“You know the rules,” he said, tight-jawed. “Put in your time with the syndicate, take their money, and you’re out. Now you’re going to be tied to them for the next eighteen years—at the least.”
“But…” I trailed off, staring at the oatcake.
But I love Talon.
My throat closed up. I set the cake on the plate without eating it.
That’s right, folks. I’m the living, breathing cliché—a thrall who fell in love with a vampire.
Unfortunately, the sleeve of my sweater had somehow gotten pushed up my forearm. Both their shocked gazes locked on the gold band around my wrist. Too late, I jerked the sleeve down.
Mom gasped. “You’re blood-bonded to him?”
“Jesus Murphy. I—” Dad shoved his chair away from the table and stalked out of the kitchen.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I blurted.
Mom’s breath whooshed out. “He forced you?”
“No, no. I—” I shook my head. “It wasn’t like that. He was trying to protect me.”
“Protect you from what?” Dad loomed in the kitchen doorway, his lanky body tense.
I moved the plate aside and, resting my elbows on the table, pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. “The syndicate.”
“Why would he need to protect you from his own syndicate?” Dad asked. “Aren’t they happy about the baby?”
“They are, yes.” Taking my hands from my eyes, I lifted my head.
Dad’s expression darkened. “Then it’s Talon who doesn’t want it?”
“No! He wants this baby.”
I bit my lower lip. You have to tell them the whole story.
They’d blame Talon and the syndicate otherwise, and that wasn’t fair.
God knew, I was tired of confessing what I’d done, but if I didn’t, I’d have to lie to them, and I was trying to learn from this, to own my mistakes. To be someone my little guy could look up to, like I did my parents.
“I told you I messed up,” I said to my mom. “What I didn’t tell you was what I did. Dad, sit down—please?”
His whiskered face bunched in a frown, but he retook his seat. “Talk.”
“Okay. So…” I wrapped my fingers around my mug of tea and told them the whole sorry story.
When I was finished, Mom reached across the table to pat my hand. “Oh, sweetheart. I wish you would’ve come to us right from the start. Maybe we could’ve helped.”
“Maybe,” I said, even though I knew they couldn’t have done anything. And I wouldn’t have wanted them to. I was an adult, as I’d told Talon.
