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I raised the mug to my lips, but it was empty. Dad refilled it for me, adding a splash of milk before pushing it back across the table to me.
He looked older, like the lines in his face had deepened as I told my story. “You’re tied to them now. I can’t break a blood bond.”
“I know. But I don’t want to. Please don’t be unhappy for me. I love Talon. I want to be with him.”
It was the truth, and I knew it would make them feel better. What they didn’t know was that Talon didn’t feel the same, but that wasn’t anyone’s business but mine.
The other night, I’d just…snapped. If he wanted sex without ties, then that’s what he’d have. I was not a victim. I was not fragile. I was not some needy human.
Last night had been more of the same, except this time we hadn’t gone anywhere, just fallen into bed as soon as he arrived. Again, I’d told him he didn’t have to stay. I meant it. I didn’t want him to, not if it was only because he felt guilty about me.
I could tell I’d knocked him off-balance. He wasn’t sure how to handle this new version of me, which gave me a savage sort of satisfaction. Maybe someday he’d even see me as an equal—as much as a human could be, anyway.
And if he didn’t, at least I’d have my self-respect.
Across the table my dad opened his mouth, then shut it. I could almost see the words, the anger that wanted to spill out—not at me, at Talon—but he swallowed it.
“Look,” I said, “I know I messed up. But I hope you can be happy about the baby at least.”
Mom puffed up at that. “Of course we are. You did nothing wrong there. It’s not your fault the birth control failed, and if you want this baby, then we’re a hundred percent behind you. Aren’t we, Wes?”
“Of course we are.” Dad nudged my plate back to me. “Eat your oatcake,” he said gruffly, uncomfortable with all the emotion. “I made them with cinnamon and walnuts the way you like them.”
Making my favorite oatcakes was his way of showing me he loved me. That and taking a day off during prime lobster season because it was the only time I could visit.
“Yeah?” I smiled across the table at him, relieved to have that behind us, and buttered another piece of oatcake, washing it down with the milky tea. “Mm. These are good.”
“They’re easy enough to make,” he muttered, but I could tell he was pleased.
“Have another.” Mom deposited a second one on my plate, adding, “Just give it time. In the end, things always work out for the best. You’ll see.”
Two of her favorite sayings, back-to-back. I smothered a smile. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“Good.” Mom picked up the teapot and clicked her tongue. “It’s empty.” She rose to make a new pot. While she waited for the water to heat, she smoothed a hand down the back of my head. “You cut off all your hair. And what’s with the dye?”
“I was in hiding,” I said, and Mom winced.
“Should’ve come to us,” Dad grumbled.
I fingered one of the faded black tips. It had grown out a half inch or so, but was still pretty short. “I like it like this. I’m going to keep it. Even the dye, but this time it’s going to be purple.” Rio had promised to redo it for me tomorrow.
“Yeah?” Mom touched her own thick blond braid. “Well, I guess it’s up to you.”
The kettle whistled, and she returned to the stove.
Dad beetled his brows at me. “Talon’s treating you okay? Because he’d better. If he doesn’t, you let me know and I’ll have a talk with him. I don’t care if he’s the King of England.”
“He is,” I assured him. “He arranged for me to see Olivia the day after we got back, and I’m getting regular massages because my back’s been hurting.”
“Oh, I remember that.” Mom slanted me a sympathetic smile. “Yoga helps, too.”
“It does. Olivia sent over a yoga DVD for pregnant persons.”
Mom set the fresh pot of tea on the table and retook her seat. “Talon’s all right,” she said. “Look how he is with his mom. Mary, her name is. He looks after her—he even hired her a housekeeper/cook.”
“I know,” I said.
“When they wouldn’t let us see you up at the castle,” Mom added, “I went to see Mary. She didn’t know about the baby. But then Mary was never much of a mother to Talon.”
