Excitement.
And gods, it lit something in me I didn’t like.
Just for a second, my marks twitched. I felt it—raw, electric, clawing to the surface.
Uncalled for. Uncontrolled.
I forced it down before she could see anything.
At least... I hope she didn’t.
One slip, and my body would’ve taken her soul without asking.
And those tight pink training pants? Hugging every curve of her ass like they’re daring me to rip them off.
I shake the thought from my head before my body reacts again. I can’t afford this. Not now.
Not with her.
Only now my eyes land on my mom.
She sits on her bed, brows stitched together, worry carved into every line of her face. The room’s already been cleaned by the maids—immaculate, sterile. As if no one lives here when my parents are not around. That’s the point.
I step in and sit beside her on the silk black blanket. The mattress shifts beneath my weight, and her eyes finally lift to meet mine—darker turquoise shade than usual. Her emotions are heavy with guilt.
She did something I won’t like.
“Pedro told me—”
“No. Let me start,” she cuts in, her voice tight. She takes a long breath and places her hand on my thigh, grounding herself.
“That ‘sickness’ Roran has… it’s not exactly an illness. And it’s my fault.”
She looks away. Her voice drops, almost like she’s ashamed the air itself might carry her confession further than intended.
“She got it because I wasn’t careful,” she says. “And at this point… I don’t even know how many more humans are ‘sick.’”
“What do you mean?” The question is out before I even register it.
“Do you remember your human grandparents?”
I don’t need to look at her to feel the weight in that question—the kind that drips with guilt, sorrow, and silent confession. She struggles to speak, like she’s dragging words from wounds too deep.
I nod slowly. “I remember the pictures. And the stories you told me. Why?”
She always said they died when I was a baby. I never met them. She only told me stories about her childhood on land—never how it ended for my grandparents, though.
“They’re not dead.”
The words are so soft, I don’t know if it’s her voice or her soul speaking. Like a whisper that barely escaped.
I blink, only now realizing I was holding my breath.
“What!?”
A nervous chuckle slips from her lips, trying to mask the discomfort now wrapping around both of us like a noose.
What the hell is she talking about?
