“I need you alive,” I whisper. “Just for a second.”
“Malec, stop,”Myko warns inside my head.“You’ll lose control in there, your father and uncle will be toast.”
“I won’t,”I snap.“I’m still a bit hungry. But I’m in control.”
I shut him out.
I lean closer.
Waves of black soul start to rise from her skin—trembling with the same strange sound I felt from Roran. And there they are again: golden threads.
Everywhere. Wrapping around her. Sealing her in.
If we break them—will she die? Wake up like nothing happened? Would she still behuman?
Does she have whatRoranhas?
I pull back. Breathe deep. Call my power back before it scorches the room. The marks across my skin fade. One by one.
Then I turn.
“Was Grandma sick?”
I brace for my father to explode—I promised I wouldn’t go near her again until they found a cure. But Mom steps in, placing her hand on his chest. That stops him.
“I can feel you’re anxious,” she says gently, “but I can’t read your mind, Malec. Please. Tell us what you’re thinking.”
Dad inhales sharply and looks at me. Waiting.
I speak carefully.
“Fedor’s eldest daughter’s soul looks exactly like Grandma’s. I think she had the same sickness Roran has.”
Dad stiffens.
“Eldest daughter?” he repeats, brushing off the rest like it didn’t register.
I nod.
“Yes. He has another daughter—Diana. Probably around Kayla’s age. He locked both of them up before the wedding. Roran begged me to get her sister out and let them stay here. I agreed.”
Dad narrows his eyes. His soul stirs—messy, unsettled.
“If they stay here, he won’t have a blood relative left to marry off to Ivan,” I add. “It was the smarter move. You can decide what to do with them later.”
He hums, rubbing his chin. Glances at Mariano, who’s casually chewing on Mom’s favorite crackers like this isn’t the middle of a family crisis.
“Taking her was smarter. Now Ivan and Fedor can tear each other apart once the betrayal hits. Better than killing Ivan ourselves and dealing with the mess.” I add with a smirk.
Dad’s soul is finally calming. That’s a good sign.
I join Mariano on the sofa, but my thoughts stay on her. Roran.
Her soul.
The strange sounds it made.
The way her breath hitched when I leaned in.
