I don’t resist when Roan and Lukan pull me away with Kellen on our heels. But I do hazard a glance in the direction of the clock.
Eight.
Roan nudges me into the living room ahead of them and keeps himself at my back. I don’t honestly know what they’re trying to protect me from, but I know it’s something in this house. There is something wrong with this house.
“Someone tell me what’s going on,” I demand, pivoting to face the trio.
None of them seem inclined to answer first. Lukan and Kellen exchange glances while Roan suddenly finds the patch of carpet between his feet to be the most interesting thing he’s ever witnessed.
“It’s a complicated situation, sweetheart,” Lukan says at last. “And a long ass story.”
Without hitting Roan, I swing an arm in the direction of the windows overlooking the front drive. “We’re stuck in a storm. We have nothing but time. Please,” I stress when they continue to hesitate. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Kellen is the one who relents.
He blows out a breath and turns to his brothers. “You two gather the rest of the items.” Face solemn, he reaches for me. “You come with me.”
Roan gives my back a light stroke of his fingers.
Lukan presses a kiss into the side of my head.
Then both leave the room.
“Where are they going?” I demand, watching the darkness swallow them. “I thought we were going to stick together.”
“They’ll be fine.” My fingers are lifted to his face, and he lightly brushes each tip with his lips. “Are you okay?”
It’s a reflex to lie and pretend, but I don’t feel that need with him.
“No.”
No judgment. He gives a faint nod and guides me in the direction of the sofa. He claims the last cushion at the end and pulls me into his lap with my back against the armrest. The throw from earlier is dragged across my legs and tucked into place.
“Do you want me to make you some tea?”
I shake my head, highly doubting Aunt Laura would carry tea I like. “I just want you to tell me what’s going on.”
Despite the dark furrow of his brows and the conflict in his eyes, Kellen chuckles, though there is no humor in it.
“We did not come prepared for this.” He turns his dark eyes to my face. They roam and trace the lines before settling on mine. “You shouldn’t be here, little one.”
“Trust me, I’m beginning to wish I wasn’t here,” I assure him, tugging the blanket higher under my chin. “From the moment I arrived, nothing made sense.”
He strokes the curve of my chin with the pad of his thumb. “Your aunt was doing some pretty awful things in this house. She opened a lot of pockets to places that shouldn’t be open.”
The spit in my mouth has dried to ash. No amount of swallowing is helping unglue my tongue from the roof.
“What are you talking about?”
There’s hesitation in his eyes like he knows he’s scaring me but not knowing how else to continue. At last, he gestures to the fire.
“The books. The artifacts.” He nods to the cluster of jars and the tiny figure made of human hair. “These aren’t normal things people have in their homes, Rina. They are dark. Evil. Nothing in any of this is used for good.”
I work a trembling tongue over my stiff lips uselessly. “Are you talking about ... demons ... malicuri?”
“Worse.” He pulls me tighter against his chest and drags the blanket even higher around me when I shiver. “There are worse things than malicuri.”
I don’t want to know.
