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“I don’t know.” I followed his line of sight. The tension between us was loud. “Existing?” A chuckle slipped out before I could stop it and his eyes slammed into mine.
“This is funny to you?” he accused, his eyes narrowing on me. They dropped to my lips and then to my eyes. “I wanted to fuck you, and then I find out that the girl I used to pull off on is my sister…” he smirked. “I guess that makes me a little sicker than Brantley, and that’s saying something.” His eyes went back to the window.
“You’re not sick, Hunter,” I muttered, swallowing past the emotion that was threatening to surface in my throat. “And you weren’t the only one who had thoughts…”
His movements stilled. I took this moment to reach over and snatch the drink from him, wrapping my lips around the rim and tilting back, letting the warm liquid slide down my throat. “There was this one time,” I laughed, suddenly realizing how bad this was about to sound. I swiped the residue from my lips and handed the bottle back to him. I could feel his eyes watching me as he absently took the bottle from me, waiting for my confession. “I had this very intense dream that involved all of you. In my head, I had already fucked you, so there, I trump yours.”
There was a long pause and I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
Suddenly, his laughter cracked through the cold room and my eyes snapped to his, catching him rubbing the tears from his cheeks. “Well, yeah, that makes me feel a little better, but I can assure you, I fucked you in my head too.” After that, I felt a sense of calm come between us. A lot easier than what it was a second ago.
“Tell me about Daemon and I’ll tell you about your biological parents.”
That was unexpected. I hadn’t thought much about my biological parents, mainly because I didn’t have time to. My life was an information dictionary and I was constantly being fed the unedited version that had to continue to be revised and changed.
“Well,” I started. “I don’t know much about him because he’s new in my life, but what I do know about him I go off instinct. Probably some sick twisted twin thing, but it’s hard to explain. I don’t know him, but I know him. It doesn’t even make sense, it’s like a bond of natural instinct. He doesn’t speak much English, but he’s fluent in Latin—like all of you, only better at it—no offense—”
He chuckled, throwing his hands up. “Hey, none taken. He’s a Princeps Lost Boy. Latin was his first language.”
“So weird,” I added absently. “Anyway, he’s… different. It didn’t take me long to figure that out.” Hunter stepped backward, falling onto the bed. I turned to face him, my back pressing against the brisk glass. I slid down until I was seated on the floor. “I don’t really know what’s wrong with him, but Bishop and everyone keep saying he’s different.”
Hunter searched my features. “I’m not going to lie to you, or hide anything from you because I feel like you’re in this shit way too deep to not know, so I’m going to do you a solid and tell you that yeah, Daemon is different, I guess you could say.” My jaw felt as though it had hit the floor. For once, someone was being straight up with me. Hunter continued, his eyes carefully watching mine as if he was waiting for a reaction. “He has a—I guess you could say—a form of schizophrenia, only, a lot darker.”
I faltered. “Schizophrenia?”
Hunter dipped his head. “Only it’s worse for him. He has six ‘voices,’ only they’re not voices.”
“Okay.” I was totally not handling this very well, but I wasn’t about to disappoint my new brother by being a little bitch, and besides, I didn’t want to make him regret opening up to me. “What are they?”
Hunter gave me a somber look. “Demons.”
“Say what now?” I cocked my head, floored by his response. “Demons aren’t real.”
“To you and I and everyone else who walks this earth, sure, but in Damon’s head, they’re so very real, Madison. His head is a very, very dark place. That’s why we couldn’t trust him with you, and that’s why we know he was the one who shot you.”
My eyes closed from the pain those words caused. I had always questioned it deep down. I mean, the evidence was there, but my denial was stronger than any evidence. I couldn’t believe that he would hurt me, and in essence, he didn’t. The sharp stab to my heart, though, proved that I was still hurt by it.
“I know,” I whispered out hoarsely, wiping away the tears that had come out. “I knew it was him. I guess I was just in denial, and I still to this day don’t think he would hurt me.”
