“That is partly choice, and partly where we’ve spent time and with whom. Our original accents are very different from the way most British people speak today anyway—using them wouldn’t help us keep a low profile. Over time, our speech just… evolved, I guess. As all spoken language does.”
And even if it hadn’t, none of us would dare speak in the melodic cadence of home now. It’s too painful.
“And Blackmoor—the company, not the village… That’s why your firm buys up all the historic buildings?” she asks. “So you can… take care of your gargoyle friends?”
“Yes. As best we can, at least until we can find a way to break the curse and set our men free. Their souls, anyway.”
“The… the men. You said they only took the men.” Her eyes widen, and she looks up at me again with a gasp. “That’s why there are no female gargoyles in the city. Auggie’s photos… they’re all male. You… you had to leave them behind. Your daughter and… your…”
“Moira,” I say, my voice breaking. “My… My wife.”
The raw horror that floods her eyes is enough to break me. “Verrick took you from them. He took you from your—”
“No.” I press her palms together over the heart-shaped stone, my hands surrounding hers, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see what will certainly fill her gaze next. “The women of our villages were slaughtered, as were the…” My throat aches, but I force myself to carry on, to find the courage to say all these words out loud, even if all I can manage is a strangled whisper. “The children. They killed the children as well, along with the few elderly residents in our village. My… family. All of Rook’s nieces and nephews. Jude’s younger brothers. Augustine’s elderly mother and aunt. They were not… kind or quick. The fields of our homeland ran red with the blood of our people until only the grown men and teenaged boys were left. The fighters.”
The night goes still around us again, the sound of her every ragged heartbeat nearly drowning out my own, and finally she slides her hands out from my hold and draws me into her embrace, her arms tight around me, and for that brief moment, I let all of my carefully built walls crumble.
I cling to her, burying my face against her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin as I whisper my deepest, darkest confession. “My wife and daughter were murdered, Westlyn. Anastasia… she was seven years old and so full of life… I swear to you, looking at her felt like looking at the sun. And now… It’s been so long, I... IknowI loved my family. But what has stayed with me all these centuries, what is more deeply imbedded in my heart than all the love and cherished memories I have of them… is the guilt. I should’ve been able to save them, to protect them. If I’d been stronger, if I’d been a better father and husband, if I’d—”
“Draegan,” she whispers, her throat bobbing against my cheek. “Youdidprotect them. You risked your life on the battlefield, and in the end, you sacrificed yourself to Verrick so that your family—your people—would have a shot at a better life. If that’s not being a good father and husband, I don’t know what is.”
“They died, Westlyn. At the hands of a vicious king who took pleasure in their pain. Inmypain.”
“And if you hadn’t fought against him, the invading dark fae would’ve done unspeakable things as well. You can’t go back, Draegan. You can’t rewrite history with your guilt.”
I try to pull away, but she only tightens her hold, her warm breath stirring my hair, her heartbeat settling into a steady thrum against my ear. And once again, I stop resisting and allow myself this momentary comfort, this simple joy of true human connection and compassion and friendship.
And there, bathed in rose-gold candlelight and wrapped in the arms of a woman who refuses to back down from a fight, I close my eyes and weep for all the ghosts in my heart.
Chapter Twenty
ROOK
I hate that it’s come to this.
All the mystery, all the secrecy, all the damn hope.
It took days, but I finally cracked the password. Finally unlocked one of our biggest clues to the mysteries of West’s past—a past that could very well determine her future. After getting the alert on my phone and confirming it wasn’t a false alarm, I’ve spent the last hour in the library, transferring all the files from the SSD card onto my tablet so she could see them for herself.
Now, all I want to do is pretend I never saw them. Pretend the card just couldn’t be cracked. Pitch it into the flames and burn it to hell.
But I made a promise. We all did.
No secrets.
No matter how terrible. No matter how dangerous.
She deserves to know.
Loaded with the new files, my tablet feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, the heaviness of its dark revelations bearing down on me, crushing my lungs. I trudge back across the lawn toward the manor, toward the soft firelight glow of the study, where I know Jude and Auggie are awaiting my report.
“Well?” Jude gets to his feet the moment I step inside. Auggie was already pacing. “What did you find?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. Sex and desire linger in the air, the memories of what transpired tonight making me ache. Making me wish, once again, I could unknow all that I’ve learned.
“Letters,” I finally manage. “Diaries. A mix of both.”
“Whose diaries?” Auggie asks.
