Page 110 of Speak No Claim

For a woman who hid behind her strength, it was hard to watch. At least it was for me.

She slowly licked my blood off her lips, trying to govern her unsteady breathing. Hoping I didn’t realize how much she wanted me to touch her.

Hold her.

Comfort her.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

I wasn’t made like that either. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I wouldn’t know what to say, how to explain, how to tell her I’d fallen in love with her. Perhaps it was her venom that made that happen too.

For the first time in my life, I understood the meaning behind the saying that love could kill you, and you’d think I’d already know that by now.

She paused, panting with her forehead placed on top of mine. “None of this makes any sense to me. I should hate you. What did you do to me?”

“You do hate me, or at least you will.”

“Hate is not what I feel for you, Onyx.”

“Hmm…” I murmured against her lips. “If that were true, you wouldn’t live to say it to me.” My bloody hand hadn’t left her throat.

“Why did you mix our blood?” she asked when she noticed.

“The more questions you ask, the less anything is going to make sense.”

“I want to know anyway.”

Going completely against my better judgment, I declared, “It was a ritual of silence.”

“Silence?”

I wanted to provide her the only security I could, which only put her life in more danger, and trust me, the irony was not lost on me. Despite feeling uneasy about confessing this, I answered her persistent question as if I was a man on death row, and in some cases, I was.

Looking deep into her eyes, I shared another truth, speaking with conviction, “I vowed to never tell you what happened to your father.”

If she weren’t lying down, she would’ve fallen to the ground from the impact of what I just openly shared with her.

“You knew my father?”

“Knew isn’t the word I’d use.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “That’s the same thing your aunt said to me when I asked her about him.”

I stayed quiet. What could I reply to that…

“All I was told was that he died when I was young.”

“He did.”

“Where? Here? Is he part of the Brotherhood too?”

Unsure of how much I’d actually share, I went with it and answered, “He’s like me.”

“What do you mean? Like you, how?”

“He’s a legacy family…”