Page 153 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

His fingers were cold. Familiar. The same hands that had beaten me as a child, before turning to Rory as the target for his rage, now pushed me onto my back and squeezed, and I couldn’t summon the strength to fight back.

I stared up into his face, searching for something—anything—that resembled the father I’d once known. His eyes were pale blue, washed out and empty as winter sky. Nothing like Rory’s. Nothing like mine. How had we ever come from him?

My lungs burned, desperate for air that wouldn’t come.

This was how it would end. Killed by the bastard who’d destroyed us both. Felix would die in this place. Rory would die, or worse. All because I couldn’t—

“TAKE THAT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

Something heavy connected with Malcolm’s skull with a wet crack. His body collapsed on top of me, suddenly lifeless, and I gasped in a lungful of air, shoving the dead weight aside.

Black hair falling across worried eyes. Familiar hands reaching for my face, warm against my skin. The scent of vanilla, sweet and intoxicating and everything I thought I’d never have again.

My brain disconnected, floating. Those hands were too real. Too warm. The worried frown creasing his forehead, the way his lips moved as he said my name—everything about him was exactly right and completely impossible.

“Are you really here?” I asked, voice horrifically hoarse.

Big brown eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“Why are you here?” I managed, attempting to sound cross.

“To do this.”

He climbed into my lap, straddling my thighs, and suddenly the hallucination became solid weight and warmth and Felix, definitely Felix, pressing close enough that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest.

His lips found mine, soft and desperate and alive. For a moment, nothing else existed except Felix’s mouth, Felix’s hands, Felix, Felix, Felix. My mate. Alive. With me. Kissing me.

When he pulled back, pink flushed across his cheeks, his eyes bright with something between terror and joy.

“Hi,” he said quietly, almost shy despite everything—the gunfire, the blood, the fact that he’d just saved my life with what looked suspiciously like a fire extinguisher.

“Hello,” I said. “You’re supposed to be in London.”

His smile was small but real. “And so are you.”

“Kit! Felix!” Rory’s voice shattered the moment. “For fuck’s sake you two, we need to move!”

Felix helped me to my feet, his fingers gripping mine tightly. That’s when I noticed her.

Isla stood beside Rory, gun in her hands, positioned like an ally rather than a threat. Blood spattered her pale face, but her eyes were clear. Determined.

“Isla.”

She nodded once, mouth set with familiar Thorne stubbornness.

“Now would be good,” Rory said, glancing nervously down the corridor.

A noise from the floor. Malcolm’s eyes fluttered. His fingers twitched against the concrete floor.

“Shit,” Rory breathed. “He’s not—”

Our father’s head lifted slowly, blood trickling from where the fire extinguisher had connected. Those vacant blue eyes found mine first, then shifted to Rory. Something flickered there—recognition? Or was it my imagination?

“I… I think we should kill him,” Isla said quietly. “Before he gets back up.”

Malcolm pushed himself to his knees, movements jerky like a broken marionette. The rifle lay beside him, and his gaze tracked to it with predatory intent.

Rory raised his weapon, arms shaking violently, the barrel wavering as he aimed at our father’s chest.