Page 115 of Heimlock

Orliana’s sweet voice interrupts my thoughts. Because your best friend is driving me fucking insane. I tuck the phone back into my pocket. “No reason.”

She looks around. “Is there a reason why you’re standing in the middle of the landing pad, then?”

Because I’m desperate for a scrap of attention from your best friend. “Oh, you know, emails wait for no one.”

She laughs, unaware of my lies. Motioning for me to follow her into headquarters, she says, “Fynn and I were thinking we should start doing family dinners every week. What are your thoughts?”

I stroll beside her, my thoughts running through the possible ramifications and benefits. Kyrielle would be there most of the time. Which, in the long term, could be good or bad. Oh, goddess — if we date and break-up, the family dinners would become very strained.

“That could be nice,” I say cautiously. “What does Kyrielle say?”

Orliana shoots an arched look my way. “That’s your first thought?”

“I don’t want to argue about my chair every week.”

Orliana’s flat expression says she doesn’t believe me.

“You know,” she says airily. “I never did thank you for taking care of her for four days. I’m sure it was annoying. She’s so prickly about being taken care of.”

I open the door for her. “I just threw lemon pancakes at her, and she stayed quietly in her crate for most of it.”

Orliana slaps my chest with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”

Following her down the hallway toward Fynn’s office, I say, “What? I’ve been told my pancakes are quite good.”

Orliana looks me square in the eye. “I heard something about a … meat log?”

My feet freeze. I stare at her long, black hair as she continues walking. “She told you about that?”

Pausing, Orliana flashes me a grin. “Kyrielle tells me about most things.”

“Women,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Absolute fiends.”

Orliana laughs loudly, waiting for me to catch up. “Either way, thank you for taking care of her.”

“Any time.”

We both pause at the sound of arguing coming from Fynn’s office. Orliana and I exchange a look, bolting toward the yelling. Stepping in front of her, I open the door.

My stomach drops into the twelfth Hell. Because in Fynn’s office stands …

Our father.

Reality enters a dreamlike state as he turns to stare at me, wearing an eye patch. I’m a kid all over again, begging ‌him to stop hurting me. The memory of his cruel laugh echoes all around me as he smiles.

“Son, it’s good to see you.”

Blood tangs against my tongue as my fangs pierce my lip. I dig them in hard, trying to anchor myself with the pain. Every foul thought, dream, and wish pummel my senses. So many times, I’ve imagined different deaths. Suffocation; gutting; throat cutting; poisoning.

I was doing okay.

Everything was getting better.

Now I’m ten years old again and my father is twenty feet tall, lording his power over me.

Orliana is the first to speak, her voice dripping with hate. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She shifts; I move to block her. Fynn stalks around his desk, shoving past our father and me, pushing her out of the office. “You need to leave, Orliana.” He grabs my arm. “Come on, Trinte.”