Page 79 of Pride: Kneel Before None

He had spent a lifetime honing control over them, living with the smoldering power beneath the surface. Echoing an ability that lasted only temporarily became a task far more challenging than it should have been.

For all my hard work, I deserved a break to do as I pleased instead of being lectured by an arrogant Knight of Hell with a fascination with discipline and control.

In fact, I think I deserved a Faevian coffee—even if it was overpriced.

Entering the same nameless cafe I had seen through my precognition days ago, I scanned the occupants in search of a familiar face.

The crowd of people was a mix of those seeking out a morning ritual to start their day and those trying to caffeinate away their hangovers.

Squeezing between the cramped tables, I made my way towards the back. Halfway there, it hit me.

Burnt desert blooms.

The alluring scent seemed to tether itself to me, pulling me towards its origin.

When it released its hold on me, I stood at the edge of a round wooden table tucked into an alcove barely big enough to seat two people.

There she sat, looking precisely as she had the last time I’d seen her. Raven hair cropped short, pale blue eyes, and a slender figure that was all grace and sharp edges.

Mirra Bechette had never been a particularly warm woman, but she always kept a watchful eye on her children.

“Mother,” I greeted softly.

She stood, opening her arms for me to come to her. When I did, I wrapped them around her waist, and she closed her embrace around my shoulders.

“Genevieve, look how you’ve grown,” she said in a state of awe against the top of my head. It felt like being a small child all over again.

My mother pulled back just enough to cup my face in her hands as she gave me a once over, seemingly looking for something specific.

Whether or not she found it, I didn’t know. She released me and gestured to the seat across from hers.

“Sit. We have much to catch up on.”

Once I lowered myself into the worn chair with a wicker seat, she sat as well.

“You visited Tighe.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but it was an observation that she hadn’t bothered to come looking for me before seeing him.

“You visited Tighe,” she echoed back at me as she picked up a spoon and stirred the cup of tea in front of her in small and controlled movements.

“He’s my brother, and he took the fall for some son of a bitch who framed him. So yes, I went to visit him.” The response came with a spark of heat to it.

She set her spoon on the table and lifted the cup to her lips, taking a drawn-out sip of the steamy liquid. After she set it back down again, she looked at me like I hadn’t said a word at all.

“I’m surprised you managed to find me here. Your father would be proud.”

A waitress approached our table, looking uncertain as she placed a Faevian coffee I hadn’t ordered on the end of the table and nudged it forward warily.

Mother gestured to the drink. “Yours. I know how ornery you get without a bit of a pick-me-up in your morning.”

Somehow she had known I’d come here.

Before I could send the coffee back, the waitress had already scampered off.

I slid the warm mug across the surface of the table until it was in front of me.

The pool of liquid shifted colors, never settling on any particular one for very long. Once my hands settled around the exterior of the ceramic drinkware, the drink inside shifted into a glittering gold hue.

“Interesting,” Mother said as she intently watched the color turn. “You have nothing to be anxious about, darling.”