Page 16 of Mage Massacres

She nodded slightly. “It is, and I know. Everything feels like it’s hitting me at once, York. I thrive under pressure, but this is... A lot.” She waved her arm around the room.

“All this, everything with Palmer, the new responsibilities that haven’t even started yet, finding you, and learning that I had mates. And then we’re supposed to be saving the supes, but they won’t care about what we’ve had to sacrifice to make sure that—”

“Stop it,” I reprimanded. “You’re allowed to be stressed and confused and uncertain. But don’t start doubting yourself now. That’s not you, Sloane. You’re trying to be a hero; that’s not what you want. You’re not a good guy, but you’re not the bad guy either. Stop trying to label yourself.”

“If I’m not the good guy or the bad guy, then who am I?”

I held her at arm’s length. “You know exactly who you are. You’re one of a kind. That hasn’t changed. Don’t worry about doing the right thing by other people’s standards. Their moral compasses point in a different direction.”

“I don’t like it when you’re logical.”

Her lips lifted at the corners, and I grinned at her. “You don’t like it when I tell you what you need to hear instead of what you want to hear.”

“You know what would be really cathartic right now?”

“Murdering some bad guys?” I teased, wrinkling my nose.

“I was going to say hot chocolate first, but murder is a close second.”

I snorted at her, breathing easier when she gave me a small but genuine smile. I kissed her forehead before retreating from her space.

“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen and text Franklin a list of things to pick up. I’m giving you an hour,” I warned. “If you’re not in the kitchen by then, I’ll come find you and carry you out over my shoulder.”

4

Sloane

Tuesday, June 9th

Late Afternoon

I was simultaneously grateful and lonely when York left. I needed another minute to collect myself, but I didn’t want to be alone while I did it.

My eyes bounced around the office, soaking up the sight in front of me one last time before I would let myself walk out. Pictures of my parents with a nameless male stalked my every move. There were too many eyes staring at me, even if it was just my imagination. I sought out a photo where Amelia King wasn’t looking directly into the lens, judging my breakdown.

The next picture to the right seemed to have her gazing adoringly across the room. Her finger was pointed, not quite straight up but also not parallel. Without thinking about it, I turned, following her line of sight to find a new memory to study.

The image I came to was of my mother rolling her eyes at Papi. I pulled my attention to the photo above and found my father staring straight at the lens. Amelia held a coy expression, her hooded eyes casting a glance at her mates.

I felt my tension ease a little at a time, and I finally found myself somewhat enjoying the path of memories Amelia’s eyes were leading me down. Each picture showed me more about my parents, but I couldn’t stop wondering who the unknown man was.

His touch appeared too familiar to be casual. He seemed like a friend to my parents or something more. And the longer I searched, the more I was positive that he was a lover—a mate—to my mother.

The knowledge hit differently when it wasn’t speculation.

It was absolute.

Amelia King had, at one point in time, had a fourth mate.

But I could only guess the eras of the photos based on their clothes. So I had no way of telling when he had died.

The path I was on felt like it was quickly going to turn into a blinding obsession. I needed answers, but the still images wouldn’t speak to me.

One portrait led me to another and then to another. Most of them held the same five people, but one led me to a group shot that included Franklin. That one sent me to one that had Lucy and Lil in it. And that one sent me to a photo of my mother with a very familiar hellhound.

Lira’s tongue flopped out of her mouth, and I only recognized her by her small stature. She still looked large standing beside Amelia, but I knew without a doubt that I was seeing my mother with the dam of my hounds.

I followed Amelia’s eyes once more, telling myself that this was the last time. That I could always come back later. That this was the last memory.