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“How would she know? They look so alike.”
“The mark on her neck. Mia has a moth. Ophelia has a crown. But also…” He places the pad on the table, every movement controlled even as his hands shake. “Mia has the best smile. The best curves. The best heart.”
We all tremble as if his words shoot through us, waking up parts of us that were dead for so long.
“Of course they are not the same,” Emrys growls. “Mia is prettier by far.”
“She is sweet,” Ashton says.
“She’s ours,” I finish. “Sin, how did you manage to remember her when we forgot her?”
A slight shrug. “Drawing always comes from my subconscious. But also the pain. It has helped me keep sane in the past when I was alone.”
Dammit, that breaks my fucking heart somehow—because I’m similar to Sindri, have been where he’s been, and I’m not letting him sink.
“You’re not alone anymore, Sin.” I walk up to him, cautiously slide an arm over his shoulders and the most amazing thing is that he lets me. “We’re here. We’re together. And we need Mia to complete the circle. We need to get her, now, while our minds are free.”
“Before Ophelia returns.” Ashton comes and puts his arm around Sindri’s back.
“Fuck that bitch,” Emrys adds and comes to lean against me. Does he even realize that he chose proximity, that his moody demon façade doesn’t fool anyone anymore? I like having him so close, and wait, why is the skin where his tattoos wrap over his chest and biceps so rough? Rough and familiar.
Scars, I think.
Why didn’t I ever realize before? I never saw Emrys and myself as similar in any way but now I wonder. I glance at Ashton and wonder about his past, his insistence that he tried to save me, save Sindri’s mother. Are all four of us the same, deep inside?
Slowly the memories trickle back, trying to rearrange themselves into a coherent picture. I kind of remember Ashton from back then, through the haze of pain and drugs and terror. He’d sat beyond my reach that was limited by the leash around my neck, together with the enthroned patriarchs of the Marais D’Aube House, watching impassively as I was tormented.
I’d always thought it was impassively, anyway. It’s hard to remember his expression, though I remember his face—much younger then, his hair longer around his face, his shoulders already wide and strong. He’d seemed so arrogant, then, so aristocratic and aloof and above it all.
Above helping me.
Did he try to, behind the scenes, where I couldn’t see? Did he plead for me, like he said? It’s true that he was just a kid, like me. How much influence could he have had at that age, even though he sat on one of the thrones, the heir apparent to the House of Water? He hadn’t ascended yet back then.
He still hasn’t, come to think of it.
So many things I want to ask and discuss once we’re out of this fucking mess.
“So how can we break this enchantment?” I glance around at the others. “Any ideas?”
“Sex,” Emrys says. “I already said so.”
“Of course,” Ashton mutters. “Sex, how didn’t we think of that. Brilliant.”
“Stop with your snide vampire comments. It only means we should try again.”
Sindri sighs. “If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.”
“Said by Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, at the battle of Bannockburn,” Ashton says absently. “And then he kicked the ass of the English.”
“Fitting, then,” Emrys says. “I’m all for kicking O’s ass.”
“How the fuck did I go out with Ophelia?” I remember her hands on my face, her lips on mine—cold, painful. I remember holding her. “She was my girlfriend months ago. Did I love her?”
“You never seemed happy with her,” Emrys says. “If you ask me, she had managed to enchant you already.”
“Because I’m weak,” I growl.
“Because you’re kind, and kindness isn’t weakness,” Ashton says. “Because you were hurt in the past and it wasn’t your fault. Because decent people get used all the time by those vicious and selfish enough not to care.”
