Page 20 of Blood on the Tide

But when I answer, it’s the truth that slips from my lips. “My father is dead and has been since I was a small child. My mother rules the family with a bloody iron fist. She’s taught me everything I know. My younger brother is the family fuckup. He was supposed to be my right hand, a built-in support for the day when I take over, but he’s always chosen to go his own way.” Currently, his own way is giving my mother fits of rage, possibly because he’s finally beyond her reach. He’s created a sickeningly cute little polycule with Mina, Rylan, and Malachi... all of whom are members of other bloodline families. Not even my mother would risk war by daring to cross so many powerful vampires.

“You almost sound like you envy him.”

I glare. “That’s also not a question.”

“Lizzie.”

“What’s the point of playing a game if you don’t follow the rules?” Granted, I’m more than happy to discard whatever rules don’t serve me. Though, from the look in Maeve’s large eyes, I’m not going to escape this subject on her next question. In an attempt to distract her, I say, “Who took your pelt?”

Instantly, all relaxation banishes from her face. I watch her close down in real time, her expression shuddering and her spine straightening. “His name is Bronagh.”

I open my mouth, but she beats me there. “Why are you so resentful of your brother?”

“I don’t want to answer that question.” I don’t mean to say it. This game started as an attempt to get more information out of her, to understand the enigma that is Maeve, and yet I feel like I’m the one being stripped bare. She sees more than most people. Even Evelyn never really asked me about Wolf. Or my family, for that matter.

Maeve smiles slightly, the twist of her lips bittersweet. “Then I think this game is done, don’t you?”

It should be. It’s a smart idea. I don’t know how situations continue to slip out of my control time and time again. It’s never been a problem before. Usually when I’m backed into a corner, I just kill my way out. Or I avoid a fight altogether by virtue of my reputation. Neither of those has been an option for too many of the uncomfortable situations I’ve found myself in since I came to Threshold. They certainly aren’t an option now.

More than that, I want to know about the bastard who took her skin. I want to know the story of how it happened and why. I can barely acknowledge the motivation behind that desire for knowledge. It’s not mere curiosity, though that would be significantly less complicated. No, the sensation inside my chest when I think about him is furious... and almost protective.

That fucker put the bruised look in Maeve’s eyes. He hurt her, carved out a piece of her, and took it with him when he left. Unlike most exes, he did it literally.

I want to see what Maeve is like when she’s not mourning a lost piece of herself. I want to know what kind of woman she is when she’s at peace. Whatever that looks like.

A deep breath does nothing to settle the jagged pieces inside me that grind together when I think about my brother. “Wolf has never cared about our mother’s expectations. He moves through life driven by desire and... love, I suppose. He doesn’t seem to feel the same pressures I do. He doesn’t conform. He doesn’t break himself until he’s unrecognizable, all to fit a mold created by our mother. I suppose I am jealous of him. It makes me hate him sometimes. I’ve certainly hurt him enough over the centuries. But nothing seems to stick. He endures whatever punishment my mother decrees and then moves on. I don’t understand it.” The words feel sharp in my throat. Painful. I’ve never admitted this out loud, not to anyone.

I wait for Maeve to point out that I make my own choices, too. That I am choosing to conform to my mother’s demands, just like Wolf is choosing to push back. That I bow to duty over love every single time. It’s how I lost Evelyn, after all. It’s how I’ve lost the person I might have been if I was born into a different family, was taught by a different mother.

There’s no point in mourning that version of myself. She was weak, so she had to die. It was the only way I could live. There’s certainly no point in wondering if this selkie staring at me with fathomless eyes would have liked that softer version much better than the one who sits before her, heart cold and hands drenched in centuries’ worth of blood.

And yet... I can’t help but wonder exactly that.

chapter 10

Maeve

I didn’t expect the thread of pain in Lizzie’s voice when she talks about her brother and family. I certainly didn’t expect to read between the lines to the abuse she must have suffered to fulfill the expectations of her mother. Shame coats my throat. I’m guilty of making assumptions about her, of following the lead of Nox and the others on the Audacity and believing that Lizzie walked from the womb with a cold smirk and a desire for violence.

Maybe she did, but that doesn’t change the fact that the person she is today was formed from a lifetime of experiences, and if the heaviness of her words is any indication, many of those experiences were horrific and violent.

I know what it’s like to live under the expectations of others, but attempting to find common ground is a recipe for disaster. At best, she’ll laugh in my face. At worst, she’ll assume I pity her and hate me for it. Knowing that keeps me from trying to comfort her, but the desire is there all the same.

Before I can do something foolish, she clears her throat. “How did you lose your skin?”

I knew the question was coming. Honestly, I’m surprised no one asked me before. Nox chose not to on purpose. They know better than anyone what Threshold can take from you. But once I agreed to this journey together, it was only a matter of time before Lizzie would want to know about the theft that set me on this path.

Even so, it feels strange to take a deep breath and try to formulate my thoughts into something that isn’t shrieking in rage. At myself. At him. At the entire situation.

She answered honestly when I asked her a truly invasive question. I can do nothing less. The pain in my chest is a living thing as I clear my throat. “I spent a good portion of my adult life avoiding entanglements with sailors and the Cwn Annwn. Once Nox recruited me, I stopped leaving the tavern when the tide washed their ships in. I learned to flirt enough to get them to spill information and to avoid advances in a way that didn’t bruise their pride.” And I was good at it, too. I was able to pass plenty of information about shipping routes, plans, and even a few secrets to the rebellion.

But I was so incredibly lonely.

I can’t bring myself to admit that aloud. Instead, I say, “Bronagh is incredibly handsome and incredibly charming. His ship has a trading route through Khollu, Viedna, and the handful of smaller islands within a few days’ travel, so I saw him a lot. He noticed me.”

He noticed me. So much in those three little words. So little. Shame is a live thing inside me. I should have known better than to trust him. I should have known better than...

“Keep going.” Lizzie’s words anchor me, drawing me out of my shame spiral. At least a little.