Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KIAN
I furrow my brows as I stare intently at my phone screen, waiting for Serafina to respond to my text. I haven’t heard from her all day, and that worries me immensely. Normally, I receive a “good morning” text from her first thing when I wake up, but not today.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Tristan attempts to reassure me from where he stands in the kitchen, scrambling eggs, his hair still messy from sleep. “Xander isn’t here either. They’re probably on a date or something.”
“Have you tried texting Xander?” I query.
We woke up this morning to discover Xander had already left the apartment for the day. That’s not too unusual, considering it’s the weekend and he works as a liaison for the council, but he usually leaves a note or something if he’s gone before we’re up.
Unless he left in a hurry…
Worry for my mate, now compounded with fear for my cousin, threatens to strangle me.
Where the hell are they?
“They’re fine. They have to be fine,” Tristan murmurs as he begins to beat the eggs a little more aggressively.
I glance at my cousin in alarm from where I sit at the counter, finally noticing just how many dishes he made for breakfast. Besides the eggs, I spot a plate of fluffy pancakes, bacon strips, sausage patties, sausage links, toast, and what appears to be yogurt parfait.
“Do you think we have enough food yet?” I try to keep my voice light and teasing, even as anxiety twists in my gut.
He’s been a freaking mess since we rescued him from Ms. Summers, and I hate seeing him like this. The guilt and blame he feels for what happened to me is written across every line of his face. I thought our talk before helped calm him somewhat, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.
However, who am I to judge how he heals from his trauma?
Xander has referred to his condition as MHS—Mother Hen Syndrome. I can’t say I disagree. It seems to please Tristan and his wolf to take care of and provide for us.
I can’t begrudge him for that, even if all of his attention on me in particular makes me uncomfortable.
Tristan ignores my question and begins scooping the scrambled eggs into a serving dish. “Do you need any more coffee?”
He has already refilled my cup three times, and I’m practically bouncing around the house. Honestly, I don’t even like coffee that much, but I can’t refuse when he asks.
This time around, Tristan doesn’t even wait for me to respond before he’s hurrying forward with a pot of fresh coffee. He pours it into my nearly filled mug and then rushes back to the stove. A second later, he materializes in front of me once more with a plate stock full of breakfast foods.
I don’t have the heart to tell him I already ate some cereal before he woke up.
Instead, I smile timidly and accept the plate and silverware. “Thanks, man.”
He nods once, mutters something too low for me to hear, and then scurries away.
“Did you eat yet?” I ask after taking a bite of eggs.
I have to give Tristan credit—that man can cook . His eggs have been seasoned to perfection and are covered in a light sprinkling of freshly grated cheese.
“Not yet,” Tristan says absently as he begins to clean up the kitchen. “I will after everyone else eats.”
“I’m the only one here, bro.” I attempt to flash him a smile, but it probably comes out forced and wobbly.
I honestly have no idea how to talk to him anymore.
Tristan was once my best friend in the entire world. We were even closer than brothers. Now, we’re trying to painstakingly glue back together a relationship that has been fractured one too many times. The pieces don’t seem to be fitting together anymore.
I’m honestly not sure we’ll ever get back to the way we were, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe we’re not meant to be those bright-eyed, idiotic boys from before life went to hell. After all, those boys’ relationship imploded in a plume of debris and shrapnel. Our relationship has only just begun.
“This is really good.” I gesture wildly with my fork as I speak. “You need to try it.”
“Yeah?” Tristan perks up at my words, and I can’t help but think that if he were in his wolf form, his tail would be wagging. “You like it?”
“Sit down and try for yourself.” I gesture towards the seat beside me, and Tristan hesitates, biting down on his lower lip.
His need to feed and care for his pack mates wars with his desire to please me. The latter wins out, and he quickly fills his own plate before sitting beside me.
Silence ensues almost instantly, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. For years after the truth came out about what I am, Tristan barely talked to me. Every time we were in a room together, it became so awkward and unbearable that I wanted to scream and cry and curl into a tiny ball. Now, we’re merely quiet because we don’t have anything to say, not because we’re actively trying to avoid each other.
Tristan offers me a timid smile over his plate, and I quickly return it.
That smile instantly fades, though, when the doorbell to Xander’s apartment rings.
Who the fuck could that be?
Anyone else in our little ragtag mate group would just walk right on in—even Serafina.
Does Xander have plans we don’t know about?
Tristan immediately tenses, his shoulders hunching until they meet his ears, and before I can stop him, he’s launching himself at the door. I just barely catch his plate of food and place it back on the counter.
Tristan’s nostrils flare as he sniffs out the identity of the intruder, and unbridled rage manifests in his eyes.
“Trist—” I begin, but he’s already throwing the door open with a scowl.
My stomach plummets to my feet at the sight of the man and woman standing in the doorway. A strange roaring sensation echoes between my ears, rising in pitch with each consecutive second until it sounds like the shrill ring of a whistle.
I’d recognize the immaculately composed woman with dark blonde hair and the scowling man anywhere.
My parents.
Bile scorches my throat, and I fear I’m going to be sick. The wonderful food Tristan just made for me threatens to come back up and become intimately familiar with the floor.
What the fuck are they doing here?
I haven’t technically moved out of their house yet, despite everything that transpired between the three of us, but I’ve been finding excuses more often than not to stay elsewhere. Just last night, I slept on Xander’s sofa, and the night before that I stayed with Devyn.
My parents have never been the warmest individuals, but I thought they at least cared about me. However, when the truth came out about what Ms. Summers did to me, my parents didn’t care. They acted like it was my duty as an incubus to sleep with every warm-blooded body who wanted a taste of me.
I probably would’ve been under Ms. Summers’s malicious thumb forever if Serafina hadn’t discovered the truth and saved me.
“What are you doing here?” Tristan hisses with more rage than I ever remember hearing from him before—and that’s saying something, considering the fact he hated me for years.
I’m sure my face is as white as parchment as I stare at the two people who are supposed to love me unconditionally but instead threw me away like trash.
My father lifts his chin haughtily in the air. “Is that any way to speak to your uncle, boy?”
Tristan bares his teeth. “You’re no uncle of mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Father waves a hand dismissively in the air before turning towards me. “Kian, we need to talk to you.”
My mother takes a single step forward, her entire body trembling and unshed tears in her eyes. “You need to come home, baby boy.”
Every organ in my body rebels at her words. I swear my heart momentarily stops beating, and my lungs refuse to take in any more air.
“Everything we’ve ever done is to keep you safe,” my father continues, choosing to ignore Tristan entirely. “You needed to learn how to control your abilities, and at the time, Ms. Summers was the best option we had?—”
“We found a new tutor for you,” my mother continues enigmatically, offering me a wobbly smile, one frayed at the edges. “She agreed to train you on the art of being an incubus. You’ll have classes twice a week?—”
“Do you fucking hear yourself?” Tristan roars.
The hand gripping the doorframe has turned so white, I can see each individual vein. Tension thrums through him like an electrical current, and I swear all of that unfettered energy coalesces in his eyes, which have begun to glow.
My father’s upper lip curls away from his teeth. “He’s an incubus . He needs to learn how to?—”
“He doesn’t need to learn shit because there’s nothing wrong with him !” Tristan bellows, his chest heaving.
Mother places a hand to her chest, aghast, while Father merely offers Tristan a withering glare.
“When did you start fucking your cousin, boy? Didn’t your parents ever tell you that incest wasn’t—” My father’s words cut off abruptly when Tristan punches him in the face. Hard. Blood splatters from his mouth. “Motherfucker!”
“Get the hell out of here.” Tristan’s nearly trembling with the force of his rage, and I can’t say I’m too far behind him.
I’m disgusted by what my father just said, but more than any of that, I’m terrified.
Terrified I’ll be forced to “learn” how to be an incubus all over again.
Terrified I’ll be shoved into a room alone with another Ms. Summers who wishes to take, take, take from me.
Terrified I’ll break irreparably if that were to happen.
Tristan slams the door on my parents’ stunned faces and then locks the deadbolt. And that may keep my parents away for now, but it won’t work forever.
“They’ll never let me go,” I whisper between dry lips.
“Then they’ll have to go through me.” Tristan’s hands ball into fists as he struggles to wrangle control back from his wolf. He squeezes his eyelids shut and takes a heavy breath. “No one will ever hurt you again, Kian. I’ll kill anyone who even fucking tries.”