Chapter Eleven – Evelynn #2
A small amount of relief soothes me—only briefly—before he steps aside and I see the rest of them, all watching me.
“Go sit yourself down, doll. I cooked you up a feast,” the one in the kitchen calls cheerfully over his shoulder. His warm tone eases some of the tension in my chest.
Lucian leads me to the chair at the head of the table and pulls it out for me. I pause, feeling like I shouldn’t be sitting there, but Lucian gestures, and I don’t protest. I take my seat, and Lucian sits beside me.
I cast my gaze down at the table. I’m normally a confident person, not afraid to speak my mind, never scared to tell a man where to go, but this is different. All of them look at me like they want me dead, and I believe, given the chance, they would.
Someone clears their throat, and I look up. The one with the red eyes stares at me intently.
“You got family?” he asks.
I swallow, doing my best to avoid looking at the others, even though I can feel their eyes on me. “No,” I answer truthfully.
“No?” He presses. “So, you were just magically formed?”
“Cain,” Lucian growls in warning.
Cain. I mentally take note.
“Prez, if you’re going to insist on keeping this pet, then we need to know she hasn’t got family out there looking for her,” the one sitting opposite Lucian says.
Lucian sighs and nods. “Very well, Silas.”
Silas.
I try to make a mental note to learn their names.
They always say that if you can speak to your killer on a personal level, they’re less likely to kill you.
If I can remember all their names, then if—or when—one of them comes to kill me, maybe calling them by their name will appeal to their sympathetic nature.
If they have one.
“Evelynn, please tell us about your childhood,” Lucian encourages me.
Not wanting to annoy the one person here who doesn’t entirely hate my presence, I nod.
“I was dumped on the church steps at three months old. Nuns raised me.”
One of them scoffs in disbelief. I can’t help it. I’m defensive about my personal life. My eyes narrow on him.
“There were a couple of sisters who cared for me. I’m sure one or two are still alive, should you wish to go and clarify my story,” I say through gritted teeth.
“The day I step foot in a church is the day I commit suicide,” one of them mutters. He has weird things hanging around his neck.
“Hex,” Lucian snaps, giving him a stern look.
My brow furrows. Satanists? Devil worshipers? It would make sense in this dark, cold place. It’s almost like a crypt in here. And the markings, and what that other guy said; the one who died.
“I’m not religious,” I blurt out, in case they think I am and decide to sacrifice me to whatever god they worship.
A few of them smirk, fighting back smiles. My cheeks heat.
“I mean, just because I was raised by nuns, I’m not religious,” I clarify quickly.
“Name of the orphanage,” one of them asks. He has dirty-blonde hair and eyes an odd shade of green, flecked with gold. I glance at his patch. All those hours of watching Sons of Anarchy have finally paid off.
Echo.
“It wasn’t an orphanage,” I clarify. “It was just a church. The mother house.”
“Why weren’t you ever put in an orphanage and up for adoption?” Lucian asks.
I shrug. “I was just raised that way. When I asked why I didn’t have parents like the other kids, I was told I was blessed.
That God had chosen a different path for me.
Personally, I just think a lot of nuns were secretly broody and wanted a pet or a kid to look after.
” I shrug again. “Not like they can ever have any of their own, is it?”
Echo flips open his notebook. “Name of the convent?”
That little shard of confidence I thought I’d lost nudges back into place. More curiosity than anything.
“If this is so important, why didn’t you ask me this stuff when you had me drugged and cuffed to the chair?” I ask.
“Because we didn’t expect you to be here still,” the one who helped me when I cut my hand on the glass says coldly.
Talon.
In other words, they expected me to be dead by now. And yet here I am, still breathing, sitting with them at the table.
Why?
I don’t respond to Talon. Instead, I answer Echo’s question. “Saint Winnifred’s.”
He scribbles down the name and swiftly stands, walking off.
“Here you go, doll. You get stuck into that,” the one cooking says.
I look down at the huge plate of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and hash browns. I can practically feel myself drooling at the sight.
I look up at the cook, my memory finally catching up. “Thank you, er… Clutch?”
He gives me a lopsided grin, twirling the toothpick in his mouth. “You got it,” he says with a cheeky wink. “Anytime, doll. It’s been a while since I cooked like that.”
I pick up the knife and fork, and the overwhelming hunger takes over. I cut into a pancake and shove a huge piece into my mouth. My eyes close, and I can’t help the moan that escapes.
When I open them again, I notice no one else is eating. Instead, they’re all watching me in rapt fascination.
I quickly set the knife and fork down. “I’m sorry. I should wait for the rest of you,” I say awkwardly.
Clutch moves around the table, handing a large glass filled with a deep red liquid to each member.
“Do you not eat breakfast?” I ask Lucian.
Clutch hands him his glass.
“We start the day with a nutritious drink,” Lucian says.
I look at the glass. “Like beets?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes. Now eat,” he orders.
I nod, giving him a small smile, and continue to eat. I try not to shovel it in like an animal, but I can still feel their eyes on me with every mouthful. I push the thought aside. I need food. I need to eat.
After I reach the point where I can’t physically take another bite, I set the knife and fork down, and a loud belch slips out of me.
My eyes widen in horror. “Shit, sorry,” I mutter, clapping a hand over my mouth.
Only Clutch seems amused. The rest stare back at me, unreadable. Content? Judging? I can’t tell.
I look to Lucian. “I think maybe I should go back to the room now. Leave everyone in peace,” I say softly.
“You don’t have to, but if that is what you wish,” he replies.
I glance at the others. Still not talking. The silence speaks volumes.
I’m not wanted here. Not welcome.
Lucian follows my gaze. “I will be back. There are things I would like to discuss,” he says firmly.
We both stand, and the scrape of a chair dragging roughly across the stone floor has me turning.
Hex stands, glaring angrily at Lucian. “We voted,” he spits. “You have until midnight tomorrow.”
All of them—except Clutch and Cain—give a tight nod.
Tomorrow at midnight. To do what?