Epilogue
Keira
Iwake to the sound of Octavian's breathing, steady and deep, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. His arm is wrapped around me. His skin is warm, and I don't want to move.
But then I feel the subtle shift in his body. I lift my head and find him staring at his phone, eyes scanning the screen with intense focus.
"I heard back from my friend," he says without looking away.
My stomach drops. I sit up, the sheets falling away, exposing my breasts to the cool air. I don't bother covering myself. Octavian's eyes flick down, linger for half a second, then return to his screen.
"And?" I ask.
He exhales through his nose, his thumb scrolling as he finally meets my gaze. "It's something, all right. Do you want to know?"
I reach for the phone, but my hand freezes midair. My fingers tremble. "Is it going to change things?"
"Oh yeah," he says with a sigh.
I grab the phone from his hand, then stop. My thumb hovers over the screen. I look at him, at the hard lines of his face, his eyes.
I shut off the phone and toss it aside.
"I don't want this moment to end," I say. "Can we just cuddle for a bit before all hell breaks loose?"
His expression softens as he shifts and pulls me into him, burying his face in my hair. "Come here."
I crawl into his arms, press my face into the crook of his neck, and breathe him in. I try to keep my mind in the present, to focus on the warmth of his skin, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my ear, the way his fingers tangle in my hair.
But it doesn't last as long as I hope.
The thoughts of what's waiting on that phone press down on me relentlessly. My mind races with Cormac Donoghue and The Morrígan.
I exhale sharply and sit up, pulling away from him. "Okay, fine." I grab the phone and turn it back on. "I can't wait too long. I'm ready for the chaos."
Octavian sits up beside me. "It's in my emails."
I scroll to the mail icon and tap it. The screen loads, and an email pops up at the top of the list. The subject line makes my breath catch.
Donoghue Massacre.
I tap it, and the email opens. My eyes scan the first few lines, and my pulse quickens.
"Turns out," Octavian says, his voice quiet beside me as I’m reading, "that fire story you found, it's him."
I read faster.
Forty years ago, the Donoghue family, an Irish mafia bloodline, was wiped out in a coordinated attack. Police reports list it officially as accidental.
The don's house was hit. No survivors. Burned down.
Cormac Donoghue, the only son, was twelve. Listed as dead.
I look up at Octavian, confusion twisting in my chest. "It says he's dead."
"Keep reading."
I scroll down, my fingers shaking slightly.
But records show a boy matching his description was committed to a psychiatric ward under a false name.
He claimed his family was burned alive by people, and he hid in a special wall panel put in by his father, then was taken by unknown individuals to the hospital.
While in the ward, he went crazy and claimed—
I stop. My heart leaps into my throat. Goosebumps spread across my skin, prickling down my arms, my back, my legs.
"Holy shit."
Octavian's hand finds my thigh.
"The Morrígan had come to help him." I shake my head. "What the hell," I say. My voice sounds hollow.
"Yeah," Octavian says. "And then it says he eventually stabilized over the years with medication and was released at eighteen."
I do the math in my head, my mind sluggish with shock. "Okay, so..." I count silently. "He'd be fifty-two, then. Yeah, the guy I saw definitely could have been that age."
I keep reading, my eyes blurring slightly as the words swim on the screen.
I lower the phone and look at Octavian. "Do you think this is him?"
"I do," Octavian says, his voice certain. "And my contact thinks so as well. I'm asking him to find a recent picture of him, but that'll take time."
"Shit." I drop the phone onto the bed and grip his hand as I try to process it all. "But why us? Why me?"
Octavian shrugs. "That's all he was able to find for now. I told him to track down any known addresses, anything else, so we'll see."
I drop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. My mind is spinning, a whirlwind of questions and fears and rage. "What do I do now?"
"Well," Octavian says, "I think you should call your brothers, and we can fill them in."
I nod, swallowing hard. "I agree, but let's do it in person. I don't want to just dump all this on them over the phone."
"Okay. Let's get dressed."
We jump out of bed, and I move on autopilot, my head racing with the news. I pull on jeans and a sweater, and Octavian dresses in silence beside me.
I grab my phone and call Declan on the way to the car.
"Jesus, Keira, it's not even nine in the morning," Declan grumbles when he answers. "We just left Callum's a few hours ago."
"I need you to come to the main house. Now."
"Why? What happened?"
"Just come, Dec. Please."
He sighs, long and loud. "Fine. But you're buying me breakfast."
"Deal."
I hang up and slide into the passenger seat of the Audi Octavian is driving. He starts the engine, and we pull out of the driveway. The roads are quiet, the city still waking up, and I stare out the window, watching the buildings blur past.
When we arrive at the estate, Declan's car is already parked out front. He's leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his expression a mix of irritation and concern.
"This better be good," he says as I climb out of the car.
"It's not," I say.
Callum opens the front door before we reach it, his eyes sharp and assessing. "What's going on?"
"Inside," I say. "Everyone needs to hear this."
We gather in Callum's office. Declan sprawls in a chair, Callum stands behind his desk, arms crossed, and Octavian leans against the wall near the door. I stand in the center of the room, my phone clutched in my hand.
"Octavian's contact found something," I say. "About Cormac Donoghue."
Callum's eyes narrow. "Already? Wow."
I forward the email to both of them, and we wait in tense silence as they read. I watch their faces, Declan's jaw tightening, Callum's expression hardening into stone.
"Forty years ago," Callum says slowly, his voice measured. "The Donoghue massacre."
“Have you heard of it before?" I ask.
"No." Callum sets his phone down on the desk. "You think if it was something tied to us though, Dad would have mentioned it?"
"But it says no one survived it," Declan says, his voice sharp.
"Not officially," I say back. "Cormac. He survived. And somehow became the Phantom King."
The room falls silent.
"We still don't know why he'd target us," Declan says finally, breaking the quiet. "If this happened forty years ago, what's the connection to our family?"
Callum's phone rings, cutting through the tension. He glances at the screen, and his expression shifts. "It's Mom."
"Tell her to return my calls!" I say.
"Yeah, same," Declan adds.
Callum steps aside and answers, his voice low. "Mom?"
Declan, Octavian, and I start talking about possible scenarios when Declan's face stiffens up, and I follow his gaze to Callum, whose face has gone pale.
"What?" Declan yells, his voice suddenly loud.
My stomach tightens. I take a step toward him, but Octavian's hand on my shoulder stops me.
Callum's knuckles are white where he grips the phone. "Okay, don't do anything. Stay there. I'm coming to you."
He hangs up and turns to face us. His eyes are wide, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking in his cheek.
"That was Mom," he says, his voice hollow.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice rising.
He looks at me, and I see something in his eyes I've never seen before.
"Callum, what happened?" I repeat my question.
"Dad's been killed," he says.
The words hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckle, and I stumble back a step. Octavian's arm wraps around my waist to keep me upright.
"What?" Declan's voice is a roar. He's on his feet, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. "What the fuck do you mean, killed?"
"She didn't give me details," Callum says. "She just said someone came into his hospital room in the middle of the night."
"No," I whisper. My voice cracks. "No, that's not, he was getting treatment. He was supposed to be getting better."
Callum's eyes meet mine, and I see something terrifying in them before he speaks.
"Mom said they found a black feather under his pillow."
My throat closes, grief and rage tangling until words barely come out. "Cal… what are we going to do?"
Callum drags a hand over his face, jaw muscles flexing. "What we should have done. First, I'm going to get mom and bring her home and then," he pauses and looks at Declan and me, eyes blazing. “I'm going to kill every one of these mother fuckers, one by one."