19. Luna
LUNA
I’ve been dreading dinner all day.
Holed up in the dark cave that has become my bedroom, my bloodshot eyes glue to my computer screen. But my mind is—yet again—elsewhere.
The clock in the right hand corner of the screen shows I’m already four minutes late, but with a slow blink, it blurs. I could almost forget about it. Except…
Father.
Liberty.
Thorne.
And Sawyer, all in one place.
Best case: Sawyer makes no comment about what we did last night. Thorne doesn’t erupt. Liberty stays quiet. Nobody cries.
Worst case: Liberty calls my father a pedophile. Sawyer agrees. I have to kill them both. The Shadow Sanctum slowly dies.
When a knock sounds on my door, I startle in my chair. But I don’t know why I should be surprised, as if Father could forgive my absence. This dinner can only be my personal punishment, another lesson in my futility—last night’s tirade deemed unsatisfactory.
I check the time—7:06. Six minutes late.
My hand trembles as I sign out of my computer, knuckles aching from twelve straight hours on the mouse.
When I run my hands through my hair, knots catch between my fingers. With gentle tugs, I pull them free and pat my cheeks a little too hard.
For once, I wish I had a mirror in my room.
Just as fast, I’m glad I don’t.
Another knock.
“One second.” I grumble as I smooth a wrinkle from my sweater.
I open the door to find Aiden on the other side. He stands tall with his hands clasped in front of him, but there’s a glint of pity in his eyes that I wish he’d try better to conceal.
“Everyone is downstairs, Your Grace.”
Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I let my shoulders rise and drop. My head dips in a nod before we begin toward the lively dining room, the cheerful voice of my Father drifting into the hall.
Aiden doesn’t follow me in, but he doesn’t leave like he should. He parks just outside, his hands still clasped, eyes straight ahead. The low lighting of the candlelit chandelier and soft flicker of the fireplace dance ominous shadows in the hallway, but the dining room is nothing if not charming.
This morning, as I had my tea, I sat staring at the fireplace mantel, at an empty spot where a photo frame should’ve been. Me as a little girl, my hair in a braid, the softest smile forced onto my face. For twelve years, I’ve resented the image looming while we ate, but its absence was even louder.
In its place is a vase of red roses Father must’ve had delivered from the outside. They’re the same color as a new table runner that holds a line of fat candles—a centerpiece that extends the length of the table. I follow it all the way up to Father’s chair.
His head doesn’t turn. Instead, Sawyer is the first to notice me.
He sits at one end of the table with Liberty on his left, Aubry on his right. My sisters—Raven, Echo, Aurora, and Jo—plus Thorne take up the middle, leaving one seat open. The seat on my Father’s right, symbolic or coincidence.
My fingers curl over the back of the chair, but pause when Father stops himself mid-speech. Silence cuts the room. The fireplace suddenly burns too hot as all eyes move to me with my wild hair and sunken eyes.
Father jumps from his chair. “There she is!” He beams as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Aubry, this is the daughter I was bragging about.”
He gives me the warmest of smiles, every tooth gleaming with affection. It reminds me of the day he captured the photo no longer suitable for the mantel. You’re a good girl, Daemonium.
I can’t bring myself to smile back.
“My precious Luna…”
He pecks my cheek, squeezes my shoulder, and pulls my chair out for me.
I perch on the cushioned edge and pull my napkin into my lap. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Nonsense.” Father gives a dismissive wave. “The first course hasn’t even arrived.”
“You have such a beautiful home,” Aubry squeaks, pulling my eyes to her. I have to admit, I’ve given her presence very little attention. All my time on this project seems to have been spent either playing defense or playing Sawyer.
“Thank you.” I study her nervous, docile energy. Her arms hug her body like she’s sitting on her hands, and her shoulders are raised like she’s bracing for a hit.
Sawyer’s arm moves as he looks at Aubry. I think his hand is resting on her thigh.
“I have to agree,” Sawyer says. “Very tasteful, elegant, a classic vibe. I like it.”
Liberty doesn’t chime in. She sits quietly next to Sawyer, her face pinched like she’s holding something inside. Insults. Vomit. Tears. Father hasn’t even begun.
Liberty’s eyes flick to Aubry’s lap in a judgmental glimpse that tugs a muscle in my cheek. Her vicious words echo in my mind while Jo starts droning on about something that happened at the Grove. It’s hard not to glare.
But truthfully, I should thank Liberty for her explosive personality. In one reckless conversation, the mystery of her dissolved.
She herself is nothing.
No threat.
No use.
Her husband… Apparently, he could be a threat. Without free use of my computer, it’s hard to know much.
But the Shadow Sanctum isn’t easy to find, let alone likely to be pinned to a woman’s kidnapping in Spain. And Sawyer will never be able to reach him.
I’ve had the VPN checked, resecured, and rechecked a dozen times since their conversation. The Keepers monitoring Sawyer’s computer have been told to shut him down if he so much as clicks onto another social media profile.
His plan is so futile, he lost a piece of my respect today. If he hadn’t involved Liberty, maybe he’d have stood a chance… but he should know better than to think she could ever fool me.
Echo’s ramble finally ends as the salads arrive.
Father laughs. “You girls and your stories… I can’t tell if half of them are true.”
“Do you have all girls?” Aubry innocently asks. Probably making conversation. Sawyer jumps in before anyone can say what happened to my brothers.
“Consider him lucky.” Sawyer smiles easily as he twirls his wine, ignoring his salad as a toddler would. “Boys are a handful.”
Picking at a tomato, Liberty lets out a tiny, bitter laugh. “Yes, thankfully girls are free of opinions, wants, and dreams. They might otherwise make noise.”
Sawyer’s wine stills, the glass delicately balanced in his fingertips. “Not quite what I meant.”
“What are your wants and dreams, Liberty?” Father asks, his tone curious. Innocent to anyone who doesn’t know better.
She looks at him, brave, righteous, exactly what he wants her to be.
Her mouth opens but before she speaks, her eyes jut down to her lap where Sawyer’s other hand must rest in an attempt to tame the beast.
“To be a mother,” Sawyer says. His eyes shift from Liberty to Father. “Liberty has always wanted to be a mother. We didn’t allow women such rights on my island, and for her, that was devastating… She’s going to be very happy here.”
Thorne shifts in his chair. His temper crackles along with the fire. “Maybe you should let her answer for herself.”
A Seraph returns to clear away the plates while Sawyer and Thorne have a mini stare down.
“They like me to speak for them. It’s what they’re used to. That's why I’m at this dinner.”
Thorne’s heel knocks against my chair. “Being used to something and liking something are different things.”
Father tips his glass. “Very true.” He takes a drink, his bubbly demeanor so grating I would roll my eyes if I didn’t know better.
Sawyer leans over so the Seraph can take his plate away. “Ignorance and obsequiousness are different things. And yet, they can occur at the same time.”
“What does obsequiousness mean?” Echo asks, napkin to her lips as she wipes away oily dressing.
Sawyer glances at the growing ball of rage at my side. “Don’t ask Thorne.”
Good God.
I flick hair from my face and stare at a painting on the wall while the men continue to spar. If Thorne punishes Sawyer for this later, I won’t stop him. He has to learn to shut his mouth.
I’ve sipped half the water in my glass before Father finally intervenes.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he chuckles, his hands splayed in an energy lowering gesture. “Let’s please remember we’re friends. Yes?”
Thorne clenches his jaw and says nothing while Sawyer just forces a smile and nods. Two Seraphs work to serve the main course, and when my plate is set in front of me, I frown.
Karu.
“Wow, this looks fancy,” Aubry says in her nervous voice that makes me think she’s trying to end the silence.
Her plate is set in front of her, four thick, seared medallions of medium rare meat with a blood-red berry-based glaze drizzled on top.
Microgreens garnish the dish in two circles, symbolizing the number of lives we’re honoring.
I give Father a look. He gives me a wink.
“We call it Karu.” Father picks up his fork and knife to slice into the dish. “It’s a delicacy here in the Shadow Sanctum… We save it for special occasions and honored guests.”
He cuts off a piece and pops it into his mouth, his eyes closing to savor the taste. I’ve seen him eat this hundreds of times. Not once has he made this face.
Of all the ways he could sabotage this meal…
This might be the cruelest.
I watch Aubry cut into her meat while I slice a thin strip of my own. Liberty tentatively takes a bite of hers, her brow scrunching like she doesn’t know what to make of it.
Sawyer is the only one who doesn’t pick up his fork.
I stare at him pointedly until he looks at me. The blood has drained from his face, leaving behind a sickly white. If I had any question that he knew what Karu was, it’s gone.
Father wasn’t lying. This is a special meal.
But ironically, it’s also the primary protein source for our lowliest members—the Dregs desperate enough to eat it. Not with the fancy sauce or the clean cuts, but the same meat nonetheless, deemed too dirty for our people to consume.
We do not waste here. Not materials. Not food. Not bodies.
Locked onto his eyes, I take a bite and chew, silently communicating what he already knows he has to do.
“Something wrong, Mr. Hansley?” Father asks, no less chipper than before.