8. Winter
EIGHT
WINTER
T he press of lips to my cheek causes me to stir. Cracking an eye open, I breathe out slowly when Hunter pushes my hair out of my face and back under my bonnet.
“I’m going to meet up with Leo for a bit to talk about logistics,” he says quietly, pressing minty kisses along the side of my face.
I press my mouth into my pillow and say, “Why so early?”
His amused huff causes me to press more into the pillow. Pushing him back, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed to pad to the bathroom. I’m up now, and as is usual these days, I have to pee.
As I pass into the bathroom, I glance at the clock and realize we’ve only gotten a handful of hours of sleep.
“Five a.m. is a despicable time to wake someone, Hunter. Just in case you weren’t aware.” His warm chuckle is his response.
I make quick work of emptying my bladder and commit to brushing my teeth before Hunter leaves.
“I’ll be back in time for lunch,” he says. “Go back to bed.”
I put my arms around his neck, grateful that my injury is only a minor scrape. The bullet did take a sizeable chunk out of my flesh, but there wasn’t any damage to the muscle, tendons, or ligaments.
Still, I know I’m lucky to be alive.
“Why don’t you come back to bed with me?” I tell him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Feeling bold, I run my free hand down to cup him over his slacks. He groans and deepens the kiss, and it takes no time for him to turn to steel in my palm.
“I’m not so fragile, Hunter,” I whisper against his lips and rub my needy breasts against his chest.
“Winter,” he growls. “A few more days, at least.”
“A few more days until what exactly, H?” I say, pulling away but making quick work of sliding my fingers beneath the waistband of his pants.
I get three solid strokes of his cock in when he grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss the back of it.
“The next time I get you naked, Sunbeam, I’m coming inside you so deep that you’ll be feeling me for days,” he says. His words are clear, low, and go straight to my hot button.
“Mmhmm,” I tease. “You could do that now, you know.”
He hums. “Not yet, baby.”
I would be embarrassed by the whine that comes out of me in any other context, but when he says his next words, I almost strip my clothes off and impale myself on his dick.
“Winter, you need to be ready for me the next time I take you. Because there’s no way you won’t be screaming my name as I fuck you for hours. There’s no way you won’t be delirious from coming so hard and so often because I promise you, Sunbeam, I won’t let you up for air.” When his hands land on my hips, he sighs and gives me a chaste kiss.
“Why won’t you do it now, H?” My voice is a near moan, and I’m so wet and so there it wouldn’t take long at all for him to make good on his promises.
“Because I promised you that we’d figure out how to win, and I need to do that right now, and you need more sleep,” he says. Amusement starts to edge out the lust in his tone.
“We can’t have a quickie to hold us over?” I try to reach for his cock again, and he stops me with a light laugh. I grunt and restrain myself from stomping my foot.
“I wish I could, baby,” he murmurs. I poke my bottom lip out in a frown, and Hunter chuckles, putting his forehead to mine.
“Lunch. I promise,” he says. “I love you with all of me, Winter Leigh Vaughan.”
And if that doesn’t make me melt all over. “I love you too, Hunter James Brigham.”
He kisses me behind my ear. “I can’t wait for the day when I call you my wife,” he whispers.
I shiver.
“Later, baby. I expect you to sleep at least until noon.”
I nod and let him go.
Because there’s nothing else for me to do at the ass-crack of dawn, I climb back into bed and stare at the ceiling. When Kitty shakes out his fur and jumps on the bed, I run my fingers over his back for a few minutes.
Quiet is something I’ve been avoiding lately, I realize.
Before the raid, things were tenuous between Hunter and me, going back and forth between soul-bindingly excellent to hell between the two of us.
And I really don’t want to think about that, because if I think about it, I’ll have to admit that so much about our relationship is unhealthy.
We still haven’t addressed so much between us. We haven’t resolved so much between us. Like the fact that he locked me away— again. Or that he hasn’t shared much at all about his business and what that means for our future.
He hasn’t opened up to me about his dad dying, even though that was fortunate for everyone.
He hasn’t spoken to me once about how he feels about his mother coming back.
I can’t help but think that Hunter is holding back because:
He doesn’t think I can handle his truth. Or,
He doesn’t trust me to handle his truth.
So yeah, I avoid the quiet.
But Hunter and I had a breakthrough last night. I can feel it. He’s so scared that he’s going to lose me, and while it’d be easy to say that he shouldn’t worry, the reality is…he should.
We all should be scared.
But I meant what I said last night. Living in hiding isn’t living at all.
I would know.
I spent so many years fearing the very real and imagined danger of Adam Collins. I was so terrified that it changed my brain chemistry. That fear of death forced me to lock myself away.
I did lock myself away. For years.
And while this situation isn’t that situation at all, one truth connects both of them: If we spend our days running from death, we’ll die bit by bit every day until there’s nothing left of us.
And when that happens, what’s the point?
When a knock on my door comes an hour after Hunter leaves, I’m apprehensive and curious about who could be on the other side.
“Bitch, I know you ain’t sleep. Open the goddamn door.” The words make me laugh because they’re so incredibly Veronica.
“Hold on,” I call out, and I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Kitty beats me to it, pawing at the wood with excitement.
I barely have the door open before Veronica barrels in with Summer in tow, slamming it closed quickly.
“Damn, girl. You ran in here like you’re running from the Boogeyman,” I say, laughing.
Veronica doesn’t respond to my joke. Instead, she marches into the bathroom, and seconds later, I’m greeted by the sound of the shower.
“Rons?” I step into the bathroom. When I’m at the doorjamb, I say, “You know I’m always happy to share whatever I have, but—eep!”
I let out a short squeak when Veronica wrenches my arm, pulling me into the bathroom before slamming the door shut.
“What the hell, Veronica?” I nearly shout, and Veronica immediately claps her free hand over my mouth.
“Shh!” she snaps. As she bounces Summer in the crook of her arm, even the baby gives me a fierce side-eye.
“Why are you shush ing me, and why are we standing in my bathroom?” I mumble from behind her hand.
“Keep your voice down, Winter. I have news and am uncertain about several people surrounding us right now.”
I raise both eyebrows in surprise.
“Keep your voice low,” she says, and the look she gives me edges out all amusement. I nod my assent.
“I talked to the Ukrainian,” she says.
“He has a name, you know. It’s Misha,” I add. She waves her hand in the air, dismissing my statement.
“I also talked to Rio,” she says.
“Rio?” I question. Not that she can’t or shouldn’t talk to Rio. But why?
“I don’t know if you’re aware of the magnitude of shit you’ve gotten us into, Winter.” Her voice has a bite to it, and by the set of her jaw, I know that Veronica is more than angry. She’s scared.
“Hunter and I spoke last night,” I say, glancing down at a silent Summer as steam starts to swirl around us. I reach into the shower and turn the taps on cold. “Hunter knows it’s dangerous, but once The Architect and Morris Winthrope are out of the picture, we’ll be able to go on with our lives.”
Veronica blinks at me. “Oh, my sweet summer child.”
“ What ?” I say, stepping back.
“The shit these Legion people are up to is more than just this one person. People come and go. This shit…this is America, ” she says.
“Don’t start quoting rap lyrics at me, Veronica,” I say with an eye roll.
“So you really think that you knock off the future president of the United States and then you can go back to your apartment on U Street? You know, seeing as the safe house you’ve been living in was bombed. ”
I rub the skin between my eyes. “Veronica….”
“Winter,” she snaps. “You know what I saw when I met up with Rio?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“He was completely fine.”
I blink at her again, and Summer coos before smacking her lips.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she takes a step closer, dropping her voice, “he was up and walking around. He didn’t even have a wound. He was completely fine. ”
The words she says don’t compute in my brain. “I?—”
“Winter, I need you to listen. Open your eyes. You know how this world works.” She grabs my uninjured shoulder, squeezing it. “Do you think that this is about one person? This Legion shit...this is an uprising, a cabal. How do you stop a wave in the ocean?”
She tries to burn me with her gaze. “You aren’t dumb, Winter. You are two sneezes away from having your doctorate. And you know that if you look around the sparkle of Hunter and all he can give you, you’ll see that there’s some freaky shit happening.”
Her grip on my shoulder tightens.
“Winter, you and I are collateral damage. We don’t matter here, and these people will not hesitate to put us in the line of fire if it means that they get what they need,” she says.
I shake my head, denying her words.
“Hunter wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. To us. He brought you to Amelia Manor, remember? He helped take care of you when James ditched you.”
Veronica’s face hardens, and I realize how it sounds once the words are out of my mouth.
“Rons, I didn’t mean it like that,” I sputter, and she waves away my weak apology.
“Winter!” She groans in frustration. “I think we should leave. Really.”
I growl back. “I told you. I’m not leaving Hunter!”
She lifts her eyes to the ceiling, her mouth moving as if praying for guidance.
I understand that she’s frustrated. I really do. But the fact is, I’m not leaving Hunter.
End of discussion.
And why not, Winter?
“Okay, Winter,” she says, her eyes slipping closed. “I won’t bring it up again.” When she finishes speaking, her gaze settles on my face.
“Just…” She brings Summer’s face close to hers and kisses her forehead. “Just keep your eyes and ears open, Winter. And don’t forget that you have to look out for yourself, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to any of us.”
I know she only means her, Summer, and me. I grab her hand, squeezing it tight.
“I believe in Hunter. I really do, Veronica.”
The look she gives me is sad. “I really hope it works out,” she says cryptically.
I bite my lip.
Veronica moves around the bathroom, turning off the water and giving me a tight smile.
“I love you, Winter. Just…remember that I’m always on your side. Okay?”
Veronica’s words could stab me with how pointed they are, and I know there’s so much in what she’s not saying.
I follow her out of the bathroom, and she heads for the door.
“I’ll see you later, right?” I ask.
With her hand on the knob, she tilts toward me and says, “Of course, Win.”
And with that, she leaves the room.
I stand in the middle of the floor for too many minutes as I let confusion bleed into anxiety.
Veronica has always been outspoken, but I’ve rarely stood against her. Whatever she wanted or needed or said was true, I just let her have it.
But when it comes to this, whether I should trust Hunter or whether I’m safe here or not, I just feel confused.
Uncertain.
I don’t know what’s real or not. What’s wrong or not.
I bring my hand to my chest as my vision begins to swim.
Even after killing two people, being shot, saving August, and surviving the massive confusion after seeing ghosts rise from the dead… now is when my psyche decides to say, Nope! You’re done.
Can’t one panic attack per seventy-two-hour period be enough?
I try to draw in slow, deep breaths as I grapple for the edge of the bed. Plopping down, I begin my mantra.
One.
One-two-one.
One-two-three-two-one.
Kitty settles into my side without me having to signal him, and I plunge one hand into his fur while placing the other on my abdomen and breathing into my palm. I wish I could speak with Genevieve, but things are too risky to involve my therapist, no matter how much I need her.
I’ll have to use the tools I’ve gained over the last decade and hold myself together.
As of this moment, everything is okay.
Breathe in.
I am safe right now.
Breathe out.
I cannot control tomorrow, but I can live in today.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
When I release the tension from my spine and flop back on the bed, Kitty hops on my chest, licking my cheek.
It would be so incredibly easy to fall into old patterns, but I want to try not to.
I want to try…for me. For Hunter. For our family.
That thought prompts another: I need to find August.
With a stretch and a yawn, Kitty hops from the bed and sits patiently at the door, anticipating my need to leave. With a huff, I get out of bed and pull my chunky braids into a high bun. Slipping on some Chucks and leggings, I go to the tall dresser and pull a plaid shirt over my camisole. With one final look at my appearance, I escort Kitty out the door.
I decide to hit the courtyard first. Kitty has a designated spot to do his business, which was easy to find again, even in the daytime. But when I was shown the way yesterday evening, I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of this new space.
I let Kitty take the lead and bound off around the bushes. Honeysuckle, lilac, and jasmine adorn the space, with tons of greenery surrounding the cobblestone pathways. Kitty lets out a yip and begins to chase after a bunny rabbit, and I suppress a laugh at his discontent when it bounces off faster than he can keep up.
This feels peaceful—so peaceful that I’m able to ignore the fact that I’m sitting in an open space that’s surrounded by four sides of concrete, bomb-resistant walls.
I am calm. I am peace.
I close my eyes and inhale the scents of the plants around me.
I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.
I cross my hands over my chest to seal the affirmation.
When the French doors I just exited open again, Kitty leaps over to greet the newcomer even though I’m slower to turn.
But when a body launches into mine, I let out a quick shout.
“Winter! My God, I thought I’d never see you again!” Ella’s voice causes my racing heart to slow, but when she squeezes me tighter, I can’t help the yelp that comes out of me.
“Oh, God! I’m sorry. You’re hurt!” Two seconds pass as she watches me grimace, but then she breaks down into tears.
“I’m sorry, Winter! I’m just so glad you’re alive!” She reaches her arms out to hug me again, and I stick out my palm to stop her as I stand.
She sniffs, putting her hands over her mouth, but when I lift my arm to embrace her, she wails into my shoulder.
I’m just so damn glad she isn’t catatonic still. I pull back to look at her. It’s...curious how she’s flowed through different extreme mental states—flat and dissociative on the couch in the media room to weepy yet...amped up?
I pull her back into my body and pat her back. Grief. People deal with shock and trauma in many ways, and each person should be given the space and respect to grieve.
This is Ella’s expression of grief. Right?
“Ella, how are you feeling? Have you….”
What? Settled in—as if this were a hotel stay and not us seeking refuge from a known international criminal.
“I’ve…come to terms with what has happened. I mean, it’s so much, Winter. But when you face down death like that... Shit, what the fuck am I talking about? You’re the one who actually faced down literal death. I can’t believe that cunt shot you!”
A chortle sounds from the doorway, and suddenly, I’m the one with the urge to run.
Except I want to run toward the voice.
“Aunt Ella, you know you are not supposed to say ‘cunt.’ It is in bad taste,” August says.
Ella rolls her eyes. “Just because you use the word in the context of a quote doesn’t mean you can use it. I’m an adult. You’re a kid. Got it?” Ella tries to look serious, but she breaks character when she pulls a bag of Sugar Babies from the pocket of her shorts.
August looks better than I thought he would, all things considered. While the shadows beneath his eyes show the stress of the last two days, he moves as he always has.
Except he hasn’t acknowledged me in the slightest.
“August,” I say with a low rasp. He rocks from side to side, the amused countenance on his face suddenly gone, big emotions visibly moving through his limbs.
“Is it all right if I hug you?” I fling my arms out wide to embrace him and barely choke down the involuntary hiss I let out at the dull pain the action causes. Kitty jumps up on my leg, whimpering but still trying his hardest to focus on the interaction.
“Off-duty,” I tell Kitty, and he drops to sit, still not leaving me.
“You are okay?” he asks me, and I nod.
“Yes, August. It’s just a little scratch.”
He takes a big step forward but stops short of touching me, rocking from side to side with even more energy.
“There was so much blood on your shirt and on my shirt. How can you be okay?” August says.
He grunts and begins to shake his hands as he paces in a large circle around the perimeter of the courtyard—one of his prominent stims for when he’s particularly distressed.
August. August first.
“It’s okay, August. I’m really okay. Can I look at you? Are you hurt anywhere?” I take unhurried steps over to him, lifting my good arm to signal that I want to get into his personal space.
He groans and starts to jump as he channels the tension in his body.
I’ve been so worried about August, and in the chaos of the last day, I’ve struggled to stay calm until I could get back to him. Checking on him while he slept helped soothe my wrecked nervous system, but still…it’s not the same as seeing him conscious and in the flesh.
August moves closer to me but takes a big step back, lifting his tablet in his hand to tap at the screen. One tear, then another, tracks down his cheeks, but it seems like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s crying.
“I thought that you were dead.” He clutches the tablet to his chest and makes another circuit. I don’t wait for him to stop before speaking again.
“I’m just fine, August. I promise. I can’t imagine how scary this whole situation has been for you,” I say.
He sniffles and vocalizes, but his tears don’t stop.
“I thought I was watching you die,” he says. It hits me then: August had to watch his mother die, helpless to save her or get help. And now he’s had to relive that fear again with me.
“Oh, August,” I say, joining him with my tears. “Could I—do you feel comfortable with me hugging you? Because I’d really like to hold you, Augs, even if just for a second.” I don’t raise my arms out in expectation. I want him to be in control of any embrace he decides to give me.
“I will not hurt you?” he asks, finally standing in one spot, even though his muscles tremble as he clutches the iPad to his chest.
I shake my head. “No. Not at all, kid.”
So I exhale hard when he launches himself into my chest. I wrap my uninjured limb around him as he sobs.
I whisper unintelligible things to him—words of comfort and words from my heart. But there is one phrase I repeat over and over.
“I love you, August. You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” I rock back and forth with him, giving him the energy I’m sure he needs to feel grounded in this moment.
His ear presses to my chest, and I can’t help but think he’s listening to my heartbeat. I allow August to decide when we should end the embrace, and he hugs me for a solid five minutes.
When we separate, he begins to type with deliberate keystrokes, “I love you too, Winter.” Then he asks, “Is the fetus okay?”
I roll my lips inward because the way he refers to his new brother or sister makes me want to giggle. But he’s so serious, I wouldn’t offend him with my laughter.
“Right as rain,” I say. He straightens and gives me a confused look.
“What does that mean? Those words do not make any sense.”
I shake my head and bite my lip. “Sorry, Augs. The baby is well.”
With a serious nod, he pulls away and goes to the stone table and bench at the center of the courtyard. When Kitty bounces over to him and hops up into the position he takes when I’m in a panic attack, I feel contentment.
Even though we’re all displaced, we have resources to cope.
I turn back to Ella. When I realize she’s smiling, more information molly-wops my consciousness.
“Have you spoken with Hunter?” I hedge. She shrugs.
“Yeah, I saw him last night. I probably shouldn’t tell you…or maybe I should.” She pulls me further away from the bench and closer to the French doors. When we’re out of earshot, she leans in closer, glancing at August from the corner of her eye before returning to me. “I offered him a little bud last night. He was just so damn tense, you know? Not that it really worked at mellowing him out.”
I hum. Hunter has struggled with addiction in the past. He’s told me that he only drinks alcohol on occasion, but he hasn’t used any drugs in years.
I’m pro-cannabis, but I’m a little concerned about him dipping his toe into substances again.
“To me, it’s not that big of a deal. But I didn’t want to keep things from you,” Ella adds.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say, my voice low. “How are you feeling about things?”
“I mean,” she says, shrugging, “how is one supposed to feel after finding out that their dead mother is actually alive and living with your secret sibling? Not to mention having their house raided and being forced to hide in a bunker?”
She pulls more candy out of the bag.
“But I’m alive, so,” she finishes and shrugs again.
“That’s a very practical stance to take, Ella,” I reply, watching her closely. She blinks at me.
I’m analyzing her to determine her mental state when Misha walks in with none other than Amelia Brigham at his side.
Misha takes up all the space, and Ella blinks at him as she tilts her head up to assess the Ukrainian.
“Hey. I didn’t get to say so before, and I don’t want to be rude. Thank you for the safe harbor. ’Preciate ya. Bro? Should I call you that?” Ella says while chewing on more caramel candy.
Misha’s face takes on what I can only interpret as an amused expression, and he chooses not to respond to Ella’s battery of questions. I shift my gaze to the woman next to him, and everything freezes within me.
“Hey,” Ella says to her mother, her voice small. “I’m uh, I’m sorry I jumped on you last night. I shouldn’t have.”
Amelia inhales sharply. “All I’ve wanted for twenty years is to hold you, Ellie,” she replies.
Ella falls silent as she looks at her mother, her eyes moving as if she’s analyzing Amelia’s face. “I look just like you.”
Amelia gives Ella a strange, unreadable look. Then, as if sensing our eyes on her, she raises her eyebrow and snorts. “I look like a monster now,” she says, waving a dismissive hand.
“Nonsense,” I rasp, but no one acknowledges my statement.
We stand around in an awkward silence, and my skin itches where the tape from the bandage meets my flesh.
“Would you, um…” Ella kicks a pebble with the toe of her shoe. “Would you like to maybe do lunch today or something?” She looks up at Amelia, and it’s like the sun comes out when Amelia smiles.
“You can come too, Misha,” Ella adds as an aside, almost as if she just remembered the pakhan’s standing right there. Misha lifts his hands and shakes his head.
“I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy your private time,” he says, more diplomatic than I’d ever thought him capable of being.
“I’d love that, Ella,” Amelia whispers.
Ella returns Amelia’s smile. Shifting to face the courtyard, Ella calls out, “Hey, August, I’m going to get breakfast. Wanna come?”
August looks up from his tablet despite the sound of explosions coming from the tiny speakers.
“Do you have Eggos?” August asks, directing the question at Misha when he holds up his tablet and faces it in the man’s direction.
“We have everything, I am sure,” Misha replies.
It occurs to me that we haven’t brought August up-to-date with the latest developments: That his grandmother is alive, and he also has an uncle.
“Winter, can I keep Kitty for a while?” August makes the same gesture of tilting the tablet so I can view the words, but his eyes don’t leave Kitty, who lies next to him, pressing against his thigh.
“Of course, August,” I say with a smile. I debate pulling August aside to tell him the news, but I’m unsure how he’ll take it.
Plus, I really should consult Hunter about what to do. I would be out of place otherwise.
I rub the back of my neck, pressing my fingers into the tense muscles. There’s so much I’m gonna have to figure out when it comes to this.
This meaning, becoming a parental figure in August’s life. Because that’s where this is headed.
Right?
Without another word, August jumps up and exits the courtyard. With a final shrug, Ella follows and Kitty trots behind.
When it’s just Misha, Amelia, and me in the space, I’m the first one to clear my throat to break the silence.
“So, Misha. Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask, meeting his gaze directly and tilting my head to let Misha know that I’m serious about this topic of conversation.
“Whatever do you mean?” Misha asks in a bored voice.
Feeling brave, I roll my eyes. “You all dropped a bomb on us last night,” I say, looking at Amelia and Misha. “But I know there’s more to the story. I can tell.”
“You can tell?” Amelia asks, and I straighten my spine.
“Yes. I know Hunter,” I say.
Misha makes a sound, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the disbelieving tone.
“Hey, if you have anything to say about Hunter, it will be good things,” I reply, my voice harder than I’m used to.
Misha shrugs. “He’s a bit of an ass, but anyone can tell that he cares deeply about you. Remember, I was there when you went missing.”
At his words, a flash of the horrors I experienced at the hands of Adam Collins covers my field of vision, and I put a trembling hand to my chest.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yes, about that. How much did you have to do with it?”
Misha’s face falls a fraction.
“I’m so sorry for what you went through, Winter. I didn’t know that they would do that to you, and I’m sorry that we didn’t intervene.” His words are earnest, but I feel that he’s saying them to save face.
“Right,” I say, the word clipped. “And why didn’t you intervene?” I want to fold my arms over my chest, but contorting that way feels uncomfortable even imagining it, so I settle for putting one hand on my hip.
I alter my stance so I don’t come off too aggressive.
Misha opens his mouth again, but Amelia interjects. “You’re right. We should have done something, and we could have done something. I knew Hunter was with you and that you were important to him, but I didn’t know how important you were. Are. When I saw that he was still doing his father’s bidding, I didn’t know if I should trust him or not. I didn’t know….”
She runs her fingers through her hair, and it’s a practiced movement that I’ve seen Hunter make often.
“Outside of your doctor’s office that day…I sent someone to put that sketch in your bag. I hoped that if you saw it, you’d ask Hunter about it, and he’d either scare you away or he’d bring you closer. That would let us know who he belonged to.”
“How did you know I’d be there? Wait,” I say, putting my hand out. “Duh, Rio. And others, I’m assuming. Did you know we’d be shot at? Those were people from The Legion, I assume.”
I was able to piece together that some of the people milling around Amelia Manor for the last year are plants from The Resistance. But now that I’m facing the Ukrainian and his mother, I realize that even with all we shared last night, there’s still more that Hunter’s keeping from me.
Amelia nods. “I’ve been watching you for a while. I knew Dr. Greene was a good person, but I panicked when…the medical assistant was compromised by The Legion. Once I was told you were pregnant and I saw the MA, I knew they were closing in on you. I needed to do something. I didn’t know they’d chase you down, though, and I should have.”
I catch it when Misha flinches out of the corner of my eye. I raise my eyebrow at him, questioning.
“Problem?” I ask.
Misha shrugs.
Okay, then….
I inhale and exhale, counting my breaths and tapping my finger on my thigh. It’s colder now, the thick clouds covering the sun, and I shiver as a bird flaps away from one tree to another.
“I want you to understand why it took me so long to reveal myself,” Amelia says. She wrings her hands, and her chin trembles as she looks at me. She straightens her spine, though, and I’m so curious about how she’s navigating life. She’s soft and vulnerable, and yet she’s also hardened and reserved. Scarred emotionally from the fuckery that is life.
She is a dichotomy.
“As you can tell, I got burned. It was bad. So bad. I was left on the hard tile of the veranda floor all night. I was in and out of consciousness. They drugged Hunter…” She chokes on her words, and I gasp.
Misha remains stoic next to Amelia, and his silence irritates me. People think that Hunter is unfeeling when, in fact, Hunter feels deeply. He feels too much sometimes.
But Misha? I’m losing faith that there’s anything beneath the man of steel.
I think about his interactions with Luna.
Maybe he does have a heart…just not one for his mother or brother.
“The sun was high in the sky when I came to, and it felt like I was roasting alive. The night before promised rain, but somehow, the storm bypassed the island entirely. Benjamin came, but he only talked to Hunter. I ceased to matter—to exist. He had some of his men drag me off the veranda and onto a boat. When we were a half mile from the shore, they threw me in.”
She swallows, closing her eyes.
“The salt water stung so badly that I fought to stay conscious. I figured if I could get to the cove on the far end of the island, I could rest and then steal one of the emergency boats that Benjamin kept in case he ever got raided. I didn’t go to Amelia Manor ever—the only time I was there was when I was traded by Misha’s father.”
She cuts off her statement, and her delicate throat bobs as she swallows. “The cove was seven hundred yards away, and I’m a good swimmer, but I was too weak. Right when I decided to give up and let the sea take me, two sets of hands pulled me from the water.”
Amelia’s gaze is unfocused, far away, and I know that she’s back on that island and in that ocean. “I woke up on a dock in Puerto Rico. When I opened my eyes, someone covered me in a blanket and put me in the back of a truck. The next time I woke, I was in a hospital. I was just so grateful to be back on American soil.”
I put my hand on her forearm, and she flinches when my palm makes contact with her burn scars.
“I am so sorry that happened to you, Amelia,” I say. The moment is fragile, and it feels like anything louder than a whisper would break it. Staring at my hand on her arm, she moves her other and places it on top of mine.
“Going back into that Hell…I’d do it for Hunter and Ella. I wanted them to get out, but I was terrified to try again because taking Benjamin down then felt like my one shot. My only shot. I don’t think Hunter betrayed me that night. I wanted him to tell his father what he knew. He needed to, to save himself. I wanted him to live, so I went into hiding. I prayed that my children would be okay and that one day, karma would return with a vengeance on Benjamin Brigham.
“But then I learned of his killings. Of how many people Hunter killed. They called him The Huntsman, did you know that?”
I feel ill. I shake my head no.
“Hunter’s father and his friends called him that. I—we—had connections on the inside. It was over a decade ago, but that first time I heard that he killed someone, I wasn’t sure who Hunter was anymore.”
My stomach clenches, so I force my hand from where it’s cemented to my hip and place it over my abdomen.
Breathe, Winter.
I know Hunter has killed people. In fact, he’s killed people for me. But the fact that he’s been unaliving people for years? He did that…why?
“Why did he kill them?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
“You’ll have to ask him that,” Misha grinds out.
Amelia shifts, her movements telegraphing discomfort. “So you see why I had to be sure about him? Because if I brought him in…it would have jeopardized everything here if he wasn’t who I hoped. We are the last hope for humanity. There’s nowhere else to turn. The FBI, the CIA…the whole Department of Justice are in their pockets. So, no matter how much I wanted all my children with me, I had to wait. I couldn’t.”
I think Amelia knows that if she started crying right now, I would snap. Instead, she tilts her chin up to look at the cardinals. The clouds move, and a shaft of light breaks through the trees.
“Hunter and Ella are my children, and I love them.” She straightens as she speaks, then takes a deep breath. “And so is Misha. But I don’t love any one of them more than the other.”
Taking them in, they’re clearly very different-looking people. Amelia looks like her bones break easily. Misha looks like he breaks bones by hand. But as I look at them more closely, I see the similarities. The angle of their eyes, which are only a few shades off from being identical, is the biggest clue—but Misha’s irises are so close to Hunter and Ella’s.
“How did you end up here?” I ask them both. Misha pulls a phone from his pocket and frowns, cutting us out.
I’m very unsure if I like Misha Hroshko.
“I’ll give you the short version,” Amelia begins, taking a step closer to me when Misha becomes engrossed in his device. “When I was nine, I was sold to a man named Dimitri Hroshko. When I was fifteen, I was sent to live with him as his bride.”
I stare at her for nearly a minute, so when a fly buzzes past my ear, it prompts me to snap my mouth shut.
“I beg your pardon?” I squeak.
“You heard me correctly,” she says. She rubs her thighs, and I take notice of her outfit. This time, it’s a light linen rather than the uniform black I’ve become accustomed to seeing her in.
My jaw drops again. “Wow, Amelia….”
She waves off my empathy. “Many things happened in my life, one of them being that I birthed Misha when I was sixteen. But then I met Benjamin Brigham, and he saved me from a terrible situation. I thought he was saving both of us.” She straightens. “I didn’t know at the time that I was jumping into Hell with him.”
I bring my hand to my throat, and the blood from my carotid pulses beneath my fingertips.
“Okay,” I say. “I still have so many questions.”
Amelia blinks at me patiently, but it’s Misha who speaks.
“We need to eradicate The Legion. I agree with Hunter that Morris Winthrope is a key figure to get rid of, but we need to get rid of him and those who would follow in his footsteps.”
The words make sense, but I still stare at him hard. “Mmkay, go on.”
“That said, Winthrope has his sights set on Ella, and if there’s one thing I know about the man, it’s that he doesn’t sleep on his threats. But with The Architect still around, it will be just a matter of time before someone else takes Winthrope’s place. We need to figure out who The Architect is and break The Legion apart from the top down,” he continues.
A headache blooms behind my brow bone.
“All these years, and you don’t know everything about your enemy?”
Amelia lifts her arms at her side, her posture saying, What can you do?
“Thanks to Hunter, we’re sitting ducks waiting for Winthrope to strike again. But be clear, he will not stop until Ella is in his possession.” This again comes from Misha.
I battle back the urge to curse him out at the shade he throws toward Hunter. “Why does Winthrope want Ella so badly?”
The question should be simple to answer, but Misha and Amelia share a strange look instead.
“Um!” I say, raising my voice and breaking the moment between the two of them. A bird flaps away from a nearby tree. “Anyone want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?”
My gaze drills into both of them, and I don’t back down when they look uncomfortably at me.
Misha mutters something under his breath, probably in Ukrainian, and turns to close the French doors, sealing us in the outdoor sanctuary.
“Winter, I believe we can trust you. Is this assumption correct?” Misha asks when he turns back to me. His voice is low, serious. That general sense of subtext that usually laces his speech is absent. He’s asking me a direct question.
One that requires an answer.
“Yes, I can be trusted,” I say.
“Misha, are you sure?” Amelia says in the same low tone Misha uses.
“It’s going to come out sooner or later, and she’ll be able to manage him when he blows up.”
“Who is ‘he?’” I chime in, breaking their conversation.
Amelia stares at me hard, and it’s almost like she ages right in front of my eyes.
“Hunter will need your help to process this quickly. Because the sooner he gets on board, the better, but we know this will be a hurdle.”
I resist a growl. “Okay, well stop talking in circles and tell me what’s going on!”
I expect them to say something outlandish.
But the absolute last thing I expect comes out of Amelia’s mouth.
“Ella was born to be a breeder for The Legion. They want her because she’s quite literally the key to their next generations.”