Chapter 5 Second Daughter #2
“Only about people who interest me.” He holds my gaze. “And you, Luna Ellis, are becoming more interesting by the day.”
The words settle beneath my ribs, hot and heady. “Thank you.”
“How are you holding up?” The shift in his voice is subtle, but sincere. “I imagine these past months have been heavy.”
The tenderness in his tone, so different from the hollow sympathies I’d endured, tightens my throat. “Some days are harder than others,” I admit. “The house feels empty without the hum of Father’s experiments, and the scratch of his pen on research notes.”
He reaches across the table, fingers grazing mine. The touch is gentle, protective almost, and I find myself leaning into it without thinking. “You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself, Luna. I’m here, whenever you need me.”
I turn my hand beneath his, soaking in the heat of his skin. “You make me feel seen,” I whisper. “As though I matter.” He smiles at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Like I could be worthy of—”
“And Aria?”
The question slices the moment in two as his fingers retract. The chill that replaces them is immediate. Even here, even now, my sister’s shadow finds me. But Alexander’s gentle concern reminds me why he needs to know. He cares about both of us, in his way. How could I fault him for that?
“She’s not . . . well.” I keep my voice neutral, but the words leave a bitter film behind.
“She barely leaves her room, and doesn’t eat unless I make her.
” Each word is measured, each syllable carefully crafted to hide how much it hurts to watch my brilliant sister fade into herself.
“Won’t see anyone. Not even Dominic Blackwood. ”
“Such a waste,” Alexander murmurs. “Though perhaps it’s for the best. Some people aren’t built for the kind of vision your parents had. Not like you, Luna.”
Before I can answer, a curl of spelled mist unfurls at the edge of the table and our first course arrives, floating in crystalline spheres that pulse with soft light.
They hover over mother-of-pearl plates, each one bursting into a slow rain of golden sparks before settling in place.
The morsels within defy gravity, drops of sauce spiraling upward.
“Blood-enhanced amuse-bouche,” Alexander explains, leaning close enough that I catch the warmth of his cologne; smoke and cedar.
“The chef infuses each element with essence, so the flavors evolve as you eat them. Like magic itself, always revealing new depths to those patient enough to discover them.”
I lift my spoon, caught between the dancing lights and the intensity of his gaze. The first taste explodes on my tongue. Sweet then sharp, then something deeper that makes me moan in appreciation. “It’s extraordinary,” I breathe, eyes fluttering shut to savor it.
When I open them, Alexander is watching me with a smile. “The way your eyes light up when you discover something new . . .” His voice trails off, but his attention never wavers. “You remind me of Cedric in those moments. That same unfiltered brilliance.”
The name punches the air from my lungs. My father’s ghost still lingers in every room that matters. But this is my opening. “I’ve been studying their research notes,” I say, setting down my spoon. “The theoretical frameworks they developed, their approaches to blood magic—”
“Luna, your parents never trained you in their work.”
“But I understand it,” I insist. “I’ve spent years learning and watching. Just because they didn’t see my potential, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
“And what potential would that be?” He traces the rim of his wineglass, the gesture almost hypnotic. “What exactly do you think you could offer, little Ellis?”
“To continue what they started. Whatever they were doing for you. For the Founding Families.” Twenty-two years of being the quiet one, the one no one chose, burst out all at once.
“I know everyone assumed Aria would carry their legacy, but she’s fading, Alexander.
She’s not ready, but I am. I’ve always been ready.
I just needed—” I catch myself, heart racing.
He leans in, voice dropping to a hush that vibrates along my spine. “Needed what?”
“To be chosen.” The word hangs between us, fragile and burning. “Not pitied or tolerated. I want to matter. To leave a mark so deep they have no choice but to remember me.”
His expression doesn’t change but the air does, a subtle current shifting as though the room itself has begun to listen.
“Perhaps,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I may have underestimated you.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I hardly noticed you at all,” Alexander admits with surprising candor.
“When your parents brought Aria to meetings, you were invisible. Background. The daughter who stayed home and colored inside the lines.” He smiles, almost rueful.
“I don’t think we exchanged more than a handful of words in all those years. ”
I smile tightly. “I wasn’t meant to be seen.”
“And now . . . you’re rewriting the narrative.”
“I could do more,” I whisper. “If someone would just give me a chance.”
“Could you? Your parents never seemed to think so.”
“But you do.” I can’t keep the edge of urgency from my voice. “You see what they missed. You wouldn’t be sitting here with me if you didn’t.”
“Perhaps I do.” His fingers find mine again, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. “You’re not the same girl I once ignored. These past weeks have revealed a very different Luna Ellis.”
“Let me prove it.” I lean forward, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his chestnut eyes. “I know things about their work. Notes they never shared with anyone else. Clues Aria didn’t even notice. I could help you finish what they started.”
His voice is a murmur, almost indulgent. “And what is it you’re asking for?”
“A chance.” I don’t look away. “A position in your research division. Real work, not filing reports or attending donor dinners. I want access. To contribute.”
“To be . . .” His thumb draws slow, teasing circles along my inner wrist, “valuable?”
The word simmers, and I nod eagerly.
“Oh, sweetheart. You already are.” The endearment makes my cheeks flush. “And if I did give you that chance, what would you expect in return?”
“Nothing you weren’t already planning to offer Aria. I just want what I deserve.”
“And where does your sister fit into all this?”
Something twists inside me at the mention of Aria. “She’s been poring over one of our mother’s old journals,” I say, careful now. “Has convinced herself that . . .” I hesitate.
“That what?” His tone remains gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it.
“That you orchestrated their deaths.” The words sound absurd aloud, and I watch his expression shift, pain softening the lines of his face with almost unbearable sincerity. “It’s insane. After everything you did for our family. How close you and Father were.”
I remember those late-night meetings. How their voices would carry through the house. Talks of research, vision, progress. My father had looked at Alexander like he was the future incarnate.
“The journal you mentioned?” he asks, with a faint note of concern, as if troubled not by accusation, but by the mental state of someone he once valued. “What did Elyra write?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Aria won’t let me see it. But if it were truly dangerous, if it had any real substance, she’d have told me. She’s grieving, and sees conspiracies where there’s only progress.”
“Are you certain? Grief can distort loyalty and breed secrets.”
“We’re sisters. She doesn’t keep things from me.”
His lips curve into a smile. “If you learn something useful, you’ll bring it to me?”
“Of course,” I whisper, willing to promise whatever it takes to prove I’m not her. That I understand, just like Father had.
Something softens in his expression. “I appreciate your honesty, Luna. It’s refreshing to have someone I can truly trust.”
He reaches into his jacket, and when he slides the leather-bound notebook across the table, my breath catches. My father’s meticulous handwriting marks the spine; those exacting numbers he always used to date his research.
“Perhaps we could help each other.”
My fingers brush the worn leather, trembling. “This is . . .”
“The beginning.” Alexander covers my hand with his, firm and warm. “If you’re certain this is what you want.”
I look up at him. “And if anyone asks?”
“You’re exactly where you belong.” His thumb skims slow, deliberate patterns over my wrist. “Everything else stays between us.”
“And the gala next week?” I ask, hating how my voice betrays my fear that this moment, this connection between us, might shatter at the mention of my sister. “You still want Aria there?”
“Luna, you know I worry for her.” He leans in, his voice dropping into that intimate cadence that makes the rest of the world vanish. “She needs to resurface, to remember who she is. And you may be the only one she’ll listen to.”
“She’s . . .” I falter. “Locked Dominic out. Changed the wards. Won’t respond to his messages and refuses the gifts.
It’s as if she’s methodically cutting off every lifeline.
” A chill ghosts over me as I remember Dom’s presence.
The violence curled beneath his skin, and the way he looked at Aria as if she were a hunger he couldn’t tame.
“I never liked him. There’s something broken in him.
Like he doesn’t know the difference between love and possession. ”
“And yet,” Alexander muses, something calculating beneath his concerned expression, “he may be precisely what we need.”
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
“Your sister’s isolation worries me, Luna. And while Dominic Blackwood is a blunt instrument, sometimes a controlled threat is the most effective catalyst.”
“You think she’d come just to see him?”
“Perhaps,” he says carefully. “Dominic might be useful in this instance. For all his faults, he does seem to have a certain . . . effect on your sister.”
“You’d trust him to help?”
“Trust?” Alexander chuckles, low and dry. “No. But usefulness and trust aren’t the same thing.”
“I’ll talk to her,” I say quickly. “If she thinks he’ll be there, she may agree.”
“Good girl.” His approval wraps around me. “Show me you can handle this, and there might be a place for you in the research division sooner than you think.”
My pulse leaps. “You mean it?”
“Prove you understand what’s required, and I’ll show you everything your parents kept locked behind closed doors.”