Page 30 of Princess Avenged

“Rasputin’s death’s not important right now.” Flame grins.

“Of course it fucking is.” Crusher turns toward him and glares. “What could be more important than Rasputin’s death?”

“Um.” Flame nods toward the screen. “Phil is alive?”

Blade steps forward. “About that. I mean I’m thrilled and everything, but what happened? Why did you take so long to contact us? We thought you were dead. Ana is devastated.” A smile washes over his face. “I can’t wait to tell her.”

I lean forward. “She can’t know!”

Blade startles as if my words slapped him.

“Phil,” Flame says. “Lying to Ana isn’t exactly an option for us at the moment.”

Crusher is silent, stiff as a statue, as he studies my image on the screen—at least I assume that’s where he’s looking. His jaw is twitching, and veins are pulsing on his forehead.

“You were right to leave me on that rooftop,” I tell him. Crusher’s wracked with guilt.

His eyes narrow. “How do we know you’re Phil? How do we know you’re not Rasputin using the demon to impersonate Phil? How do we know you’re not lying about everything?”

I suck in a breath. “It’s me.” I shake my head. “Ask me fucking anything.”

“Rasputin fooled Ana into thinking he was Timur,” Crusher says. “Someone she’d known and fed from for a hundred years. “His eyes narrow. “You can’t fool me, demon. Not again.”

Blade and Flame look at Crusher with alarm, but when they turn back toward the screen doubt has invaded their eyes, too. Fuck.

“It’s not the same.” I shake my head. “Ana sensed something was off with Timur. She told me. She wrote it off to the awkwardness of pretending they were mates. Plus, Ana never knew Timur, as well as you guys know me.” I thump my chest.

“That’s exactly what the demon would say.” Crusher glares at the screen. “And Ana never said anything like that about Timur to me.”

I lean forward onto the desk. “I’ve spent more time alone with her than you. Come on. You know me. Ask me something only I would know.” Of all the things I anticipated about seeing my brothers again, proving who I am wasn’t one of them.

Crusher’s expression shifts, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking anymore.

“What do you like to drink?” Flame asks.

I tip my head to the side. “Whiskey. Preferably single malt scotches.”

Crusher shakes his head. “Too easy.”

“What type of explosive did you use when we left that meeting at Mariano’s?” Blade asks.

“C-4. Collapsed the tunnel behind us.”

“Also too easy,” Crusher says, and his distrust slams into me like a shock wave. We’ve always trusted each other. One hundred percent. Ever since we were kids.

“Then fucking ask something else,” I say more gruffly than I intend. But my tone changes Crusher’s expression for a split second. Have I punctured his skepticism?

“Who killed our maker?” Crusher smirks, clearly thinking he’s stumped me.

“I did,” Phil answers.

Flame and Blade both gasp. Flame leans toward Blade, and whispers. “Shit. Crusher was right. It’s not Phil.”

“Explain.” Crusher folds his arms over his chest.

“Phil didn’t kill The Master,” Blade says as if Crusher was asking him to explain and not me. “He was killed during a battle between rival syndicates.”

“Caught in crossfire,” Flame adds. “The Master took a stake to the heart, and following the code, Crusher left him behind.” Flame hangs his head as if he still regrets what happened that night, even though what he thinks happened is a total lie. A lie concocted by Crusher to cover my actions.

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