Page 34 of Jayce

Finding out that my parents didn’t make wild, passionate love one night and conceive me took some time to comprehend. With the revelation of my adoption, on top of finding out that my best friend was, in fact, my long-lost twin sister, I’m spinning through a maze of secrets and truths.

My gaze lingers on the woman who bore a perfect combination of me and Cill’s features—except for the bottled blonde hair cascading in gentle waves. Her piercing green eyes hold a universe of stories. There’s a distinctive scar tracing a path of resilience across her neck, and up along her cheek where it grazes the corner of her eye.

Why now? Are the Fates toying with us? Even in this moment of potential reunion, we remain worlds apart because of the protection spell Willow cast.

I stare harder at my mother. It’s not rude when she can’t see me. She appears older than the demigods in Jayce’s herd. As if she’s aged like a human instead of as a child of Helios.

She carries the weight of her years heavily upon her shoulders. She is neither too thin nor curvy like either of us. It’s the eyes, the nose, the shape of her mouth that captivates me. The blend of my sister and I validates our connection despite the invisible barrier keeping us apart.

What am I feeling? Longing? An ache to bridge the gap between us. To ask all the questions keeping me up at night regarding the mysteries of my identity. Yet, intertwined amidst the longing is fear—fear of what revelations her story will bring. Fear of what’s brought her into our world—now. Shortly after, our father’s henchmen found us.

I don’t remember falling into Cill’s arms, but they hold me like she’s my anchor. My tears and snot soak the sleeve of her jumper. My sleeve’s every bit as wet from her own similar meltdown.

The discussion between Tara and “Nik”, as she calls him, is a welcome distraction.

The way she stands up to him—I just know we’re going to be great friends. I can be her friend. Jayce has never stuck his dick in her pussy.

Willow’s snarky comments at my back put my heart back where it belongs. I turn around and hug her, only the sight of her starts the waterworks again.

She puts her hands on hips. “Okay, who do I need to kill?”

I throw my head back and laugh.

Chapter 24

Emjay

For over a month, I’ve sat in my car parked outside the bar where I’d last seen my babies.

I stopped sensing them over two weeks ago.

I should have walked inside the second my connection to them snapped.

The terror I’ve labored under for over thirty years crippled me. Even as I stand outside with my hand on the door, my feet refuse to go any farther.

My favorite self-help podcaster tells her audience on every episode, “It’s okay to do it afraid. Don’t wait until the fear subsides. Push past whatever it is you fear and do what you need to do—afraid.”

Deep breath in. One-two-three. Deep breath out. One-two-three. Rinse and repeat.

Someone on the other side of the door I’ve yet to let go of pulls it inward, along with my trembling form.

Momentarily, the thoughts of my daughters fade away as the pain of having my heart shoved back into my chest nearly drops me on my arse. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. My call to my mate that my mother used a witch to rip from my soul all those years ago echoes in my heart again. A gift I thought was lost to me forever.

Years of practice keep me on my feet. Even though I have no doubt, he’ll catch me if I fall.

My mate stands with his back to me. The one my heart called out for decades ago. It takes less than a second for the power of our bond to hit him with the same force. He turns my way.

His lack of practice at forcing strength behind every move is clear when he falls to his knees at my feet—powerless.

This man is a striking figure whose true age defies the passage of time. His chestnut hair, clean-cut and styled into waves, frames his face in a way that accentuates his flawless features. The waves seamlessly merge into a neatly trimmed beard. The precise line along his cheekbones adds a touch of refinement to his rugged appearance.

His chiseled jawline speaks of his strength, mirrored by the confidence in his piercing gaze. A pointed nose adds to the angular symmetry of his face, giving him an air of authority and charisma.

The sleeves of his shirt hug his biceps, hinting at a force that lays beneath the fabric. Despite his age, he looks remarkably youthful, his vitality evident in his muscles.

I could lose myself in the intensity of his golden eyes.

Yet, there’re signs of a life well-lived etched into his appearance. Grease stains outline his trimmed nails and traces the creases of his worn hands—evidence of hard work and dedication. And despite the ruggedness in his appearance, a gentleness shines in his smile.

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