Page 89 of The Secrets of Roan Island

“Not in the picture.”

I hum a noise.

Her hands, the ones she’s been wringing nervously in her lap, still. “Are you judging me?”

“No.” I meet her gaze, impressed by the fortitude that drives her. “I’m judging the father.”

She looks down at her hands again, squeezing her fingers together. “Though my boy’s in a home, I worry for him. And if there’s a chance I could spend my remaining time with him…”

“Is that why you came here?” I lean forward, recalling my mother, the way her arms wrapped around me after a fall, the way she’d tell me everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. She died and left us behind with our father. My jaw tenses.

“If there’s a chance to stay alive and care for him, I’ll take it. However slim. The thought of leaving him to grow up in–” She stops and swallows, her eyes filling with tears.

I hate the sudden flickering of my hearts in my chest. “You do realize that you have to fall in love with one of us too.” It comes out harsher than she deserves.

It’s an unlikely possibility. Though Noah found love, most women won’t love a monster. Ruby was an anomaly. I know that well. Women don’t fall in love with killers. Even the woman sitting across from me is proof. She smells more of fear than anything else.

Her heart beats faster and that pungent scent of panic increases. It’s a scent the predator in me likes. Squaring her shoulders, she says, “I realize how unlikely it is, but I don’t have any better way to pass my final days than to watch Kay and Annathrow themselves at a man as stoic as you. It’ll be entertaining, at least.” She grins more to herself than me, but that small action grabs hold of my insides and yanks everything tight.

I scoff. “That does not sound entertaining to me.”

“You could get a mate out of it.”

I frown and stare into my nearly empty glass.

When I don’t reply, she has the nerve to add, “I saw the way you looked at your brother and his mate.”

I stand so quickly she gasps, and I turn away, putting distance between us.

“You can’t tell me you’re not jealous… Even I’m jealous.” Her voice drops at the end, almost too low to hear.

I turn my head to look at her, and she stares right in my eyes, daring me to deny it.

Keeping my features relaxed, expressionless, I lean against the hearth, finishing off my wine before I turn the tables on her. “What about your son? Where is he during all this?”

“Here. With me.”

“Roan Island is no place for a child.” I push away from the hearth and cross to the table to refill my wine glass. I can feel her eyes track me and realize I’ll need to share why. “Every month we throw a party that can only be described as debauchery. We feed and fuck with abandon.” I don’t mince my words, wanting to shock her.

Her eyes widen, and this time when her heartbeat speeds up, there’s a note of musky arousal beneath it. I smile. “Is that the kind of environment you want him exposed to?”

Her jaw is set, the muscles tense in her cheek. “Just because something happens in this house doesn’t mean we need to participate in it, or that he needs to know about it.”

We regard each other silently for a longer stretch of time than natural before I return to my seat. “I’ll consider your offer. But I’ll need to discuss it with my brothers.”

I don’t want to give her false hope. It’s unlikely that any of us will fall in love. Impossible that I will. However, it’s quite likely that my family will agree to her request. These women are dying, and after what they did to help rid us of Hammish, letting them stay here for their last days seems like the least we can do. We could make their remaining days… comfortable. A kind of penance.

“Thank you.” She stands and smooths her shabby skirts, drawing my attention to the frayed hem.

“Why aren’t you wearing one of the dresses we provided?”

She lifts and lowers one shoulder, blushing slightly. “Because this one is mine.” She curtsies awkwardly. “Thank you for the audience, Mr. Roan.”

“It’s Shemaiah.”

She dips her chin, turns, and starts across the room to the door, but pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “Goodnight… Shemaiah.”

“Goodnight, Pippa.”

There’s a moment when I think she might turn back to look at me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she straightens her spine and walks from the room.

Though it feels strange, stretching my face for the first time in a long time, I smile a true smile.

***

---