Page 90 of Hunted By Valentine

“Jack,” I say, and he looks up from his phone. “Thank you. For everything.” I know I’ve already thanked him, but it never hurts to ensure the people you care about know.

Giving up on the rest of the food, I get up and move to Jack’s side so I can give him a proper hug that he returns with a ferocity that makes my bones ache. “You’re still my favorite brother,” I whisper.

“And you’re my favorite sister,” he replies teasingly.

“Ass,” I laugh, slapping his shoulder lightly.

He arches an eyebrow. “You disappear for days, and I’m the ass? Do you know how worried we’ve been? We didn’t know if you were dead or—”

“I’m not dead,” I cut in, perhaps too sharply. “I’m here now.”

He sighs. “We just want to know what’s going on. You can’t keep us in the dark.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking how best to placate him without giving too much away. “Jack,” I say softly. “Please. Just trust me. Everything will make sense tomorrow, I swear. But I need one day where we’re together like we used to be.”

He starts to say something, then stops. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the war between his need for answers and his love for me. “One day,” he says at last. “Then you’ll tell us everything?”

Not wanting to lie more than I have to, I say, “You’ll know everything tomorrow.”

After clearing the table, we get ready. I shrug on one of the coats Carolina bought. To say she got me more clothes than necessary is an understatement. There are enough garments to last me months. Which I’m grateful for right now.

Jack throws his arm around mine as we ride down in the elevator, and as we get to the underground parking garage, guides me over to his SUV. I slide into the front passenger seat, immediately turning the radio on and up the volume so much it’s practically impossible to talk.

As we drive, the city blurs into a gray winter haze. The streets are slushy with half-melted snow, and the sky hangs low and oppressive. No one speaks, but the silence is anything but comfortable.

When we arrive, Jack parks near the entrance to the Knight mausoleum. The cemetery is a stark contrast to the rest of the city, its rolling hills and ancient trees covered in a serene blanket of snow. We get out of the SUV, and the cold bites through my clothes, gnawing at my bones.

Nick’s already waiting by the gate, and as per usual, he isn’t alone. He stands with Marco, who discreetly steps away as Jack and I approach.

“Nick,” I breathe. “Thank you for coming.”

I’m surprised when he pulls me into a tight hug. “Where the hell have you been, Ruby?”

Sighing, I pull back. “I’ve been—”

“She’s been spending time with Valentine,” Jack unhelpfully adds. “In fucking Dumbo of all places.” He spits the last part as though that area is offensive to him, and maybe it is.

Our brother looks between us, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You left Jack’s in the middle of the night to spend time with… oh.” He grins as the meaning dawns on him. “So we got all worried because you wanted some—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” I snap. Then I turn around, facing the mausoleum. “Are we going inside?”

Nick pulls the key out and unlocks the old iron gates, which creak as he pushes them open. The family crest—a lion—is etched into the metal, a reminder of the weight the Knight name carries. The stone walls of the mausoleum are a dull gray, weathered by years of exposure.

I move closer, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the evening air. The structure’s cold elegance speaks of power and permanence, a statement of legacy meant to defy time itself. Pillars flank either side of the entrance, their edges chipped and softened, but still regal, as if daring anyone to approach with anything less than reverence.

Above sits an arched inscription, barely visible, pronouncing our family’s motto:By Faith and Fortitude.

This is the home of all dead Knights, even Dad’s here. But since none of us had anything but hatred for him, I made sure the groundskeeper took care of all of it. When I came here after Nick and Carolina’s wedding, I spat on my dad’s tombstone before placing a lit candle at my mom’s. If there’s a Hell, the man who sired us is there.

As one, we walk by Caspian Knight’s final resting place, not stopping until we’re in front of our mom’s, Sienna Knight. She died giving birth to me, so I’ve never known her. But through stories and time spent here, I almost feel like I do.

“Hi Mom,” I whisper, kneeling so I can light the candle. Then I make myself comfortable, sitting down on the stone floor.

Nick and Jack don’t speak, but they do kneel in the dirt and place a kiss to their middle and index finger before pressing the same digits against the stone.

“I miss her,” I say, though it sounds hollow even to my own ears. How can you miss someone you’ve never known?

Standing, Jack stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and looks away. Nick is slower to get to his feet, his eyes remain fixed on the stone, unblinking.

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