Page 78 of Dark Rebel's Reckoning

"When immortal males feel protective, our fangs emerge," he explained, keeping his voice steady and calm. "It's a sign of aggression toward an enemy or someone who threatens us or anyone defenseless around us. It's an instinctual response. I was just so angry thinking about what he did to you."

"Protective," she repeated, as if testing the word. "But I wasn't a threat to him or anyone else and still his fangs came out."

Max met her gaze directly, wanting her to see the truth in his eyes. "There's a difference between fangs elongating in response to aggression or in response to sexual desire. The Doomer couldn't have been able to do both simultaneously."

"Why not?"

"The chemicals released in the venom glands differ depending on the trigger. Aggression produces a paralyzing toxin meant to incapacitate enemies, while sexual arousal produces something much milder, designed to enhance pleasure."

"But the Doomer…"

Max felt his jaw tighten. "An immortal male shouldn't be capable of doing both simultaneously. The systems are supposed to be separate, so I must assume that his was triggered by desire, but because he is a vile pile of shit, he hurt you."

The elevator arrived again with another soft ping. This time, Max held his hand against the door to keep it open.

Fenella stepped inside and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

He took the opposite side and mimicked her pose. "I'll call Din as soon as we get upstairs. It wouldn't hurt to check on your brother and his kids and grandkids."

She chuckled. "Grandkids. Can you imagine? I could be a great-aunt."

He was glad that she was back to her old self. "You get used to that when you're immortal. No one even speaks of ages in our community."

She nodded, and then let out a breath, the smile sliding off her face. "I wasn't scared of you. It was just a knee-jerk reaction."

"I know. I'm still sorry about it."

"Not your fault." She attempted a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "This whole post-traumatic thing is a bitch."

"Is that what Bridget said?"

"Among other things." Fenella shrugged. "Apparently, it's normal to be fucked up after being abducted, drugged, beaten up, and violated."

Despite her flippant tone, Max caught the vulnerability underneath. Fenella had survived fifty years on her own, relying on no one but herself. Acknowledging any kind of weakness, even to herself, had to be difficult.

"If you need someone to talk to, we have a great counselor."

"So I've been told." She glanced up at the floor indicator, watching the numbers climb. "Not sure I'm the therapy type, though. I don't have patience for someone asking me how I feel about this or that."

The elevator reached the penthouse and the two of them stepped out, but Max wasn't in a rush. "Immortals have unique challenges when it comes to trauma. We live so long that unprocessed experiences can compound over centuries."

"Are you talking from experience?" she asked, studying him.

"Some," he admitted. "Five hundred years gives you plenty of time to accumulate baggage. And plenty of time to learn how to unpack it, too."

48

KYRA

After returning to the penthouse, Kyra had escaped to the luxurious bathroom of the master suite for a few moments of quiet. She could have just closed the door to her room and sat on the couch in the sitting area, but she'd pretended to need to use the restroom, so here she was, looking in the mirror and brushing her hair, trying to arrange it into something that had shape.

Everything about Bridget's appearance had been polished, including her hair and subtle makeup. Standing next to her, Kyra felt exactly like who she was—a rebel who had spent most of her nights in a tent, who was lucky to wash her hair once a week, and who had used a conditioner for the first time on the plane that brought her out of Iran.

Oh, well. Hopefully, there would be time to do all those feminine nonessentials when she returned with the rest of her family. With so many females, they could have giant makeover parties.

The thought made her chest feel lighter. Then she heard the doorbell ring in the living room, intensifying her buoyant feeling.

Was it Max?

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