Page 74 of Mistletoe

Emma considered this new information. “I thought the colonists were screened. Only the top candidates were selected.”

“Money was the only qualification for the passengers; crew was more competitive. My brother had enough pull and enough money for bribes that my record was overlooked.” He paused, unsure if he should continue to share.

“Please go on. I will keep an open mind,” she said. All that was a long, long time ago, and Hal had previously said that his memories felt like someone else.

“You say that, but?—”

“Did you hurt anyone?” she asked before he could tell her what she would or wouldn’t do.

“You know I have,” he said.

“I mean before, on Earth. You said theft and assault. Are you a murderer?”

“Manslaughter. It was… unintentional.” Hal rubbed his forehead like that would erase the memories. “He was wealthy, and I needed money, so I took his handheld. Easy. Only he chased me. We struggled over the handheld; I pushed him, and he fell and hit his head on the curb. He died instantly.”

Emma listened patiently. She’d listen as long as he held her hand.

“A handheld is a…you don’t have anything like it anymore. It was a machine that had all your information on it, bank accounts, identification, everything.” He sighed. “It wasn’t worth a man’s life.”

“Was it an accident?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding defeated.

“And you served your time?”

“Four years. Hardly enough time for taking a life.”

“Oh, Hal, then it’s in the past. Thank you for sharing that with me.” She cradled the side of his face. “Who you were then is not who you are now.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he nuzzled her hand. “There’s another thing you should know?—”

“Whatever crimes you committed two hundred years ago, I don’t care. Not one jot.”

“The vampire who held me captive?—”

“Who tortured you. Who you helped escape.”

“Draven. He’s my brother.”

Emma dropped her hand. It was easy to wave away an accidental killing that happened on another planet. This was different. Draven had vanished, but the threat of his return was very real.

“Will he come to the farm looking for you?” she asked.

“I told him if I ever saw him again, I’d kill him.” Hal’s eyes still had that wide, vulnerable look to them. “I should have killed him when I had the chance. I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“He’s my little brother. I’m supposed to take care of him.”

Emma bit her lower lip. The absurdity of the statement. This orc, held prisoner for ages out of mind, sliced apart and stitched together, covered in scars, who said he was a monster but whose actions only proved otherwise, felt the need to care for a true monster. Eventually, she said, “Family is complicated.”

“He claimed he was trying to cure me.” Hal gestured to the scar on his arm. “A skin graft from a cadaver. He flayed the dead to give me new skin and stitched me together.”

That particular detail was rather gruesome. She did not recognize the procedure, but it had a very evocative name.

Emma sank to her knees in front of him and held his hands. “Nothing you told me changes who you are.”

“I’m a monster?—”

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