Page 53 of Ruthless God

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep walking, to ignore the way my skin prickles with an undeniable sense of wrongness. I quicken my pace until I’m closer to Claudius, my voice low, hesitant.

“Where are we?”

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back. “We’re almost there.”

I glance around again, the feeling intensifying, wrapping around me like unseen fingers pressing against my spine. I don’t know where ‘there’ is. But I have a feeling I won’t like it.

“Your brother took me into a wooded area like this,” I say, closing the gap between us, suddenly feeling a whole lot less comfortable trailing behind. “Must run in the family.”

Claudius stiffens.

“Whoever you saw that night was not my brother, Cecely,” he snaps.

I blink at the sudden shift in his tone. Hit a nerve, did I?

“If the identical face matches…” I mutter under my breath, not quite ready to drop it entirely.

But I take the hint.

Doesn’t mean I stop thinking about it. Because if it wasn’t Gabriel, then who the hell was it? The only logical explanation would be that it was Gabriel, but that doesn’t make sense, because Claudius is acting like his brother is dead and buried. And last I checked, people don’t just come back from the dead looking exactly the same.

Unless… A weird thought snakes its way into my mind. It’s not like someone can pay to turn their face into another, right? I mean, people get plastic surgery all the time. But to completely duplicate someone’s face? That’s insane… right?

A shiver runs down my spine, and for once, I don’t think it’s from the cold. I glance at Claudius again. His jaw is still tight, his posture rigid, like he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but won’t. Which means I just stumbled onto something bigger. Much bigger. I’m not sure I like where it’s leading, but, for some reason, I have a feeling it has something to do with my father.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Claudius doesn’t even glance back. Typical.

“What?” he says, flat, disinterested.

I quicken my steps, closing the distance between us. “How do you know Dimitri?”

That gets something. He slows. Just a fraction. Whether he meant to or not, I can’t tell.

“I’ve known him for years.”

“That’s not an answer,” I press. “Do you know him through work? Church?” I snort, already knowing that’s a joke. “The Brotherhood?”

I clock his reaction instantly.

He’s good. I’ll give him that. But he’s not good enough to stop the subtle widening of his eyes when I drop that last one.

Gotcha.

I let the silence stretch, waiting. Daring him to correct me. To deny it. He doesn’t. Instead, his shoulders tighten, and just like that, his pace picks up again.

“So, you do know him through the Brotherhood,” I say, my voice steady.

Claudius doesn’t confirm or deny it. He just keeps walking, eyes forward, posture tight. Telling.

I push further. “Is that how you know my sperm donor?”

He stops. Not abruptly. Not dramatically. Just enough to make me halt, to remind me that I’m not the one in control here. Then, without turning, he speaks.

“I believe I warned you earlier,” he says, his voice quiet but edged with steel. “Not to ask questions you’re not prepared to hear the answers for.”

A chill crawls down my spine. Which means I hit the mark.

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