More pissed at her reaction than embarrassed, I open my mouth to tell her off. Because yeah, while I might be shit at staying connected to my own fucking emotions, I know how to be angry, and she’s just adding to the things I’m fucking irate about when it comes to her.
Apparently heedless of my ire, my mother snarls— then suddenly darts forward to yank the neck of Mirth’s sweater to the side.
To better see the bite mark.
“What have you done?” my mother snarls. Again. At me. As if I’m some young pup.
“I’m pretty certain I don’t have to explain how sex works to you,” I drawl. “Mother.” I tilt my head, all belligerent. “Or consent, for that matter. But I’m also pretty certain you need a lesson in truth telling.”
My mother blinks at me, momentarily thrown by my seemingly random accusation. Then her expression firms, eyes narrowing, lips pressed together. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she hisses. “You do not bite one of the awry. You can’t just fuck —”
Mirth wraps her hand around my mother’s wrist — skin-to-skin.
With a sickening whoosh through my stomach, I realize that my mother still has Mirth’s sweater clutched in her hand. She’s still pulling it to the side to expose her neck and shoulder.
No one touches Her Royal Highness without permission.
If Roz had been anywhere nearby, my mother would already be on the ground.
My mother’s gaze slowly shifts to where Mirth is now holding her. I see the same realization dawn across her face. Then a flicker of fear in the depths of her blue eyes.
“Is it me specifically?” Mirth asks quietly. “Or all of the awry you hate?”
My mother takes a shaky breath. “That’s not … I could never hate you, Mirth. I’m not … I’m just shaken … I love you, darling.” She deliberately peels her fingers back, releasing her hold on Mirth’s sweater.
But Mirth still holds her wrist.
My mother swallows harshly. “I just … your friendship was already …” Her gaze flicks to me, now filled with a remorse I don’t understand. “It’s always going to be a parent’s instinct to protect … but if Bolan has hurt you …”
A terrible yawning pain opens up within me. I’ve mistaken my mother’s reaction. “You think —”
“He hasn’t,” Mirth says firmly. Then her voice cools to skin-blistering levels. “He wouldn’t. He’s mine. Whether or not you approve.” She releases my mother’s wrist.
My mother instantly snatches her arm back, cradling it against her chest. I’ve always found Mirth’s energy enticing. But obviously my mother feels much differently.
“You’re both adults,” she says. “I can’t tell you what to do, but this choice is reckless. Bolan, your father died protecting —”
“I’m confused,” I say, drawing Mirth tighter against me when she tries to turn away and reach for her backpack. To leave. “Are you concerned that I raped Mirth, or that she has purple eyes?”
My mother’s nostrils flare. “Neither. Of course not! Don’t try to twist this, Bolan —”
“Into what?” I ask mockingly. I’m suddenly so fucking angry that I want to snatch Mirth up in my arms, leave the fucking house, the fucking property, and never look back. “The truth?”
“You know I love Mirth. As I loved Armin. But they are … their friendship has always been … dangerous. For us all.”
Mirth flinches.
I stifle a growl, but it still rumbles unvoiced through my chest. “The friendship you benefited from, you mean? You never turned down all the gifts —”
“Gifts!?” My mother sneers. “Blood money for your father.”
“No. I believe that blood money … for him doing his sworn duty … came in a lump sum before I ever met Armin or Mirth.”
“Bolan,” my mother says, visibly trying to calm herself. “A mating bite —”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but you can clearly see I didn’t break the skin.”
“But you still bit her! And that is …” She inhales deeply. “That’s not —”
