Page 48 of Sire
God couldn’t have painted a more perfect woman for me.
Except…
“Because we’re at risk, we have a tradition, and in the past, like for my mom, it was barbaric. But we do it now with consent, as an intimate bond to keep us and our loved ones safe.”
Curiosity, not fear, dances in her eyes.
“Way back,” I explain, “a king would take a wife, a queen, but his queen would accept two kings on her wedding night: one, her first king and husband, the other, her second king, who vowed to protect her and her children if something happened to her first husband. It’s how power stayed with the elites.”
“Yep.” She doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Polyandry: one wife with multiple husbands, often brothers. They do it in the Himalayas because farmland is so scarce.”
I’m stunned silent.
“What?” She grins. “Nannie was a librarian. I read tons of books, especially anything about sex and marriage. And you’re saying that you and your brothers are polyandrous and…” Her smile fades. “And you have awife?”
“No.” I cup her cheek. “I’ve never had a wife, and my brothers wouldn’t share their wives, either. It’s one night, one initiation. Back home, we were considered princes. Wewould’ve been kings who made our queens together, and we kept the tradition here because my mom’s second king rescued us. He died so that my mom, my brothers, and I could escape my father.”
Her brows furrow. “That happened to your mom? All of that?”
“All of that and worse. My father kidnapped and forced her to marry him when she was fourteen. He forced her to take a second husband, too, but over time, she fell in love with him. His name was Maxim, and sometimes I wonder if he was my true dad, because I hate my father so much.”
“Your father was abusive?”
“To all of us.”
I reach over my back and tug off my T-shirt. Her eyes widen at my naked torso so close to her, but I take her fingertips and touch them to my chest, over the ink covering my scars.
“He’d burn me with a cigar lighter. He’d say since I loved God more than him, he’d give me the Devil’s burns, too.”
Tears well in Wren’s eyes. Fuck, it kills me when she cries, especially for me.
I don’t want her pity. I don’t deserve it. I need her to understand how cruel my father is. Why I’d do anything for my brothers. I never meant to betray them.
“Axel suffered much worse,” I share.
“Worse than burns?”
“I guess all abuse is horrific. When my brothers were babies, I’d hear my mom begging my father to let her take care of her sons, but he’d yell at her and say we needed to be tough. So, I did it. I always held my little brothers when they cried.”
“That’s why.”
“That’s why, what?”
“That’s why you looked so natural holding that little boy.” She smiles. “You’ll make a great dad.”
The lump in my throat is sudden. I don’t have to tell Wren this, but Iwantto. I did a horrible, wrong thing. But with her, if I get a chance, I’ll do everything right.
“Wren, I don’t deserve to be a father.”
She touches my cheek. “Of course, you do.”
“No, I don’t. I need to tell you something no one else knows. And I need to trust that you’ll never tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“But your mouth has never met a filter.”
“But I’ve met you.” She lifts my left hand, reverently kissing my partial pinky. “And you have my loyalty. Always.”
