Page 27 of Drawn in Blood
“I didn’t know the Lothbrok girl’s mother had turned up,” a voice boomed from the entryway to the room. “What a surprising turn of events.”
Killian tried not to jump as his father walked through the door, snatching a piece of paper from the desk in the far corner and stuffing it in his pocket.
“Good thing if you ask me,” he laughed gruffly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter by the window. “She needs to be with her own kind.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Killian asked, as he narrowed his eyes.
“The Kitts aren’t exactly ofnobleblood,” Magnus said, as he tilted the glass to his lips, whiskey dripping down his beard. “They don’t need to be in charge of raising any more of the next generation if you ask me.”
Asena seemed to nod just to placate him, and Killian grit his teeth.
“They are some of the best people on this island,” Killian hissed. “Just because they don’t have as much money as you do doesn’t make them any less than.”
“That’s exactly what it makes them.” Magnus grinned. “No child of mine would be raised by people like them. Good on Aoife for finally finding her and bringing her back where she belongs.”
Killian flexed his fingers. His father hadn’t raised any of them, so what did he know about parenting to begin with? He grabbed a few books from the shelf and then strode to the door, slamming it as he walked away. He stomped up the steps, locking himself in his room.
The truth was, he would give anything to have a mother like Eira, even if she did have a temper. He loved his mother, but she would never stand up for him or his brothers the way they deserved. She would always let his father have the final word. Something inside her broke long before Killian was born, and she had never gathered the strength to try to mend it.
Some days, Killian wanted to hate her for it, wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her as hard as he could. He couldn’t stand the way his father walked all over her and the way she just let him. Righteous anger burned in his chest when he saw the bruises, saw the welts and the black eyes that couldn’t be hidden by powder and blush. She wore them with her head held high, but Killian could see the brokenness underneath.
He sighed and shook his head, throwing the books onto his bed and kicking off his shoes. There wasn’t much he could do about his home life, but he could work to make Ember and Theo’s a little easier. He dug into the books, committing every word to memory, practicing the signs until his fingers went numb. Things he had been taught as a child came flooding back, like he had unlocked a dam, rushing to flood his memories. His eyes burned as he flipped the pages over and over, and just ashis stomach began to rumble, demanding food, his door creaked open.
“You missed supper,” Leif said, as he peeked his head in. “Isra saved you some leftovers.” The little boy tiptoed into the room, a bowl of stew and bread in his hands.
“Gods, I didn’t even realize how late it was,” Killian said, as he rubbed his eyes, flipping the book in front of him closed. Leif gave him the bowl, and then climbed on the bed to sit with him as he ate.
“What are you reading?” he asked, as he peered at the titles. He was seven, the same age as Maeve, sharing Killian’s blond hair and grey eyes, but the two boys couldn’t have been more different. He was their mother’s perfect angel and could do no wrong in her eyes. And while he might not be the heir that Rafe was, his father still showed him a love—or something akin to it—that Killian had never experienced.
But despite it all, for reasons Killian didn’t fully understand, Leif looked up to him. He followed him around, often ending up in his room asking questions he could’ve easily gotten the answer for from Isra or Rafe. It annoyed Killian at first, the way he seemed to follow him around like a lost puppy, but as he got older, he began not to mind. Sometimes he even enjoyed it. Because despite how their mother fawned over him, no matter how kind their father pretended to be, there till seemed to be a lost little boy underneath it all, begging for some form of warmth in this cold house.
Killian could see a fire flickering behind the little boy’s eyes. A fire, that if fanned just right, could burn forests to the ground.
“I’m learning sign language,” Killian said in between bites of stew, “to help a friend be able to talk to her little brother.”
“Your friend Ember?” Leif asked. He had no doubt heard him talking to Isra about her before.
Killian nodded his head as he chewed.
“Da’ says you should be careful around her,” he said nonchalantly, “her and the Kitts. I heard him talking to Mummy about it.”
Killian narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t worry too much about what Da’ says,” he huffed, as he took another bite. “Ember and the Kitts are some of the best people I know. Better than the lot he brings around. Better than most of the people that live in this house.”
Leif’s face sank, and Killian winced.
“Wanna help me practice?” he asked the little boy, as he set the bowl aside. “Maybe you and Theo could be friends. I bet he could use a friend as great as you.”
Leif’s face lit up as he nodded and scrambled to sit beside Killian, who opened the book and began.
Chapter 9
Sign Language and Other Secrets
Ember walked into the kitchen after school, her stomach growling, and legs aching. Fen had made her stay to get in some flying practice after classes concluded, and she was ready to eat and collapse in her warm bed for the rest of the evening. She made her way into the kitchen but stopped when she saw Theo and Gaelen at the table.
Theo’s hands moved rapidly in front of him as he grinned in between taking bites of the sliced apple on his plate. Gaelen laughed at something and then began moving her fingers as she shook her head.
”Why does he know sign language?” Ember asked, as she stepped into the room.
