Page 15 of Designed By Fate

Father holds up his free hand. His pale skin looks ashen like he hasn’t been taking care of himself, let alone sleeping, “Hers is out in the car. You two were closer on my way.” Milo grumbles something inaudible before tearing into the takeout box. Pausing as he stares at the food inside, his mood growing even more annoyed. Father scoffs, “There’s no sauce on it.”

He remembered.

My brother clamps down on his inner cheek, a strange and conflicting series of emotions filter through the bond, making my appetite all but disappear completely. “Thanks...” We mutter in unison, tensing for the spill of corrections that typically fall from his taunt thin mouth. I look up from the corner of my eye in time to see his mouth quirk up, only a little instead. All the things Carlton Voclain is sentimental isn’t one.

So why does he look like that right now?

“Fuck.” He breathes out, crossing the room before falling onto the bed. His head buried in his hands; Milo pauses a bite of food halfway shoved into his mouth before eyeing me with confusion. We both just sit there like we’ve got two brain cells collectively, staring at the proud tall Carlton Voclain. Senior member of The Order, multimillionaire, damn impressive water weirder, crumple in on himself. Looking smaller than I’ve ever seen him. He’s less than a few days from the achievement that would elevate him to elder status, what he’s always wanted. To see us through to the end, to ready us for our purpose. I don’t see a hint of excitement or determination in his wary form, its... unsettling. He takes a deep breath facing us finally, looking like he’s about to have a fucking aneurysm.

“I’m sorry.” He all but whispers, his icy eyes filled with so much more than I’m used to seeing in them When we don’t respond he continues with another slew of heavy breaths, you’d think he was pulling nails, “That day, those few months, fuck those years I should’ve paid more attention. I was so caught up inmypurpose,myhonor of preparing the next soldiers of the Fates, I barely cast her a second glace. I didn’t see it, because I never fucking looked.” Milo closes his food, his hands fisting while my breathing grows more shallow, closing off our bond. Now isn’t a time for our emotions to mix.

We don’t need this right now.

“It’s fine.” I spit out, not looking at the man like a coward. Why would he decide to do this now? After all these fucking years? He ignores me, “Milo, I saw the hate she held for you. I saw her struggle with the loss of your brother, with the reasons it had to happen. She lost a child. Her baby, only to have the world around her agree it was for the best.”

“Stop.” Milo orders, his energy swelling. Father scoffs, “When I got the call, when I realized how bad it had gotten. When I realized what she had done... it was the worst day of my life. I spent so many years distancing myself from you both. You were tools, weapons. You never belonged to me. You werenevermine. You always belonged to our goddesses. Yet when I saw you two lying there in intensive care, all I could think was-”

“Carlton.” I warn, Milo’s grip slipping.

“How could I have failed my children so terribly?”

With that, Milo lunges forward with a roar, knocking into our father with an audible clap. My heart stops as he jerks back his fist gathering father’s shirt in his hand, ripping some of the buttons in the front. Our father meets his fiery gaze. No fear or anger, just bitter acceptance.

I won’t stop him if he does it. If he finally kills him.

“I was cold, cruel because seeing you for what you were....Childrenscared the shit out of me. How was I supposed to love you and then lead you to your death?” Milo pauses, lowering his fist, breathing hard. All the while keeping father’s shirt pulled taunt. The rage in his eyes filtering. My chest constricts and burns in an incredibly uncomfortable way.

“Because it’s your purpose.” Milo breaths out, finally releasing him as he steps back, his posture guarded but I know my brother. He’s feeling the same thing I am.

And he hates it twice as much.

Father nods, “I don’t know what I’ll be when I’m no longer your father.” With that he stands, straightening his ripped shirt best a can. Warmth creeps into my soul, making a stupid fucking lump rise in my throat. “If we could do it again, I would do better by you. I swear it.” He heads for the door, getting halfway through before I finally find the courage to speak up. Hoping he doesn’t look at me when I do.

“Thank you.” I mutter, my heart racing. He pauses, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. Milo chimes in, “For the food.” His cheeks heat, turning a Kita shade of pink. The corners of father’s mouth pull up before he nods, heading out of the room and closing the heavy wooden door behind him. I lean back in my seat, trying to get a better hold on what I’m feeling before we open back up to her. I don’t know how long we sit there in silence, only that our food has grown cold when Milo finally speaks.

“You want to sleep in here tonight?” He asks, keeping his tone guarded and casual. I exhale roughly, “Yeah.”

“Don’t fucking snore.”

I smile as we get back to eating. Wondering what the hell our bride is doing right now. If she’s missing us, even half as badly as we miss her.

****

Kita

I don’t hear the door when it opens, nor the chime from the security system. I’m an hour into this painting and can’t be bothered with even the most basic self-preservation, apparently. When footsteps clatter along the tile, my heart stills. All my nerves and senses standing on end in the annoying way that they do. Although I can’t deny the heightened senses are useful as all hell. I remove my brush from the canvas, glancing down at my phone that’s still open, playing a song I’ve never heard. My energy prickles at the sound of something metal clattering to the floor, cabinets and drawers opening and closing loudly.

Mara said she would be late.

I sit my brush down, taking a deep breath before willing fire into my palm. The warmth of the docile flame spreading over my skin just as Carlton rounds the corner, a plate of food piled high in his hand. I glare at him as he hikes an eyebrow, motioning me to follow him to the kitchen. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten.”

“Did the twins send you to check on me?” I ask, grabbing the dirty rag off my knee before wiping what I can of the paint from my fingers. “No, I fed them first, though.” The faintest hint of a smile breaks out across his face before he nods towards my canvas, “Not your usual style.”

I stare back at the picture I’ve painted twice now, “No, but whatever it is, I can’t seem to move past it.”

“Did you have a vision?” The unease in his voice only adds to mine, gripping me the way it has since I got in my car today. “Not quite, at least I don’t think. It was more like flashes of images. But only parts of them like it was zoomed in and cropped. Very unhelpful as usual.” I pause, unsure if I should say anything more. A large part of me doesn’t trust Carlton any further than I could throw the six-foot something man. Although I know that’s based more on my resentment of him than his actions since he’s known me. Save for the little Lord’s hiccup. His jaw sets hard, making the smallest tinge of guilt seep into my chest.

He knows I don’t trust him.

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