Page 52 of Marked

Seventeen

After showering, I sit on my couch in an oversized shirt, carefully sewing Jack’s buttons back onto his shirt. My legs are draped over his lap, and I can’t help but smile as he trails his fingers up and down my bare skin.

“Sorry again about this.” I say, slipping the needle through one of the tiny four holes in the button. I’m still surprised I found them all. I expected at least one to have gone down the drain.

“It’s just a shirt,” he answers, but his eyes remain on the exposed skin of my legs. His fingers slide up my thigh, a growl rumbling in his throat when he reaches the hem of my night shirt. “No bottoms? You’re a tease.”

I laugh as his fingers press into the meat of my thigh. I’ve always had thicker thighs, despite the rest of my body being somewhat toned. I used to fret about it, but now it’s just a part of me.

Plus, Jack seems to like them just fine.

“I have underwear on!” I protest. “Which is more than what I can say for you, Detective Khoury.”

He glances down at the fluffy grey towel still wrapped around his waist. “I didn’t have a choice, unlike you, Dalton.” We had to throw his clothes in the wash after our shower together, and now they tumbled in the dryer.

I grin but keep my attention on the button. “Maybe I just want to keep you on your toes.”

He scoffs, but his fingers relax and start to trail back down my leg. He looks at me and nods to my hands. “When did you learn to sew?”

I remain silent as I hesitate, flashes of my family coming to mind. “My mom taught me.” My voice is soft as I answer him, the familiar sadness welling up at the sensitive topic.

Jack’s fingers stop. “Oh?” He asks, and I know he’s asking me to continue without pressing.

I nod once. “Mom was really handy with this kind of stuff. I can sew a button and patch a hole, but she could really sew. She used to make me and my sister Athena’s Halloween costumes every year. And they were always so much better than that retail bullshit.” A small smile curls my lips even as my eyes get a little glassy with longing. “She used to drive my father crazy with the sewing machine. She’d be up all night trying to finish whatever project she was working on. Whether it was our costumes or making new curtains. She’d always make new ones for each holiday and season. She hated routine.”

Jack is quiet for a moment, letting me get my emotions under control before asking exactly what I knew he would. “What happened to her?”

A bitter, self-loathing scoff escapes me. “Nothing. I mean, nothing like what you’re thinking. She’s alive and well. Her and my dad live in Summerlin.”

“You talk about her in the past tense,” he points out with confusion.

“Because I haven’t seen my family in years,” I say as I tie off the thread and snip it free. I set the scissors and needle down on the coffee table but keep the damp shirt in my lap as I look at him. “I pushed them away. I didn’t want them to be caught up in the fucking mess that is, well, me.”

Jack hums and starts to stroke my leg again. “You should cherish your family while you have them.”

I sigh and look away again. “I know I must sound like a petulant child to you, especially given how you lost your dad, but I had to do it. After I was turned into a hellhound, I was a totally different person.” I delve my fingers into my hair, fiddling with the wet strands. “The Monster Movement had already happened, obviously, but I’m a different kind of monster. No one really knows of hellhounds. And even those who know of them, don’t actually know any. We’re like the shapeshifters that were wiped out, except we don’t seem to really exist.”

Jack meets my gaze as I look at him again. “Trust me when I say that I understand how you feel, Valkyrie. Finish your story, and I will tell you mine.”

I nod, eager to know his tale since we were interrupted this morning. “I told you before that I became obsessed with Greek mythology after Cerberus sent me back. I studied all the gods but really focused on the ones of the underworld.” I drop my hands to my lap and stare down at them. “My mom,” my voice wavers, turns watery. “She was so supportive of my new passion. Every time we went to any thrift store or Goodwill, she would get me anything related to Greek mythology. Books, toys, paintings, all and everything. She never questioned me.”

I clench my hands into fists. “But my dad was a bit concerned that I kept looking into the underworld gods. My family goes to church every Sunday, but my dad has always been the more religious one because he was raised that way. So, anything related to hell puts him on edge. When he asked me about my new passion, I told him I met Cerberus when I died. He didn’t like that. He refused to believe it because if he did, to him, that meant his daughter was evil enough to end up in hell.”

Jack shakes his head. “That’s not how it works,” he growls. “Mortals have such a black and white picture of what happens after one dies.”

“I know the different realms of Greek’s underworld, but my dad doesn’t.” My shoulder lifts and falls with a shrug. “Some people are blindly led by their religion.”

Jack’s fingers suddenly tighten on my thigh again. “Is that why you believe you are evil? Because your father said so?”

I swallow. “It didn’t help deter me.” Jack’s fingers twitch against my leg, but I continue. “Especially when Cerberus pulled me back into the underworld a few months later. I was scared of him, them, whatever they prefer to be called. It was the triplets plus the three fates, all circled around me as they explained my position.

“They told me what my kiss would do to people and what they expected me to do for them. For the underworld. The kiss of death is what they called it, even though the people I marked don’t immediately die. But, when they do, they arrive at Styx instead of anywhere else.” I gingerly press my fingertips to the pawprint hidden under my shirt. “I was officially marked as a hellhound and given the power they made me have. Do you know how terrified I was? I was fourteen and had the power to determine where a person’s soul would go. What if I messed up? What if I marked someone who didn’t deserve it? And then the worst and biggest fear: what if I doomed my family? My friends?”

Jack’s hand leaves my thigh and tucks my short black hair behind my ear. “That’s when you pulled back.” It isn’t phrased as a question.

I nod. “My family’s love language is touch. Hugs and kisses primarily. I stopped both. If I was close enough for a hug, I was close enough for a peck, and I refused. It broke my mom and dad’s heart and gave my sister a complex. After a month of it, my dad came to me and apologized. Damn near cried as he told me he didn’t think I was evil. That his little girl never could be. I smiled and told him I forgave him, but it crushed him when I patted his shoulder when he tried to hug me.”

His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, wiping away a tear that fell. “It must have been hard for both of you. All of you.”

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