Page 123 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Her mouth drops open, she gasps again, and then darts toward me so fast I barely have a moment to prepare for her slamming into me and hugging my knees so close I have no room to even move without tripping. “Tu eress mi hermano.” Her melodic giggles rock between us as she tilts her head back and raises her hands. “Up, up!”

I kneel instead, grabbing her shoulders and opening my mouth to scold her for trusting a stranger so much. Even if she knows my name, it doesn’t mean—

My thoughts are interrupted when she circles my neck and presses herself against me so tightly, her giggles filling my ears.

And to my shock, I return the embrace, hugging her close to me while several emotions wash over me, each one of them different, although none of them is love, because I no longer know what it is.

Or am capable of giving it back.

In this world, love is a luxury monsters cannot afford, because in order to survive with their demons, they give up the chance of ever experiencing it.

However, the earlier resentment suddenly no longer exists, and a fierce protective instinct remains, where I vow to myself to never allow any harm be done to her so she won’t lose this naivety and continue to think this world is a perfect place consisting of perfect people who always have the best intentions in their mind.

I won’t ever fail her.

She won’t ever be like me, a heartless machine whose heart pumps in order to kill those who harmed him.

I won’t scold her or teach her to be afraid. I’ll stay in the shadows to make sure nothing and no one touches her.

I’ll be the kind of brother who will never raise his hand to his sister… but I’ll break or chop off the hand that hurts her.

Because in this world, in this place, in my real life… she’s the only one who won’t ever know the previous Santiago, and this way her affection is pure and true.

She will love the brother who already became a monster and not expect anything else.

Maybe blood is thicker than water indeed; otherwise, what could possibly explain my instant attachment and need to keep her safe at all costs?

“Cuál es tu nombre?” Thank fuck I continued to speak in Spanish to myself in my head all these years, or I’d have forgotten everything.

“Jimena.” She leans back and palms my head, giggling again, the sun reflecting in her eyes. But then she frowns, and her lower lip starts to tremble, and instantly my instincts go on high alert when she gazes into the distance, whispering to me, “Mommy is crying. ”

Everything inside me goes still; my heartbeat speeds up, my pulse pounding so loudly I feel it in my throat. Taking a few breaths, I push Jimena away a little and get up, still not turning around.

Fear.

Fear pours into my veins, because I don’t think I’m emotionally stable enough to handle her rejection right now when she won’t see her boy in me.

Fear she won’t accept me.

Fear that my mother no longer loves me, even if this love belongs to a boy who died inside me a long time ago.

To my astonishment, my eyes water; tears I thought dried a long time ago are ready to emerge, but I don't let them, composing myself.

Tears are a weakness, and a weakness will always be used against you. I’ll laugh and laugh, but I won’t ever cry again.

Another deep breath and I finally spin around, coming face-to-face with my mother, who stands several feet away from us, her naturally blonde hair glistening in the sunlight while her summer dress sways in the breeze.

She’s barefoot, her hands covering her mouth while tears stream down her cheeks, her gaze roaming over me, but the familiar disgust doesn't come.

Oh no.

I want my mom to look at me, to somehow find traces of the boy she used to love, and accept me.

I heard once that parents always know when you pull some shit or if you’ve done something wrong—just an instinct they have.

Does she know I withstood rape? Does she know I killed? Does she know I would have done a thousand more crimes if it meant survival, and to hell with moral code?

Can she guess it all by looking at me?

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