Gideon's Promise (Sons of Judgment Book 2) (18 page)

None of us like it,
Gideon thought, but never got the chance to voice his thoughts when the kitchen door squeaked open and Imogen shuffled through, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Not thinking of making another run for it, are you?”

Imogen blinked the sleep rapidly from her eyes and squinted at the pair across the room. “Sorry?”

“How are you?” his mother asked before Gideon could respond.

“All right. Thank you,” Imogen replied, moving a couple of steps closer.

“Are you hungry?” his mother asked.

Imogen shook her head. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and a paleness to her complexion that made the rings appear darker and deeper. But it was the glint in her eyes that Gideon noticed most.

It was defeat. Plain and simple. It was the look of someone who no longer had a reason to continue. It held the gleam of someone on the verge of giving up. Gideon, who had witnessed and been part of more wars than anyone, had seen that haunted pain far too many times.

“You know, no one will think unkindly of you if you decided to rest.”

Moving stiffly to one of the seats at the table, Imogen sat. “Resting won’t bring back my family. It won’t wash their blood from my hands.”

Even his mother who always had words of comfort seemed incapable.

Gideon gave the only comfort available to him; he poured Imogen two fingers of whiskey and slid the thumb-sized glass over to her.

“Gideon!” his mother reprimanded sharply.

Gideon opened his mouth to respond, only Imogen beat him to it. She plucked up the glass and downed it in a single, fluid sweep. That surprised him nearly as much as the fact that she didn’t cough. His mother snapped her mouth shut, but glowered disapprovingly at him.

“Father never allowed us to drink,” Imogen mumbled, staring at the now empty glass. “He believed that alcohol tainted our soul and we, as those selected to guide the dead with our song, needed to remain pure.” The muscles around her mouth flexed as if she were fighting the urge to cry. “I hated him ... for so many years. I couldn’t wait to get out and away from ... from ...
them
.” She took a gulping breath, choked. “I never understood why we were hiding, or why we couldn’t have friends at school. I kept telling him that the war was over. No one was hunting veil creatures anymore. We were safe. We were supposed to be safe! Instead, I ... they’re gone and the last thing I said to them was that I was leaving first chance I got.”

“Imogen.” His mother reached across the table and took the glass from the girl. She set it aside before taking both of Imogen’s hands in hers. “One has nothing to do with the other, sweetie. It was not your fault.”

Imogen’s bright, green eyes rose up and met his mother’s. They shimmered with unshed tears, but her face was set in a defiant tilt. “Then whose fault is it, if not mine?”

Carefully, his mother relinquished her grip on the girl and sat back. Her expression was thoughtful, like she was torn between revealing her thoughts and keeping them to herself. The first side seemed to have won when she wet her lips and opened her mouth.

“Back when I was a young girl,” she began slowly. “There was a war between selkies and sirens over what is now called
Isle of Man
located in the Irish Sea. It wasn’t the first time, nor was it the last, but this particular war was different. It’s the one I will always remember, because we almost lost because of me.”

Gideon looked down at the long, jagged scar marring the surface of the table.

Despite the fact that his mother had never spoken of that war and her involvement, he knew immediately how the story ended. His father had told them and had warned them never to bring it up. It was a part of the past their mother carried with her like a dark shroud.

“I wasn’t with Liam at the time. I knew him of course; our village was one of the smaller ones so most everyone knew each other. And while I felt something undeniable for him, I was at that age when everything was a challenge and I wanted to experience everything.” She offered Imogen a half smile. “I wanted more. Including Devlin, a boy my father most definitely did not approve of. He was handsome and he made me laugh, and while neither of us were foolish enough to believe our relationship would ever amount to anything, we mulishly stayed together, because, while he was a selkie, he was not my mate and we knew the day would come when we would find the one meant for us and what we shared would end. But, as I said, we were young. We were wrapped in the thrill of each other.”

Gideon put his hand up. “Mom, I am not drunk enough to hear about your ...
thrill,
with other guys.”

His mother chuckled. Imogen almost broke a half smile.

“Your father has always been and always will be the love of my life, but it wasn’t always like that. We both had our ...
thrills,
before we found each other.”

“Can we stop saying thrills?” Gideon made a face. “It’s beginning to sound like a secret term for something dirty and I can’t look at you, or dad, like that.”

Imogen did laugh this time.

His mother smacked him lightly on the arm. “Girls weren’t like that back then. It was all about the secret glances and stolen moments.”

“What happened?” Imogen cut in, evidently tired of the derailment of the original conversation.

“Well...” Some of the light that had begun to form in his mother’s eyes dimmed. “For all the happiness that Devlin brought to me as a friend and companion, my father saw him as nothing more than the blacksmith’s apprentice who, to support his fatherless family, took odd jobs around town. He wasn’t worthy. I have a feeling he wouldn’t have made my father happy even if Devlin had been my mate. My father was always a hard man to please. His daughters, like the men he commanded in the army, were to be nothing but obedient of his every demand. My sisters were easily cowed. But I was too much like my father and no matter how hard he pushed, I pushed harder. And the more he told me to stay away from Devlin, the more I was adamant to be with him. I called him a tyrant. I told him, out of spite, that ... well, it doesn’t matter what I said. The fact is that they were horrible, terrible things that I will never get to earn forgiveness for.” She broke off. Her shoulders lifted and her chest rose as she sucked in a hard breath. “That was the last time I saw him. He was captured that very night on his way to the battle lines to check on the troops. There were rumors that someone on our side betrayed us, but it doesn’t matter. The last thing my father heard from me was that I hoped he never came home ... and he didn’t.”

“Mom...” Gideon reached for her and was waved back.

With a shaky hand, she dabbed at the corner of her eye with a knuckle. “It was so long ago. Before you boys were born. Before Liam.” She laughed tightly. “So many years I can’t even count that high.”

“But him getting captured wasn’t your fault,” Imogen broke in.

With an affectionate smile, his mom reached for Imogen’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “And this, what happened with your family, isn’t yours. You may not realize it now, but one day...”

If Imogen was going to respond, she wasn’t given the chance. The kitchen door opened and Liam walked out, not quite as put together as he normally would be. His hair was disheveled and his dress shirt hung rumpled over the waistband of his trousers, and if Gideon wasn’t mistaken, his father wasn’t wearing socks under his loafers.

“Kyaerin?” His gaze swept over the room and settled on the group. “What is it?”

Laughing and dabbing away the last of her tears, his mother rose hastily from her seat and hurried to her husband.

“Nothing,
mo ghrá
. Why are you awake?”

Her question, although reasonable, brought a crease to the center of his father's brows. “You were not in our bed,” he said evenly, like he were explaining the most logical thing in the world. “Also...” he reached out to touch her face lovingly. “Your sadness nearly killed me.”

His mother's face softened as it always did when his father spoke. Her eyes shimmered with so much love it was painful to look directly at. She leaned up on the toes of her feet and captured his mouth in a tender kiss that couldn't have last more than a second, but radiated with such tender devotion that Gideon had to avert his eyes; there was always something so intimate in the way his parents behaved around each other that it was impossible not to feel like an intruder.

He turned his attention to the only other person in the room, who, like him, was studying her hands.

“She's right you know,” he told her. “You can't blame yourself for what happened.”

Imogen met his gaze with an annoyance that would have been amusing any other time. “I don't only blame myself. I blame the people who did this. My parents never hurt anyone. They went out of their way to keep to themselves. We all did.”

Gideon didn't know what to say to that. Thankfully, Imogen didn't need a response.

“Whoever did this is a monster and they deserve to die.”

Gideon was about to agree when his father summoned his attention from across the room. The look he gave Gideon said everything without words—
watch over your mother
. Gideon nodded that he understood, watched his father kiss his mother once more before disappearing back through the kitchen doors.

His mother walked back to the table and sat. She smiled almost sheepishly at Imogen. Then at Gideon.

“Forgive me. Where were we?”

With a wink towards Imogen, Gideon replied, “You were telling us what an amazing son I am and how you broke the mold with me.”

His mother pursed her lips in a stern line, but it wasn't enough to conceal her grin. “Absolutely insufferable.”

“Which is actually code for agreement.”

Imogen laughed.

Chuckling, his mother shook her head. “How did I ever push that fat ego out of my birth—”

Gideon recoiled. “Ugh! Ew!” He clapped both hands over his ears. “La, la, la!”

His mother rolled her eyes with amusement, but spoke no more of her birth canal.

He still had his hands over his ears when Octavian pushed through the kitchen doors, topless and shoeless. He looked as exhausted as Gideon felt.

“Well, hello!” Gideon announced, dropping his hands to the table. “Here to hear about Mom's birth canal?”

Octavian faltered in his strides. He shot uncertain glances at the group.

“What?”

Gideon nodded. “Mom is sharing battle stories.” That earned him a slap on the arm by his mother. “Ow! God you're a violent woman.”

Octavian shook his head. “Riley's not feeling well. I'm getting her something to eat.”

All amusement vanished on their mother's face. “Is everything all right?”

Octavian shrugged, shaking his head. “I don't know. She's been like this for a few days now. She's having trouble keeping the blood down. I think she just needs some rest and maybe a different blood type.”

Their mother nodded. “Let me know if I can do anything.”

Promising he would, he returned to the kitchen where they could hear him rummaging around preparing to heat a blood bag for Riley. A moment later, he was back, arms folded as he stifled a yawn.

“Riley seemed fine when I saw her last night,” their mother said, concern darkening her features.

Octavian shrugged. “She's fine at night. It's first thing in the mornings that...”

Gideon was prepared to make a joke about buns in the oven when the front doors opened and Valkyrie slipped inside. All jokes fled his mind and were replaced by something else ... tension. Something was wrong.

“Oh, Valkyrie!” His mother pressed her hands over her heart. “Thank goodness you're home, sweetheart.”

Hand still resting on the doorknob, Valkyrie visibly stiffened. Her gaze swung over the room as though expecting an ambush.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

His mother blinked in surprise. “Oh no, no, no, I was simply concerned,” she explained. “You were gone all night.”

Valkyrie's brows furrowed with confusion. “I was hunting.”

Any other time, the interaction would have been amusing; Valkyrie’s one tracked mind gave little room for mundane things like concern. But Gideon's thoughts were elsewhere, like in the rigid lines of her shoulders and how she seemed to be cradling her right side. To an onlooker who didn't know her, who couldn't sense her pain, they would never have noticed the well hidden signs, but it was all Gideon could concentrate on.

Carefully, like any sudden movements might jolt his mother into attacking, Valkyrie shut the door and moved a little deeper into the room. Her movements were a little too casual, just a little too forced.

“Is everything all right?”

Apparently, Gideon wasn't the only one who had noticed; Octavian was watching her as well with concern.

Valkyrie visibly stiffened. Her gaze shifted from Octavian to his mother warily like she didn’t fathom why they kept asking her that.

“Yes ... of course.”

She edged towards the kitchen doors.

“Well, I am simply relieved that you are home,” his mother said. She rose from her chair. “I believe I shall get a few more hours rest now that I know you are safe.”

Valkyrie squinted at the other woman. “I’m a hunter,” she declared as though in reminder.

Nodding, his mother walked to the other woman. “I know, darling. It is why I worry.”

She touched Valkyrie lightly on the shoulder in passing and what little color had been on her face bled white. A gray tinge seeped around the edges as though she were about to throw up. Her jawline tightened and Gideon felt her pain wash over him.

“Valkyrie?” His mother reached for her again. “What’s wrong?”

Raising a barely steady hand to brush back a lock of rebellious hair from her brow, Valkyrie started to shake her head. But Gideon was on his feet and across the room before she could respond. She jolted in surprise when he grabbed her arm, careful not to touch skin as he wrenched her arm over to survey the smear of red dried down the inside of her forearm. A thick, angry bracelet of torn flesh circled the wrists and Gideon would have bet his life that they were restrain marks.