Page 110 of The Bonds of Indigo

“Gone,” she answers simply. “My brothers died young—ten and twelve. My eldest brother passed the night of Emethye. One of my sisters died giving birth to her son. My eldest sister… is gone too.”

I don’t push. I don’t even try to ask about parents. She doesn’t give me the chance, anyway.

“How old were you when you turned?” she asks.

“Thirty-eight.”

“Any siblings?”

Lucifer always kept himself separate from my past. He was afraid to know too much—afraid it would hurt more when he eventually walked away. He warned me about it, countless times.

So getting to tell someone about myself now?

Yeah… I love it more than I should.

“Three adopted,” I say. “Two brothers and a sister. We were… sort of close.”

Her head shifts, and when I glance down, she’s looking up at me. “Adopted?”

“Yeah. My parents wanted a big family. They adopted me when I was four, my brothers when they were two and one after their parents died in a car accident, and my sister when she was twelve.” I snort under my breath. “They said there was too much testosterone and we needed balance.”

“This makes sense now.”

“Hey, now.”

I wrap my arm lightly around her neck and pull her in just enough to make her squeak.

Gods, when she lets go—when she stops bracing for the world—she is so fucking adorable. The giggle she tries to smother as she pushes at me makes me feel like an idiot for not realizing earlier how much of her has been armor.

“I’m serious! You’re so into yourself.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. She’s not wrong.

I am good-looking, and funny, and a decent person—and I know it.

“My dads never thought I was full of myself… My siblings did, though. Pretty sure they said it was in my DNA.”

She stops squirming. For a moment, I worry I said something wrong—but it’s the truth. They raised me. I was the oldest, and they made sure I knew it was my job to keep everyone safe, but also to harden them in the right ways. I did that until the day they died of old age—on their own terms, never before their time.

“Dads?” she asks quietly.

“Mhmm. Jacob and Demitrious Butcher. Great men. They took us in and raised us right—well, in my opinion.”

“You may be full of yourself,” she murmurs, “but you’re… a pretty decent person.”

“Watch yourself, little slayer. You may start sounding like you actually like me.”

Her voice softens. “In all seriousness, you…” She hesitates, then finishes quietly, “You’re great. But don’t let it go to your head.”

It’s definitely going to a head.

But I shift the conversation before she can catch the way my body reacts—she’d bolt straight through the windshield, I just know it.

“They lived a long life,” I say. “Died together in a home of old age.”

“I’m sorry.”

I loosen the arm I have around her and slide it down until my hand rests against her forearm. I trace my thumb along her skin without thinking. “It’s fine. I’m sure they’re partying in the Vayl.”