Page 230 of Harbinger

I hesitate for a heartbeat. But I’ve learned that when this man asks me to come closer, it is almost always because he needs to hold me through whatever he can’t say.

I cross to him, and he gathers me in his arms.

But there’s something wrong in the way he embraces me. His grip is too tight. Almost consuming. His breath stutters unevenly into my hair like he’s fighting something but already losing.

“You are beautiful.”

His hands slide up my spine, fingers digging in as if he needs the pressure to stay here. Then they’re at the back of my neck and his thumbs drag forward.

And close around my throat for a heartbeat before releasing me.

“Not very bright, though.” The words carry a wicked edge.

I flinch at the sting they inflict. Not quite cutting. He’s not making any sense. “What in seven hells is wrong with you? You’re lucky I left my sword by the door.”

“Oh, did that upset you?”

“Insults usually do.” As well as hands around my neck. What’s gotten into him?

His eyebrow rises in that half surprise my stubbornness always inspires.

“I wonder …” He sweeps a thumb over my lips and angles his head, but I can’t bring myself to close my eyes as he leans down to kiss me.

His breath caresses my lips, and I recoil.

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Pity.”

I twist away, something squirming in my belly. My eyes snag on the vestige under his ear, and my entire body tenses, understanding before I do.

I lift a hand toward it, and he lets me, trembling slightly as my finger traces it.

I’ve never seen it before.

The vestige’s pattern extends down, meeting another I don’t recognize at the base of his throat, where the lines disappear under his black tunic.

My gaze slides back to his.

He was right before. I’m not very bright.

“Cassiel,” I breathe.

His mouth splits into a wide, charming grin—the kind that might break hearts.

I wrench away, and he lets me go.

“You’re twins.” My lips fumble around the word.

“He always hated that part.” Cassiel shrugs as if he can’t blame him. “I was born at five minutes to midnight. He was born ten minutes after. When he was mad at me, he used to say that meant we weren’t twins.”

My older brother.

That’s what Bishop told me. It wasn’t a lie. It just missed the important part of the truth.

A drumbeat pounds in my ears. All these years, he wasn’t dead.

“Why?” There’s nothing soft about the question. I’m also not sure I give a shit how he answers.

He’s alive. He’s a …