Page 143 of Heimlock

To my delight, her brows shoot upward. “I mean, do you?”

I stare at her. “You’re serious?”

She frowns. “You aren’t?”

Shaking my head, I take another sip of water before saying, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“You dicked me down good a few months back,” she stage whispers.

“Anyway,” I say loudly. “What is your question?”

“Do you honestly think you killed your mom?”

Her questions are obscenely unpredictable. For some reason I don’t understand, the question doesn’t bother me like the others. I sigh, slowly tearing the label off the water bottle. “Yes, and no. I mean, when you’re told at the age of three that you’re responsible for something, then told it repeatedly for years … it’s difficult to not make that an identity feature.”

Kyrielle leans against my shoulder, and I kiss the top of her head before continuing. “A part of me will probably always have unreasonable guilt because of it. But also, the adult version of myself knows clearly that it’s not my fault.”

“Can I get a bonus question?”

I huff out a laugh. “Yes, but only because you did that thing with your tongue.”

She beams. “On that stupendously bad day, I came and saved your life—”

“A little dramatic and unnecessary—”

“—you said I’m probably going to die, too. What did you mean?”

I look away from her open, trusting gaze. That question is a little more complicated.

“You know my mom died, but also …” My throat tightens, thinking of that terrible, awful day. My fingers pluck at the water bottle label, trying to steady my emotions. “Rhuth was the only woman, for a really long time, who was not only a friend, but loved me in her own way.”

“Fynn’s other wife?”

I nod. “She died in a Dragxi accident, pregnant with their son. It was devastating, to say the least.” Old heartbreak resurfaces, heating my face and burning my eyes. “I guess a part of me thinks if a woman is important, she’s going to die.”

She snuggles closer, and I wrap an arm around her, hugging her tight. One of her arms lays across my stomach. “I promise to haunt you if that happens.”

Resting a hand on her arm, I give it a little squeeze. “I’d be delighted to have you around, little ghost.” I pause, then ask, “Fair’s fair; tell me about your parents.”

Into my chest, she groans. “Blerghhh. Why?”

“Because I want to know you, Firefly.”

She cranes her neck at an awkward angle to look at me. “It’s stupid.”

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed with her deflection skills. “Well, considering we killed your step-father, and you never discuss your biological mother or father … I think there’s more to it than that.”

She burrows deep into my side, tucking her legs to her chest. That simply will not do. Bundling her into a ball, I hold her against my chest to look at her face. It’s drawn tight with sadness. A part of me wants to tell her it’s okay, that we don’t need to talk about it — then I remember all ‌the times she’s pushed me into a corner and forced me to speak.

Fair’s fair.

“My dad died when I was younger. Some illness; I don’t know what because my mother refused to talk about it and I was too young to understand.” Her face flushes with anger. “So all I have is that photo at home, and some vague memories. Another thing she took from me.”

I hum thoughtfully. “And your mom? Is she alive?”

“Probably,” she mutters. “Clearly not with Huracio anymore. But after I burned down her house—”

“You burnt down her house?” I can’t help but grin. She’s so bloodthirsty; I love it. If there’s one thing Dragons can understand, it’s revenge.