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I’d known Marcus was wild. I knew he didn’t like to listen to my father’s dictates. He’d always looked up to my uncle, Viktor, our father’s older brother and his right hand. But Viktor had always scared me. Now Marcus was scaring me badly, too. He and one of his friends had swept into Aenia’s family’s little cottage. Maybe all would have been well if Aenia’s father hadn’t been home. But he was and he’d tried to protect his wife, to stop a highblood from feeding. Even from outside, I’d been able to hear Marcus laughing. He’d said it was their right to feed whenever and wherever they wanted—and from whomever they pleased. Aenia’s father had been defiant, so they’d slaughtered him. Then they’d fed in a pent-up frenzy.

I stood out in the street, shaking with fear and not knowing what to do. Knowing if I went into the house, my brother might kill me, too, for trying to stop him. But when a baby began to wail from inside the house, that was the last straw. I’d gone inside.

I’d been far too late. Aenia’s father lay sprawled in one corner. Her mother lay in a bed, her blood soaking the sheets as her lifeless eyes stared upward. And there lay Marcus, passed out blood-drunk beside her corpse. As for Aenia’s brother … Well, I never liked to think about what they’d done to him.

Aenia was in a crib. She must have slept through the worst of it. Then she’d woken up and when her mother hadn’t come to pick her up, she’d started to scream. Marcus was still sleeping through it. But his asshole friend had stumbled over to the crib. I watched in horror as he leaned over the girl, his fangs bared greedily. He was still hungry. Still wanting more. Not caring who he hurt to get it.

I couldn’t take it. I’d … snapped.

I was only fourteen. I’d never killed anyone before. Certainly not another highblood. But when I left that house with Aenia cradled in my arms, I was a killer of my own kind.

I didn’t wait for Marcus to wake up. I ran.

My mother’s hand squeezed mine. “Blake.”

I forced a smile. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About your sister?”

My sister. Thank the Bloodmaiden for my mother. I’d gone straight to her, confessed what I’d done. She hadn’t scolded me. She hadn’t turned me in. She’d shielded me, though it had cost her a great deal—her place in society, friendships, time with me. Time she could have spent trying to redeem Marcus, wasted though that would have been.

She’d listened to me tell her what I’d done, and then she’d quickly made arrangements. She took Aenia away to a distant Drakharrow estate and sent me back to school that very night. She’d stayed away for more than a year, and when she’d returned, she and my father had announced the birth of their daughter, Aenia Drakharrow. Aenia was three then, but she was small for her age, even for a blight-born child. I’d always wonder if that was from what had happened to her. If the trauma had stunted her growth. Or maybe she’d have always been small, who was to say.

In any case, it was a wild, unbelievable story. But my mother had forced everyone to accept it. My father had supported her. His word was law, even then. So then everyone had to get in line. Even if deep down they might have wondered about the truth.

Marcus never said a word. He never berated me about the death of his friend. He’d hid the body. The truth had never come back to find me. He’d done that for me I guess because I was his younger brother. You might say it was the only good thing he’d ever done—and calling it good was a huge fucking overstatement, considering he’d helped me cover up a murder. Even if his asshole friend had deserved it. Even if he’d been a murderer, too. We were all murderers.

I looked at my mother. Except her. I couldn’t believe Desdemona Drakharrow had ever hurt anyone in her life. Except maybe with words. She was an intelligent, astute woman, and when she wanted to, her words could be biting. But kill? No, she wasn’t a killer. She’d helped my father forge a new path, one in which highbloods cultivated a new way of restraint. Marcus’s frenzied feeding was the old highblood way, one he and my uncle still relished.

I looked ahead at Aenia, still splashing in the water; she didn’t care how cold it was. I’d heard her nurse fight with her before and knew it was a miracle she’d been willing to put clothes on today at all. Still, her very existence put my life at risk. My mother’s, too.

“Did I do the right thing?” The words spilled out, and as soon as I’d said them I regretted it. I was no boy to look for false reassurance. I was a man now, and I needed to stand by what I’d done. It was time for me to protect my mother, not the other way around. But I couldn’t take the words back.

“You know it was.” My mother’s voice was firm. “You’ve always known.”

“But I put us in danger. Even now, there are whispers. If anyone ever finds out …”

“There will always be whispers. People will always whisper about what they don’t understand. Anything that frightens them.” She looked at me, her eyes soft. “Especially love.” She took my face between her hands, her skin warm against my cheeks. She waited until I met her gaze. “Listen to me, Blake. Never regret being merciful.”

I gave a scornful laugh. “That’s not what Uncle Viktor would say. He’d say I’d been weak. That I’d jeopardized our family.”

“True,” she agreed. “But Viktor is wrong. Your uncle doesn’t understand some of the most important things in this world. Your choice was compassion. Your sister’s life is a gift, and so is the love she shows us every day. You gave her a second chance. Never, ever regret that.” She kissed my forehead and smiled. “You gave me a gift as well. I’d always wanted a daughter.” Her hands dropped away as new voices carried toward us down the beach. We weren’t alone anymore. Two men were coming down a path that led to the beach.

As they reached the sand, they began to walk side by side toward us. My father was on the right. Alexander Drakharrow cut an imposing figure. Tall and powerfully built, his long legs took great strides along the sand. His thick pale blond hair was short and neatly trimmed. He wasn’t dressed for the beach. He still wore a long coat that billowed in the breeze. He must have just arrived from Veilmar. He looked ahead at us and lifted a hand in greeting. The Drakharrow gray of his eyes was lighter than mine, almost silver. Those eyes missed very little.

Just like his brother’s red ones.

Viktor Drakharrow followed beside my father, moving with a little less urgency, his steps unhurried. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was scowling—as he often was. Viktor was far older than my father. His face was lined and shaped with cruelty. For as long as I’d known him, his eyes had been that deep, unsettling red. My mother said red eyes were a sign of a very long-lived highblood. I’d never seen another highblood with red eyes, so Viktor must have been long-lived indeed.

I felt my shoulders tighten as they came nearer. Then my father smiled and reached out a hand to ruffle my hair. “Missing school yet?”

I shook my head and grinned at him, the tension in my shoulders dissipating a little. “I think I’ll stay here all year. Live at the beach.”

My uncle snorted. My father’s presence was a balm while my uncle’s was a burden. “Soft living is a luxury. One Drakharrows cannot afford.”

“We can afford a great deal,” my mother said softly. She stepped forward and kissed my father’s cheek. “Welcome back.”

I watched them with a sense of happiness and comfort. Everyone knew they were a love match. They were a pair, not a triad. Their alliance had been chosen, not brokered. Even years later, people gossiped about how my mother had received many offers. How my father had waited, stubbornly, until the girl who had been his childhood friend had finally given in and said yes.