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Chapter Two
Maxim
Itug him close, until his face is inches from mine.
“Go ahead,” I seethe. “Burn me alive, brother. But I won’t burn alone. If I burn, you burn with me.”
“You’re just jealous you weren’t born first,” he slurs as the heat simmering against my skin flares hotter. “You’re so desperate to be Alpha it’s fucking pathetic. But you’ll never be in charge, baby brother. I’m in charge. Me. Not you.”
“Dad’s in charge, you arrogant piece of shit. And he will be for a very long time.” My eyes narrow on his. “So, if I were you, I’d start making an effort to prove you’ve got what it takes to fill his shoes. I don’t want to be Alpha, I truly fucking don’t, but I’m ready to step up if I have to.”
“Is that a threat?” he whispers, his face still so close to mine that the whiskey on his breath burns my nose.
“No, it’s a promise,” I say, so warm now that the heat waves emerging from my shirt make Bane’s face appear to ripple before my eyes. “I won’t let you drag our people down to your level. You will rise. Or I’ll make damned sure you fall.”
“You couldn’t beat me in the ring. Not even on my worst day,” he growls as sweat begins to drip down my face. “I’ve got three inches and forty pounds on you, baby brother. I will fucking destroy you. I’ll rip you apart piece by—”
“Stop it, both of you,” Kelley cuts in, placing a hand on each of our chests. “Stop! Please. Bane, you’re drunk. You don’t want to hurt Maxim. And, Maxim, you’re grieving. You don’t know what you’re saying. Both of you just need to calm down, okay? Come on, Bane.” She tugs at Bane’s shoulder, then tugs a little harder. “Now! You need to sober up before you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
She takes his chin in her hand, turning his face to hers as she whispers, “Please, baby. Everyone falters sometimes, even Alphas and future Alphas. It’s okay that you’re in pain. You don’t have to be strong right now. Let me be strong for you.”
I expect Bane to shrug her off.
Or to push her away and take a swing at my head.
Instead, his face crumples and a choked sound rises in his throat as the heat he’s generated abruptly vanishes from the atmosphere.
He reaches for Kelley, wrapping his arms around her much smaller frame. “Mom’s dead,” he whimpers. “Fuck, Kelley. My mom. I’m never going to see her again.”
Her eyes filling with tears, Kelley squeezes him tight. “I know, babe. I’m so sorry. Come on. Let’s go back to your apartment, somewhere it’s safe to grieve.” She shoots a firm look my way. “Call for childcare help, Maxim. Get someone up here to watch Diana, and then call a friend. You need support right now, too, just like everyone else.”
“I need to be here for my sister,” I force out through a tight throat. “That’s what family does, Kelley. We’re supposed to take care of each other.”
“Yeah, well, it’s okay to need help with that,” she says, guiding a still sobbing Bane back toward the entryway. “We’ll call later. Once Bane’s slept it off.” She reaches for the handle, glancing back at me as she urges Bane through the door first. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Mara was a wonderful woman.”
My throat goes even tighter, so tight I can only nod in response.
After the door closes behind them, I take a second to breathe, willing the tears pooling in my eyes away.
I can’t cry, not yet. I can’t risk upsetting Diana again.
I pull myself together, shove all my anger and pain into a box in my head to be opened at a later date, and hurry back to the bathroom to check on my sister.
I think I’ve done a good job of concealing my emotions, but the moment I step through the door, Diana’s eyes widen. She cowers back against the edge of the tub, sinking lower in her bubbles.
“Hey, Squirt, it’s okay,” I say, forcing a small smile. “It’s just me. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“Your colors are bad,” she whispers, and I silently curse Fate for giving my sister a pack gift so young.
She can read auras and instinctively knows what they mean, but she’s still a baby. She doesn’t understand that no one can be happy or even well-intentioned all the time.
Sometimes rage is a perfectly reasonable—and even necessary—response.
“I know.” I sink down onto the closed toilet seat beside the bath. “I’m just sad.”
“And mad. Really mad,” she says, calling me on my bullshit the way she always does.
I have no idea if all little kids are like this or if it’s just Dee—I haven’t spent much time around other four-year-olds—but I love and hate this about her.
