The room he directed us to was cool, and the sparse furnishing was secured to the dark cinder block walls—I assumed it was so nothing could be used as a weapon. The man I had taken to calling Birdman since my time in captivity was restrained on a cot the size of a twin bed, though the bindings attached between his wrists and the wall gave him some freedom of movement, enough so he would be able to reach the toilet and sink in the corner and have some flexibility in the way he sat or slept on the bed without injuring himself. Even here, he remained in the partial shift I remembered with a tail of feathers interspersed with jewel toned scales that stood out in the dim light, reflecting against the pale fabric of the clothing he’d been given to wear. Damien stepped in first, but Birdman’s eyes didn’t turn toward him until I crossed the threshold in his wake.
They were dark and deep when they caught me in their depths and, though it might have been a trick of the light, his shoulders seemed to relax slightly even as my mates filed into the room, keeping a wall of bodies between us.
“Hello.” I winced as the word popped out, but I wasn’t quite sure how else to greet a prisoner. Interrogation 101 hadn’t exactly been offered in college, and we hadn’t gotten that far with my rebellion training either. Ryder made a noise in his throat, and I was sure he had swallowed a chuckle.
Birdman blinked at me, the motion slow, before he inclined his head. “Hello, Nix.” My Phoenix hissed at him, though surprisingly she wasn’t pressing me to strike out the way I’d expected.
“What’s your name?”
He shrugged. “If the council members wished to call me something when we were around others, they occasionally called me Mordred. Usually, they did not need to use a name, so they did not call me anything.”
Truth. Damien’s voice slipped through our mental link. That’s more than he’s said to us since he’s been here. You’re doing well, sweetheart.
I wrapped my arms across my stomach as I studied him. “That sounds lonely.” Hell, Birdman seemed like better name than that. When he didn’t respond, I tried again. “Why did you want to speak to me?”
“You interest me.” I could feel my mates tense at his admission before they angled themselves in front of me.
I don’t think he’s attracted to her, Damien growled, but there was hesitancy in his tone. It’s more… curiosity? I don’t even know if that’s right.
“Why?”
“You smell like me.” He shrugged nonchalantly and picked at the bedding for something to do. I opened my mouth for a second, then closed it again, unsure what to say. “I didn’t realize it at first,” he continued when I could only stare at him. “It’s why I couldn’t stay away from you. You didn’t respond in the ways I expected you to, which was interesting enough, but you smelled different. Then I realized you smelled like me.”
“The marker you share,” Theo explained softly. “Your sense of smell is strong enough to pick up a minute familial connection?”
Mordred didn’t respond, just merely stared at me.
Repeat his question, Damien instructed. I could feel my face pinch together in confusion, but I complied, repeating Theo’s question.
Mordred inclined his head. “Yes. It’s one of the things I was bred for.”
So he’ll only answer her, Hiro surmised. This will get tricky.
Ask him why he came, Killian demanded. Why the hell he stayed.
“Why did you bring the invitation to us?” I shifted slightly, feeling Killian’s warm hand against my back, offering support and encouragement.
“Because I was ordered to.”
Truth. Damien’s mental voice was gritty, as though he was straining. His mind is so hard to sort through, but I can get basic truths and lies.
“But why stay?” I pressed, my eyes not leaving his gray ones. “You didn’t try to take any of us out. You didn’t flee. You just… stayed. Why?”
“I was ordered to deliver the letter. I wasn’t ordered to return. I wasn’t ordered to kill anyone.” He lifted a shoulder slightly. “I didn’t want to return. So I didn’t.”
Truth or lie? Theo inquired, his mental tone sharp.
The first part was a truth, I think. Damien didn’t sound sure. I just don’t understand it. The second part… it’s more fluid. He doesn’t want to return, but I don’t think he wants to stay either. I don’t understand.
“If you don’t want to return, then what do you want?” I questioned, knowing we needed the truth.
“Help.” The word was nearly torn from his throat as he pressed a hand to his head, his chains rattling and his shoulders hunching as if he’d been dealt a sharp blow.
“Help?” I repeated, glancing quickly at my mates.
“To help you and have you help me.” His fathomless eyes brightened as they looked into mine, his shoulders still curled away from whatever pain sliced into his mind. “Sister.”
Two
Nix
I nearly stumbled. I probably would have if not for Killian’s solid arms wrapping around me, holding me up tightly in place, the warmth of his chest pressing firmly against my back. Shock was quickly replaced by anger.
“Okay, people really need to stop claiming me as family!” I threw my arms into the air, trying to move forward to glare at the mysterious man solemnly studying me, assessing my every move as I seethed. “First Stepanov sends you with that letter claiming I’m his daughter, then you claim I’m your sister. Enough!”
“Easy, Annie girl.” Killian’s grasp tightened, the only thing keeping me from lunging forward as fury surged through my veins. “It’s my job to jump into rages, remember?” he purred into my ear, and a small shiver worked over my skin, distracting me from the blind rage clawing at me.
I knew the flush on my cheeks wasn’t solely anger now as embarrassment—and a little heat—flowed into the mix when Hiro and Joshua stroked gentle, encouraging hands down the arms Killian still held pinned against my trembling body. I breathed deeply, leaning back into their touch as I tried to settle the ire deep inside myself for the moment.
“Interesting.” At his bland comment, my Phoenix hissed, and I wanted to rage all over again, though I managed to bite my tongue and breathe through it.
That’s it, sweetheart, Damien murmured. You’re doing well. I wanted to snort. Nearly jumping forward to smack him didn’t exactly qualify as doing well, but that had been one hit too many.
“To be fair, sister may not be the technical term anymore,” Birdman spoke up. “I can smell the familial relationship. However, with how convoluted my own genealogy is at this point, if you prefer cousin or another term, please, use that.” He lifted a shoulder in a sharp shrug.
“You smell the relation?” Theo asked sharply, his blue eyes now focused.
At Birdman’s refusal to answer, I sighed, tired of the game we were playing. “These are my mates, you can treat their questions as if they are my own.”
He stared, but then finally agreed with one sharp incline of his head, and Theo repeated his question.
We held our breath, waiting until Birdman—Mordred, I corrected myself with a wince—nodded and proceeded to answer. “Yes. My sense of smell is far superior to even his.” He indicated Hiro with a negligent wave, his chains clanking with each movement. “I know my own scent. I could smell the same scent on Stepanov.”