𝔸𝕧𝕒
"He's... He's my brother," I say.
Zane's eyes look in my direction while his body stays rigid, pinning Dylan to the wall.
A few men on the other side of the street are smoking and drinking outside the Ale House. Judging by their laughter, they're probably some of my brother's drinking buddies.
I knew I shouldn't have come back here.
"Your brother?" Zane asks in a shaky low voice.
"Awww..." Dylan slurs with a wicked smile. "You didn't tell your side chick about me? I'm hurt."
"Shut up Dylan," I snap. "Zane, let's go."
I step close enough to put my hand on Zane's shoulder. His eyes are an unusually bright, almost terrifying shade of green. He's shivering with rage and I can tell he's struggling to maintain control, but he doesn't move an inch.
"You threw a bottle at your sister's head?" Zane growls through his teeth.
"That's between her and me," Dylan says with the same kind of smart-ass attitude that has lost him a few teeth over the years.
A low growl rumbles from Zane's chest as he tightens his grip around Dylan's neck. Dylan's face starts to turn a purplish-red as he struggles against Zane's hold.
"Zane," I say, pulling at his arm. "It's okay. I can handle Dylan."
With a shiver, he manages to pull his hand off and drop Dylan to the ground.
"Shit man, is this fucker on PCP or something?" Dylan asks rubbing his neck. "His eyes are nuts and he's really strong and he's having some major shakes."
Zane continues to tremble with anger as I rub my hand across his back to calm him down.
"This guy seems like a real winner," Dylan says.
"What do you want?" I ask, ignoring his usual bullshit.
"What do you mean, what do I want? I've been calling you for fucking ever, you know what I want."
It's true. He wants me to start talking to dad again. That's a hard pass.
"Not gonna happen," I say.
I try to pull Zane in the direction of the parking lot, but he manages to take just a single step back toward me.
"Then I guess I'll just tell your boyfriend about this then?" Dylan says with a sneer.
"Tell Mike whatever you want," I say. "He and I have been done for a long time."
"Of course," he says. "You never could keep 'em around long."
"Ava," Zane says in a low, quiet voice. His tone lets me know that Dylan is very close to becoming mincemeat.
"We're done here," I say, pulling Zane again as he reluctantly begins to follow.
"We can't talk?" Dylan says, following behind.
"About what?" I ask, stopping and whipping around.
"I just want to see how life is on the other side. What made Princess abandon her fucking family."
"I don't owe you an explanation, Dylan."
He knows exactly why I don't speak to him or Dad. Being nine years apart, he and I were never particularly close, and he turned out exactly like our father: violent, substance-addicted, and pissed off at the world.
The best thing I ever did was cut them both out of my life.
"I don't care if you take my calls, but you need to make up with Dad," Dylan says. "He has a heart condition. You're so selfish that you're just going to let him die and never let this go?"
I want to tell him that I'm not about to invite an abusive asshole back into my life. I want to tell him that the only time Dad cares about me is when he needs money, but I'm pretty sure saying any of these things would escalate this situation when we desperately need to de-escalate.
"I'm sick too, Dylan, and I've done plenty fine on my own. He will too."
"Oh, how could I forget," he says sarcastically. "There's always something wrong with poor Ava!"
My hand is around Zane's arm and I can feel his muscles tense. Dylan is being the particular kind of asshole that he always is—the kind that you almost certainly do not want to be toward a mythological creature that can crush your skull.
"You wanna try that again?" Zane says. His voice is hoarse and deep and downright chilling.
"Is your boyfriend here to save you? What happened to Mike, anyway? He get tired of your bullshit?" He slurs over each word and stumbles in place. As usual, Dylan is wasted off his ass.
Zane inflates his chest and lets out a truly animalistic sound that I would imagine might come out of a tiger-pterodactyl hybrid.
It seems to be enough to shut Dylan up, because he staggers backward and his expression drops. Zane smiles, his eyes glowing and a seriously sinister look is plastered on his face.
I tug firmly on his arm.
"Let's. Go."
He looks down at me and his eyes dim a little, but I can tell he's still ready for a fight. I tug him hard in the direction of the parking lot and he relaxes a bit further, but his feet are still firmly planted.
"Just one thing," he says.
In the blink of an eye, Zane swings and Dylan is on the ground with his hand cradling his bleeding nose.
"Okay," Zane says. "Let's go."
*****
The drive back to my apartment has been eerily quiet. Zane hasn't said a word since we got back to my car. For the past ten minutes, it has been nothing but the low hum of music on the radio and the repetitive drone of wheels on pavement.
"Are you okay?" I finally ask.
"Am I okay?"
"Yeah, I know you got pretty worked up back there."
"I just nearly killed your brother and you're worried about me?"
"Half brother," I correct.
He lets out a short laugh.
"That's the part of that you had a problem with?" he asks. "What went on between you two? Is that what he's usually like?"
I had hoped we would never have to have this conversation.
"It's not any one thing," I say. "He's an asshole. My dad's an asshole. I don't waste my time with assholes. End of story."
"You never talk about them."
"Yeah," I say with a shrug, my eyes still focused on the road. "There's not much more to say about it than that."
Okay, so there's a bit more, but no more that I feel like sharing.
"So you're really not going to tell me?" he asks. "Why is your family such a big secret?"
I reach my apartment and pull into my parking space, shutting off the car.
"You don't tell me all of your secrets," I say. We both grab our bags and head inside.
"What secrets?" he asks.
I'm not sure if it's fair to call them secrets, because I've never asked. But there are certainly a lot of topics he seems to be uncomfortable about.
"Nevermind," I say.
I don't want to get into this because he might just tell me the truth, and if he does I know he'll want to know more about my brother and my family.
I unlock my door and we make our way inside.
"Go ahead, love," he says. "What do you want to know?"
This is definitely a trap.
I struggle to think of a question he has dodged in the past. Come to think of it, last night it seemed like there were a few.
"Okay," I say. "Why did Finn ask about my tattoo last night?"
His eyes are suddenly wide and his jaw clenches.
Bullseye!
Now I won't have to answer his questions.
"Uh... erm... um... what?" he stutters. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Yeah, you don't know what I mean, that's why you just tripped over your tongue.
"Hey, it's fine if you don't want to answer. All I'm saying is we all have our secrets."
"Mmm-hmm," he says with a scowl. "Alright, cheeky girl."
Perfect. Successfully avoided that question.
"I'll tell you," he adds.
Oh crap.
"So he was wondering if we were... um... sort of married in a sense," he says.
"Married??" I ask.
That is not what I expected him to say. I didn't know what I did expect but it wasn't that.
"What does that have to do with my tattoo?"
"The um," he says. "The thing is... with Sirens, when we bond with a human mate we sometimes... um..."
"Is this a weird sex thing?"
"No!" He narrows his eyes at me. "It's... The thing is... It's called a mark. It looks like a tattoo but it's not. It's a symbol that appears on a human that has been marked by a Siren. Always on the inner wrist."
"Ermm, marked? Like a dog peeing on a tree?"
No thanks, I don't want to get peed on.
"No," he says with a grumpy look and a sigh. "It's a literal mark but it represents a particular connection. The human is marked as the mate of a Siren and it's kind of like a claim, warning other Immortals to leave them alone, but it also shows that they are connected."
"Connected like married?" I ask.
"Ermm, kind of."
"Kind of?" I ask.
"They are connected by immortal blood, so they share a life thread. The human becomes immortal so long as their Immortal partner lives. The human doesn't gain any Siren gifts or anything like that, but they share immortality."
That's a little more intense than I was expecting.
"So if the Immortal dies, the human dies?" I ask.
"No, if the Immortal dies, the bond is broken. The human returns to their mortal life."
"Oh, okay," I say.
Honestly, I'm not sure where to go with that. I guess he doesn't want to do this with me and that's why he was so awkward about it the other night.
"Don't worry. You don't have to do that, love," he says.
He seems to think I'm the reluctant one. Does that mean he does want to do this mark thing?
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Well I mean, there's no pressure. I wouldn't want to risk anything going wrong or something happening to you. We're already soulmates, we have nothing to prove, right?"
Wait... we're what?
"Soulmates?"
"Er, I mean... I love you and... I mean, whatever," he runs his hands anxiously through his hair, his eyes widening in panic.
Hearing him call us soulmates makes my heart jump.
Does he really think I'm his soulmate?
"So your turn, love," he says in a rather transparent attempt to change the subject.
Ah crap, I was kind of hoping he would forget.
"My turn to what?" I ask innocently.
"What happened between you and your brother and your dad?"
Damn it.
"I mean, a lot," I say with a sigh.
Where do I even start?
"My parents got married when my brother was around eight years old. They had me. My dad never really wanted to be a dad, my brother certainly didn't want to be a brother. My mom and dad got divorced. Then a few years ago my mom died."
"Is that all the detail you're going to give me?" he says, one eyebrow raised.
"What detail do you want?"
"Did they hurt you?" he asks, clenching his jaw.
I feel the uncomfortable out-in-the-cold sensation of being vulnerable and my instincts tell me to burrow into the ground and hide.
"Not really. When my dad would mix alcohol and painkillers he might smack me or Dylan, but that only happened a few times. He and Dylan both have a habit of throwing things too, but they wouldn't really try to hit you---it was just about throwing a fit."
I see Zane's eyes glow slightly green and his expression seems serious.
"It's not a big deal," I say.
"Okay," Zane says through clenched teeth. "When did you stop talking to them?"
"I stopped talking to my dad when my mom died," I say. "I didn't technically stop talking to Dylan as much as we never talked in the first place. He only started talking to me when I stopped talking to Dad—just trying to get me to forgive him."
My father was always really shitty to my mom, tearing her down and wrecking her self-esteem. Even though she left, she was never really free of him.
When she died, he of course had to say something heartless. I don't even remember the words he used. After years of abusive behavior and nasty comments, I stopped keeping track. I just remember the spite in his words and his cold, uncaring demeanor.
In that moment I was done.
Zane's expression is torn between fury and sadness, and I can tell he's struggling between wanting to know more and wanting to respect my privacy.
"I'm glad I punched him," Zane says with a bit of a smirk.
He pulls me in for a hug and runs his hand through my hair in a comforting way.
It's the most Zane way of reassuring me and exactly what I need right now.