Page 17 of 12 Months of Mayhem

“You’re not touching my nephew,” my uncle ground out. In response, Séamus lifted a single inky brow.

“If what you lot believe is true, there is nothing you need fear from me,” Séamus matter-of-factly stated.

“It’s okay. You can bring him in here,” Boom assured me.

Cautiously, I got up and walked to the back of the clubhouse on legs that still seemed unstable. I entered the room my uncle had insisted we stay in until we figured out where Dalton was.

“Hey, sweetheart,” my mom softly said as I closed the door behind me.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

The look on her face told me she knew exactly what I was talking about. She ruffled Anson’s hair as she appeared to consider her response. “Because I was sworn not to. Bowie said he’d tell you one day when he felt you were ready.”

“He’s here to see me?” Anson asked, looking away from the TV screen to blink at me.

“He who?” I hesitantly asked.

“The Sire.”

“The wha—?” was all I got out before Anson hopped off the bed and sauntered to the door, where he patiently waited for me.

This had to be some kind of crazy-ass dream. That or I was having a mental breakdown. “Does schizophrenia run in our family?” I asked my mom. I was dead serious.

“No,” she replied, pressing her lips flat as she tried not to smile.

“Mommy?” Anson said, bringing me back to the current insane situation.

I took his hand and we walked out into the clubhouse.

All eyes trailed our progress as we walked up to the man named Séamus. He looked down at my son, and I had to curb the desire to drag Anson behind me and hide him.

Séamus crouched down to Anson’s level. He stared at him, and Anson stared right back.

“He’s not a demon.”

I gasped, and Séamus glanced up at me with that brow arching again. “At least, not exactly.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered, about to pass out again.

A large hand braced my back when I wobbled.

“Show me the grandfather,” Séamus demanded.

Dallas opened the lid of the box and handed several photographs to Séamus. When he looked down at them, the briefest flash of pain seemed to flicker in his eyes. “You’re sure this is the boy’s grandfather?”

“That’s what everything says. Yes,” Dallas answered.

“You said you believe the grandmother was an Amplifier?” Séamus asked next.

“My father was positive—yes,” Dallas confirmed.

“May I?” Séamus asked as he held his hand out, palm up. Anson immediately placed his small hand into the dark man’s hand. Séamus pointed at Anson’s palm, and his nail elongated into a talon-like thing. Before I could shout at him not to, he had pierced Anson’s palm. Blood pooled up, yet Anson simply stared at Séamus. He didn’t so much as flinch.

The talon was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he used his fingertip to swipe the crimson liquid up, then slipped it in his mouth. That’s when I lost my shit.

“You motherfucker!” I growled. When I attempted to lurch at him, my uncle’s arm snapped around my torso from behind and held me in place.

“Shh,” he whispered in my ear.

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