Page 39 of Dark Rebel's Fortune

It was a good way to say that they were also part alien, and for now, it was enough.

"Do you have that trait?" Yasmin asked.

"I do. And so does Max. It's very valuable, which is why these bad people want it. We are here to help you and your children and get you to safety. We will also protect your sisters. Those people might come for them as well."

"All of my sisters?"

Kyra nodded. "All of them and their children. We're going to get them out and bring them somewhere safe."

Yasmin seemed about to press further when Fatima intervened, placing a fresh cup of sweet tea in front of her.

"Drink," she urged. "Eat something. The children need to see you taking care of yourself." She looked at the frightened children. "They haven't touched anything. They are waiting for you to show them it's okay."

It was a masterful redirection, appealing to Yasmin's maternal instincts. The woman hesitated, then lifted the cup with a small nod of thanks.

Max remained standing by the door, watching Fatima continue her gentle ministrations, offering food to the children with soft encouragements. The oldest boy refused at first, but when Kyra spoke to him, he reluctantly took a piece of baklava and began to munch on it.

Fatima saw him looking at the delicacy and brought the plate to him. "Take one. I made them myself."

"Then I have to." He took the flaky pastry that was filled with finely ground pistachios and, by the smell of it, was drenched in a saffron-rosewater syrup.

As the decadent sweetness swept over his taste buds, his eyes rolled back in his head. "This is so good," he murmured.

Fatima beamed with pride. "Take another one," she encouraged.

He shook his head. "Give it to the kids. I'm saving my stomach for what's cooking in the kitchen."

"Lamb and Persian rice," she whispered conspiratorially. "You'll be licking your fingers."

"I bet."

She turned to Yasmin. "Should I serve the meal at the table, or should I bring you the plates here?"

"We'll eat at the table." Yasmin rose to her feet and glanced at her sleeping daughter. "She can eat later when she wakes up."

After they moved to the dining table and Fatima served up a large platter of lamb chucks over fragrant rice, she took another platter just as big and headed downstairs to feed the rest of the crew.

At first, the kids barely touched the food, their teary eyes and sad faces tearing Max's heart apart. He could only imagine how difficult it was for Kyra, and yet she managed to interact with them with respect rather than pity, encouraging them to eat.

It was, Max realized, the same quality he'd noticed in her interactions with her nieces at the penthouse in Los Angeles—a natural ability to meet them where they were, to offer strength without demanding they hide their vulnerability.

They were innocents, caught in a war they didn't even know existed, and targeted for a genetic quirk they didn't know they possessed.

19

FENELLA

Fenella collapsed onto the plush bed, groaning as she kicked off her shoes and watched them tumble across the expensive carpet. Her feet throbbed in protest at having walked miles around that bloody theme park all day.

It had been years since she'd subjected herself to this kind of voluntary torture.

"Stupid American tourist trap," she muttered, though there was no real heat behind the complaint.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, surprised to find her lips curving into a smile as she recalled the girls' faces when they'd first caught sight of that ridiculous fantasy castle. The way Laleh had gripped her hand on the Transformers ride, screaming with joy. Even Arezoo had dropped her sophisticated act by the afternoon, joining her sisters and cousin in their fun and acting her age for a change.

"Christ, I'm going soft," Fenella murmured to the empty room, draping her arm over her eyes. "It's those bloody maternal hormones that should be long dead by now."

She placed a hand over her stomach, wondering if it felt queasy because of all the junk she'd consumed or because her hormones were staging a coup, demanding she did something about getting a baby in there.

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