Page 83 of Dark Rebel's Fortune

Parisa frowned. "Why is that?"

"The Kra-ell venom is less potent, and as for the dearth of eligible immortals, the culprit is our low fertility rates. Children are rare."

The cabin fell silent as her sisters absorbed everything they'd been told.

"I have more questions," Parisa said. "Many more. But for now, I think we've all learned more than we can process, so let's keep the rest of our questions for later."

42

FENELLA

Fenella sat on the edge of the bed in her new room, the white box containing her clan phone resting on her lap. After the tour of the village, she'd been escorted to a two-bedroom house that looked very much like the ones Ingrid had shown them earlier. The other occupant was a clan member who worked in the city, and she wouldn't be returning until much later.

Fenella hoped that Ingrid had remembered to notify the woman so she wouldn't be surprised to find a stranger in her house. What was her name? Shirley something? Or was it Shira?

She should have written it down. Now, she would have to call the woman darling and dear until she volunteered her name.

The house was absurdly nice—all clean lines and tasteful furnishings that probably cost more than Fenella had won gambling in the last decade. Eventhe sheets on the bed felt expensive, with a thread count that mocked every dingy hostel and fleabag motel she'd stayed in over the years.

This level of luxury made her uneasy. Nice things came with strings attached, and she'd learned long ago that the higher the quality of the accommodation, the steeper the eventual price.

Yet everyone here acted like this was normal. Just another day in their hidden paradise.

Fenella flipped open the box and removed the sleek phone, turning it over in her hands. It looked like the latest iPhone model but wasn't. It was a clan satellite phone that worked from anywhere and everywhere in the world and had the best security. Jasmine had shown her the list of contacts that had been pre-loaded, the map of the village that was tucked in the notes, and all the different applications that were similar to what was available on other phones but not quite the same. All the social apps were there, but they were funneled through security filters or something like that. Jasmine didn't know how to explain it, and even if she had, it would have flown right over Fenella's head. She barely knew how to use a computer and had never owned one.

She scrolled for Din's name and number among the contacts. Jasmine had found it for her and added a ridiculous heart emoji beside it so Fenella would have an easier time finding it.

Naturally, she'd immediately deleted the stupid heart.

Nevertheless, she needed to call him so he would stop bothering Jasmine every time he wanted to talk to her.

The phone rang only three times before he answered, but each ring stretched her nerves.

"Fenella?" Din's voice—deep and rich with that Scottish burr of his—transported her back to smoky pubs and rain-slicked streets. "You got your own phone now?"

"Yeah. It was waiting for me in the village." She winced at how stilted she sounded. "That's where I am now. I got a room in Shirley's or Shira's house or whatever. I don't remember what Ingrid said her name was. She's not here right now."

"I'm so glad you called." The warmth in his voice loosened something tight in her chest. "Are you settling in alright?"

Fenella leaned back against the headboard, kicking off her shoes and drawing her legs up onto the bed. "I suppose. Everything is so posh. It's like living in a luxury hotel, just without the obnoxious drunk tourists."

Din chuckled. "After a while, you'll miss the drunks. It gets pretty boring in the village. All those chirping birds and clean air are just too much."

Was he mocking her?

"You've been here before?" she asked.

"A few times," he confirmed. "Weddings, mostly. Some clan-wide celebrations that everyone wasinvited to, and I couldn't wiggle out of with a good excuse."

Fenella tried to picture Din at a wedding—brooding in the corner somewhere and being antisocial. The man she vaguely remembered from the pub fifty years ago had been quiet, serious, and lurked in the shadows.

Not really the friendly sort he sounded like on the phone.

"What's Scotland like these days?" she asked, changing the subject. "Still wet and miserable?"

"Gloriously so," he replied with a smile in his voice. "Though I've got a decent flat in Edinburgh now, not too far from the university. Bit different from the old days."

"The university? What do you do there? Are you studying something?"

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