Page 29 of Sold Bullied Mate

Forgiveness.

At first, it makes me furious that she would ever think about forgiving these people, after everything they’ve done to her. Then, in a moment of startling clarity, I realize that I, too, am asking for her forgiveness, and it would make me a hypocrite to turn them away now.

I bite my tongue and look at her parents, paying attention to the ways in which I’m attuned to them, trying to figure out if they’re truly sorry, and here to make amends, or if this is just a ploy for recognition.

When I can’t find a clear answer, I look back at Kira, and the way she gazes at me makes her request clear: Let them stay.

“Fine,” I grunt out, stepping back and opening up the door, watching as the three of them step into my home, standing near my mate, taking their shoes off, and looking around.

“I’m sorry,” Emin says, hanging back as Mrs. Argent starts talking to Kira animatedly. “They ambushed me, followed me here in their own car. I have no idea how they even—”

I hold my hand up, eyes locked on Kira, who is smiling up at her father.

“Seems like she wants them here,” I say, voice low, rough. “That’s enough for me. But they are on thin fucking ice, Argent.”

“Heard,” he says, just as Kira’s voice comes from the direction of the dining room.

“Come on, you two,” she calls, sounding far happier than she was just a moment ago. “Dinner is served!”

Chapter 18 - Kira

If I block out the part of my brain that remembers everything, I can almost pretend like I’m living in a different reality. One where Dorian accepts me as his mate. One in which I’m living with him, and my family is over to visit, and it’s for no other reason than because they love me, and we like to be around one another.

The glow from the fireplace is lovely, casting warm light across the room, and steam rises up from the dishes of bulgogi beef and rice I’ve prepared. Little bowls line the middle of the table with flash-pickled cucumbers, kimchi I ordered premade from the store, and japchae.

Except I can’t block out that part of my brain, and it reminds me again that none of that is real. That my parents, sitting opposite Dorian and me, turned me away at my lowest point. Closed their eyes when I snuck out that night, never asked after me, even after they surely must have known I was in Grayhide territory.

My brother sits on our other side, looking down at his plate. Of course, he looks different. Older, but still the same. Same hair as me, still messily sitting on top of his head like he’s just run his hand through it.

The brother who joined in on my bullying, who taunted me, left mean notes in my locker, constantly whispered about my body, and acted like we weren’t siblings in school.

And Dorian. Who has been nothing but kind to me since I came back into his life, but still doesn’t want me as his mate. Dorian, who is gripping his fork so tightly his knuckles are white, and I worry he might bend the metal with the force of his hold.

“This is just wonderful,” Mom says, covering her mouth with her hand and laughing gently, the twinkling sound of it just what I remember. “When did you learn to cook like this, Kir?”

The words come out before I can think about them, “Oh, I learned after I left. I was actually cooking for the Grayhide alpha leader, to make money.”

Silence falls over the room, and I realize that by bringing up the past, I’ve shattered the happy family illusion for everyone else, too.

“Sorry,” when I say the word, it comes out somewhere halfway between a laugh and a whisper.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dorian snaps, and I feel his gaze flicking up to my cheek, where the faintest memory of the bruise still brushes my skin. Every time he sees it, I watch the corners of his eyes go angry.

“Well,” Dad says, wincing, his gaze flicking between Dorian and me. “We’re very aware of the fact that our daughter played a part that day. When the alpha leader—yourgrandfather—died.”

Dorian is stiff enough beside me that I’m surprised the fork in his hand is still in one piece. Breathing deeply, purposefully, he sets the fork on the table, and when I glance to the side, I realize that it is, indeed, slightly bent.

“I will only talk about this once tonight,” Dorian says, voice low, dangerous. It sends a chill down my back. “Kira was a child when that happened. A child being denied the truth about her gift. This pack failed her—you failed her as parents. Had she been cared for properly, that day never would have happened.”

Silence falls again, and this time, my parents look guilty, sick, slightly bottled. A flash of satisfaction rolls through me atthe knowledge that even if they think differently, they won’t dare say it to Dorian’s face. And they wouldn’t voice it to anyone else, either, or risk betraying their alpha leader.

“I’m sorry,” my dad says, also setting down his fork, fixing his gaze first on me, then on Dorian. “You’re talking about hergift?Do you mean—”

“Her gift is very real,” Dorian snaps. “How much Kira chooses to share of it with you is her own decision now.”

“I’m sorry,” this time, it’s my mom setting her utensils down, and for some reason, though it’s silly, I’m slightly offended that it’s so easy for everyone to stop eating. I finally nailed the perfect balance between sweet and savory with this bulgogi, and I’m not sure they appreciate that.

She goes on, “Are you—Dorian, what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

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