Page 44 of Thorns from the Fall

He hadn’t asked about Nyx, and I’d volunteered nothing. He might have scented her blood on me, but since I didn’t brutalize her body, he won’t have any confirmation of what I did.

The knowledge of who I am and what I’d do for him will be evidence enough.

My sweater is loose on him, and he had to cinch a belt incredibly tightly around his trim waist to keep my jeans from falling off. Remy looks like someone who lost a shit ton of weight really quickly and hasn’t had time to update his wardrobe.

Every now and then he catches me looking at him from my spot at the dining table, and each time he smiles as if this is all normal. As if he’s been in my home before. As if I didn’t think he was dead until very recently. As if I didn’t beat a demon’s head in a few hours ago in his honor.

I can’t remember the last time shit with my brother would’ve been considered normal—maybe before he met Rose? But even then, witnessing the early death of our mother set our path on a trajectory so far from normal, I don’t even know if I understand the concept.

Right now, he looks like he’s about to fucking cry as he watches the television with a horrified expression.

“What the fuck?” he whispers, scooting forward to the edge of his seat. He glows in the cool light of the screen in my darkened living room, while I sit in the well-lit dining room just next to it. It’s an open floor plan, but I’ve never felt more closed off. There’s a distance between me and my brother, and I don’t have any idea how to traverse it. I tiptoe delicately around any topic that might upset him, all while being wildly relieved he’s here. My goal is to keep him that way, and despite Gwyn’s warning, he seems to be doing okay.

“This is such bullshit,” he says, before slumping back into the sofa. I pretend I’m looking up from my laptop, though I’ve been watching him for a minute or two.

“You alright?” I ask, acting as if I’m put out by his interruption. Truth is, I don’t give a fuck about the records Margot is having me look through. Unidentified bodies of women in their early twenties, dumped unceremoniously throughout the country, is the only place we know where to start to see if we can locate Kayla. Without a word, Margot and I had come to the silent agreement that the girl was likely dead. With the demons icing us out, Margot’s methods are our best chance at finding Remy’s stepdaughter.

It’s not my favorite task, but I’m doing it anyway—for Remy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, curling into a blanket I didn’t even know I had. “I know basically everyone on this show dies, but I really liked her.”

I close my eyes and release a slow breath. I’d been tuning out the noise—battle cries and screeching dragons—so I hadn’t realized he was that invested. But now that I’m paying attention, dramatic music reverberates through the surround sound, and I’m not positive because of the angle, but it looks like a woman is falling through the sky.

“She was the moral compass of the show, and without her, I mean…” he trails off and reaches for the remote to skip the credits and move on to the next episode. He’s been sitting in the same spot for at least four hours, and I’d been relieved that he wanted to catch up on the show he missed while he was being held captive. I’m worried he might be adhering to the furniture.

But after being held in captivity for a year, it’s not like I’m going to tell him what to do.

To my surprise, my brother turns off the television and stands. He folds the knitted blanket, draping it neatly over the corner of the sofa, before meandering into the dining room. I close my laptop, not wanting him to see the photographic evidence of a bunch of dead girls around the same age as Kayla.

“Any news?” he asks, hands reaching up to the archway between the two rooms. He leans forward, stretching his back and reminding me of a teenager.

“Nothing yet,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I’ll tell you if we find something.”

“Even if it’s bad?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “I need to know, Roman. I don’t want you—I don’t need—Please don’t protect me from the truth.”

I can’t pretend I haven’t thought about hiding it from him if it turns out Kayla is dead. But he’d be far more hurt if he foundout I was lying. Any made up happy ending for the girl, if false, would be far too easy to disprove.

“I won’t,” I say, and against my better judgment, “but you should prepare yourself.”

He shakes his head, refusing to believe for a second that we won’t find her alive. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that kind of optimism in my life.

“You’re sure everyone from Susan’s operation is dead?” he asks, coming to sit in the chair across from me. He’s referring to Hale’s mother, the woman who betrayed Gwyn’s parents in order to eventually bring her into a fucked up forced breeding program to make more hunters. I hate that he was associated with her for even a fucking minute. His green eyes are bright and hopeful, and I hate to ruin it.

“Yes, they’re all dead. Demons too.”

“The demon’s names were Barb and Sal. Isn’t that stupid?” He chuckles, but the smile fades quickly. “They might have found new hosts by now. I don’t know how long it takes.” He rests his chin on a clenched first. “But it’s hard enough to find a girl who can’t change bodies, let alone a demon who can.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Listen, if she?—”

“Roman, if she’s dead, I don’t know if?—”

“No matter what, it’s not your fault,” I say, noticing the watery emotion in his voice. I know what his guilt might lead to. “I need to know you understand that.”

“Yeah,” he says, but I don’t believe him. Unless we find Kayla, I’m going to have to keep an eye on him. My guns are all locked away, ammo in a completely separate safe. Margot and I ransacked my entire house that first night he slept, tossing anything with silver in it into the dumpster, and the trash truck came the next morning.

Anything he can hurt himself with won’t do lasting damage, but the thought of him self-harming at all twists in my gut.

And makes me realize that’s exactly why Gwyn proofed that apartment. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t actually strangle himself if he wanted to. His potential pain and suffering had been her motivation.

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