Page 42 of The Storm
“She doesn’t know him. She’d never feel the loss.”
“Does that make it right?”
“For the women he killed in the past? Yes. For the humans he preyed on before he found a conscience? Yes, killing him seems right.”
Max didn’t say anything. “Part of me knows you’re right. Part of me knows that murder is murder. And we can’t forget that.”
“And the other part of you?”
“The other part of me remembers Kostas. Sees this man, Zana. Recognizes the struggles free Grigori have willingly taken on to fight against their own nature when they have fathers who encourage them to plunder this world.”
“To plunder us,” she whispered.
“Zana was not alive during the Rending. Few Grigori who are living now were.”
Renata’s throat was tight. Tears stung her eyes. “I tell myself that over and over, Max. But every time I smell their scent, I’m right back in the library, grasping at hollow clothes and empty blankets where the babies were. They killed our mothers. Killed babies in their cradles. Killed more than warriors. They killed the innocent.”
“I know.”
“They killed those who were running. Killed my parents who only wanted to create beautiful things and sing songs and debate arcane academic points with other scholars. They killed Balien, who was only trying to protect others.” She turned around to face him. “They killed your mother. Your aunt. Your father. They might as well have killed your uncle and your grandfather too. Our people were cut in half. Thrown into chaos.”
Max smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I know. But not by him. Not by Zana.”
“By others like him.”
“And many of the same people hunt him now. Hunt his mate and child.” Max squeezed his eyes shut. “There are no easy answers, Renata. When do we forgive the children of our murderers? When do we let go?”
She felt the hot tears slip down her cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”
He said nothing, but he didn’t turn away in disgust or disappointment. He held her closer and kissed her forehead. He kissed the tears from her cheeks and rocked her back and forth as she cried silently.
“You’re a better person than me,” she said.
“No. I just don’t remember my loss as keenly as you do. I was a child.”
Renata said nothing, but she didn’t agree. Max was a better person than her. He’d lost his mother and his father before he could even remember them. He’d been raised in a world devoid of art and beauty and fine things. He’d grown up in a world were kindness was a luxury and gentleness a weakness.
And yet he didn’t turn away from the most vulnerable. He chose to use his strength and the harsh reality of his own past to create a safe place for those who needed it, even if they were the blood of his enemies.
Renata took a deep breath and lifted her head from his chest. “Did you need something from me?”
“I only wanted to check on you.” He played with her hair. “I can bring some food up if you don’t want to come downstairs.”
“I’m not a coward,” she said. “I just… I don’t want to let that girl see how I react to her father. It’s not her fault, and she loves him.”
“She’s a darling child,” Max said. “She’s safe and secure. Obviously loved. She’s bright and funny. You can tell she feels very safe here.”
Renata smiled a little. “Her home was in the caverns, so she snuck into the library. My home was in the library, so I snuck into the caverns.”
“Both of you little rule-breakers. Probably driving your poor mothers crazy.”
Mothers.
“Thawra,” Renata said. “Thekareshtawoman.”
“What about her?” Max asked.
“She has no shields.”
