Page 74 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
Because with every happy movement the tiny bodies in front of me make, I find myself slipping into a space so damn incandescent with rage, I find it hard to breathe.
These are my children.
Mychildren, with my eyes. My mother’s eyes.
And I didn’t know they existed until twenty-four hours ago.
The injustice of this fact makes me lose sense, lose empathy. All I know is someone is going to pay for this.
“Tempest, don’t!” My son’s clear voice rings out, hitting me squarely in the chest as they come closer.
I lean against a low railing, blending in with the dwindling crowd as six of the ten guards I brought with me to France silently escort patrons out of the Orangerie. I hadn’t planned on confronting Shae if it turned out the twins weren’t mine, but I prepared as if I already knew the outcome.
Which, in my soul, I did. Because I know Shae Olivya Rivers.
Tempest—God, that’s my daughter’s name—runs after a butterfly, reaching for it as it flutters in the air.
“Tems, stop! You’re gonna hurt it!” my son shouts, pulling at his sister’s arm.
“Don’t be a baby, Raiden. I just want to see it!” Tempest says in rebuttal.
Raiden. His name is Raiden.
Raiden’s face scrunches up, and I can tell he’s agitated. He looks just like me when I was his age.
But when he goes to push his sister down, I step forward.
“Hold on,” I reply, keeping my tone low. I’m surprised my voice doesn’t crack with the force of my emotions.
I feel like I’m cracking inside.
Both kids stop, each giving me a different expression. Tempest looks ready to fight, wary, which is good because I’m a strange man coming up to them without their mother.
Raiden, however, looks at me with a slightly awed expression.
His eyes bore into mine.
The butterfly floats higher, closer to me, and I manage to catch it in the air.
“Ooh, you caught it!” Tempest replies, and I shift my hold to pinch the body between my index and middle fingers.
“Raiden? Tempest?” Hearing Shae’s voice sends a bolt of anger through my chest for the first time, and it flashes hot like lightning.
Crouching to match their height, I say, “This won’t hurt the butterfly if I hold him like this.” I direct this to Raiden, who looks from me to the butterfly, then to his sister, and back again.
“Do you want the butterfly?” I ask Tempest, and she still gives me a suspicious look.
“Raiden! Tempest!” Panic laces Shae’s tone, and a sick part of me feels happy about it. She should be panicked. She should worry about what I’ll do becauseshe kept my children from me.
You have no right to be angry about this, Storm.
I shake the thought away, grounding myself in my fury. Because on the other side of it is a grief so potent, I’m not sure I can survive it.
“My mommy says not to talk to strangers. Let’s go, Raiden,” she announces, grabbing her brother’s arm. But he doesn’t budge, still looking at me as if he recognizes me.
I hear Shae moving around, her words indistinguishable over the sound of shuffling feet as the crowd reduces to nothing at my guards’ directions.
“Can you let him go?” Raiden asks in his soft voice. As he peers into my soul, I release the butterfly to freedom.
