Page 49 of Bonds of Pain
But I still find myself studying his face, not quite sure what I’m searching for. “Why are you offering to keep this a secret? Logan will be furious if he ever finds out.”
His mouth quirks in a sad smile. “Maybe I’m a little tired of watching Logan take whatever he wants without consequences. Or maybe…” He hesitates, throat working in a harsh swallow before he continues. “Maybe I know what it’s like to feel likeeveryone cares more about your body than they do the person inside it.”
Sincerity resonates in his voice, even as I search for any hint of deception or artifice. I have to remind myself that Cillian and I will never be on the same side of this conflict, no matter how nice he might be for a few moments at a time.
“I appreciate that, thank you,” I say, because it would be rude not to, even if I still don’t understand why he would do this.
Cillian nods as he takes a step back, as if suddenly interested in maintaining a careful distance now. “You don’t have to thank me. I haven’t actually done anything, yet.”
“You’re listening,” I counter, because I can’t help myself. It’s true, after all. “That’s more than I can say for anyone else around here.”
“We don’t have a choice about making this work.” His expression is rueful as he pushes his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture, making the strands stand on end. “Maybe at some point we could even…” He abruptly cuts himself off, turning away so I can’t see his face. “Never mind.”
My heart stutters. “Maybe we could what?”
“It’s nothing.” Cillian picks up his tablet and busies himself with it, making a point of avoiding my gaze. “I have work to finish before Logan gets back. Maybe you should take a walk in the garden, or something. Get some fresh air.”
It’s as much of a dismissal as possible, short of demanding I leave. As much as I want to hear the words he swallowed back, there isn’t any point in pushing him. I can feel through the bond just how locked down tight he has his emotions, so I know I won’t be getting anything more out of him.
So, I leave him alone. But the first time, I almost wish he’d asked me to stay.
Chapter Fourteen
LOGAN
Ipace the length of the empty receiving room, replaying the interview with the Inquisitor in my mind. There was something off about that damn doctor, something in his eyes when he questioned me about Ander. Like a predator who’s caught the scent of blood but is deliberately circling wide to keep his prey from bolting.
“Designation genetics specialist,” I mutter, pouring myself a drink. The amber liquid burns down my throat, steadying my nerves. “Makes perfect fucking sense for someone investigating a murder.”
Under different circumstances, most notably actual innocence, I might demand an explanation for Thane’s presence in the palace. The royal guard has an established inquisitorial squad, and Sionis Thane has never been part of it. Why bring in this virtual stranger to conduct an investigation at such a high level?
Unless my father knows something that he isn’t saying.
The Inquisitor asked all the expected questions, yet seemed disinterested in the answers. What disturbs me most is the lack of reassurance that I’m not a suspect. Thane seemed too assured, too calculated, as if he already knew everything that he needed to know.
As if he already knows the truth.
But that can’t be the case, otherwise I’d already have been dragged in front of a military tribunal, stripped of my title and potentially executed. My father has made a habit of turning a blind eye to the violent squabbles between his sons, but making a public spectacle of it is something else entirely. The true crime has always been getting caught.
But there is no evidence. I made certain of it.
Memories from the night I killed Ander always seem to linger in the back of my mind. His shocked expression when my blade slid between his ribs. The way Cillian trembled behind me, still bruised from my brother’s assault. Coming out of the haze of rage, to find I’d claimed my guard and left a crime scene in the wake of a mindless, violent rut. The careful disposal of the weapon. The staged scene.
Footsteps in the hallway outside draw me from my reverie.
I straighten my jacket and adjust my sleeves just as the throne room doors are thrown open. It’s been thirty minutes since I received his summons, but I keep the annoyance off my face as my father sweeps into the room, flanked by guards. His tardiness is just another way of reminding me of my place.
The perfunctory bow I offer is ignored as he breezes past me to the sideboard to prepare himself a drink. With a lazy flick of his hand, the guards retreat and the doors slam shut again with a loud slam.
“You requested my presence, Your Majesty,” I say, following him while maintaining a careful distance.
He finally turns to look at me, gaze calculating over the rim of the drink he brings to his lips. I know that look. It’s the same one he has used to intimidate diplomats and foreign leaders for decades.
“I know your secret, Logan.”
I force my face to remain neutral even as my heart pounds against my ribs. When I reach for my own glass, ice clinks against my teeth as I realize I’d already drained it. The king’s lips twist in a sardonic smile as I set the glass back down on a nearby table. “What secret could I possibly keep from you, father?”
He raises a gray-haired eyebrow. “Is that why I had to hear second-hand that you finally bonded your Omega during a recent heat? Or did you think you could disappear for three days straight without the staff noticing?”
