Page 131 of The Firebrand
Brae patted the couch beside her. “I’m worried about you. Sit. You’re driving me crazy.”
When he pivoted toward her to explain, the doorbell rang. The guests had arrived.
In floated the female who had given him life, cold as ever in a royal-blue, snug satin dress, her cleavage on display with a low-cut neckline. Her black hair fell in a single braid draped over a shoulder, and spiked ankle-strap heels made her nearly as tall as his father, who clutched her elbow as if she were too fragile to walk alone. The puzzling grin on his face differed greatly from Castia’s inscrutable, unsmiling expression.
George, bringing up the rear, raced to Braelyn, wrapping her hands in his and yanking her off the couch. He folded her into a bear hug. “You’re safe. I couldn’t endure losing you.” He scowled at Rein. “And you, how could you leave her alone? How could you be so stupid? You were supposed to protect her.”
Rein didn’t argue with George. Nor did he bristle at the angry words. The human was right. He had failed her.
Braelyn pried herself away from her father. “I’m fine, Dad, but it wasn’t Rein’s fault.” Rubbing George’s shoulder while inviting everyone to sit, she offered drinks.
Rein poured whiskey all around before he returned to a seat beside Braelyn, taking her hand in his, squeezing it, counting on her to distract him from his pounding headache and sadistic fantasies.
Castia forced a smile to her lips, her head tilted while she studied her son’s appearance. “Rein, dear, you look ghastly. Whatever is the matter?” As if she already had the answer, she cast a chilly glance at Braelyn.
George crossed his legs, brushing a speck of lint off his sharply creased pants. “I have not come to chastise Rein for his negligent behavior. Rather, Alarik and I have news.”
“Good or bad?” asked Braelyn.
“Very good. Extraordinarily good,” said George. “When you were in the hospital after the attack outside your apartment, I told the doctors to run certain blood tests.”
“Dad!” snapped Braelyn, dropping Rein’s hand.
“Don’t bother to tell me it’s none of my business.” His excitement remained unfettered. “Forgive me, but after Alarik told me what he had found in your previous samples, I … well, I don’t know what went through my head. The results arrived.”
“I’m pissed but curious. Obviously, something is different. Just spit it out.” Braelyn clenched her jaw, scooting to the edge of the sofa.
“You don’t have a brain tumor, sweetheart.” George pressed his fist to his mouth, his eyes moist with tears.
“You mean, it’s in remission again?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean, it’s gone. Vanished. There is no tumor.”
Braelyn slack-jawed her father as she grabbed Rein’s thigh, her fingers gouging hard. “That’s not possible. Dr. Joe and I agreed on a course of action. I was to begin treatments soon. Tumors don’t just disappear.”
“Can you explain this, Alarik?” asked Rein.
“I believe the answer, absent any scientific explanation, is a combination of factors. Braelyn dear, your genetic markers are strong and persistent. And you’ve spent a significant time on Scath. Our realm must be a catalyst, increasing your latent abilities, changing your DNA structure. How do you feel?”
Braelyn crossed her legs, her foot bouncing up and down. “My appetite is good.”
“Your appetite is enormous,” confirmed Rein, dazed.
“Okay. Gigantic.” She giggled, squeezing Rein’s fingers.
Castia, noticing their clasped hands, raised a brow, catching her son’s attention. His gaze pinged away.
Rein forced a grin as he lifted Brae’s hand to kiss it, pushing his own pain aside. “This is incredible news.”
She bit her lower lip, new giggles escaping. “My headaches are gone. I feel stronger. I can project thoughts to Rein. Of course, that’s bizarre. Beyond explanation. And my eyes. According to my mirror, they’re amethyst. No longer hazel or even hazel with purple specks. You’re thinking everything is because of some ancient witch DNA?”
“As well as your time on Scath,” reminded Alarik. “But there’s more.” He pressed a palm to his heart. “When we retested your last sample, we discovered something new, something bigger than the changes observed before.”
“I don’t think you can top the tumor bombshell,” said Braelyn.
“We all have a DNA-methylation age, and there is a relationship between methylation and telomere length.”
“You’ve lost me, Alarik.” Braelyn looked at Rein, but he shrugged.
