ILLYRIAN PRIDE

Chapter 9

Devlon sat at the kitchen table. He'd prepared the usual breakfast, steam rose from the eggs and toast.

His ears perked as Sorcha exited the bedroom. She sat at her usual seat, dark circles under her eyes.

Cassian's visit had been hard on her. Tension slithered like a snake in the room, tension that Devlon was unaware of. How could he know what underlying issues there were between them? They were a family. A unit. And he stood alone, like a mountain.

She hadn't looked at him yet. There wasn't any of her usual barter. Her shoulders were drooped beneath her fighting leathers, as if an invisible weight pushed her down.

Devlon felt a string in his rib pulling taught. An ache that made him hiss.

Sorcha looked up at the sound.

Devlon took off his glasses, he only needed them when reading reports and such, but he'd seen the effect they had on her and liked the way it threw her focus off balance. But even those blasted things weren't working today.

He set them on the table in front of him, next to an old book.

"Sorcha," Devlon said, "start with the things you know."

Her eyes fell closed, "I am a terrible sister."

Devlon's fingers tightened on the leather cover of the book at her whispered words. It was worn after so many decades.

"I'm a lousy daughter."

The General was almost prone to wear the emotions on his face, it seems that his daughter was not all that different.

The pain edged onto the planes of her face made Devlon frown in disapproval.

"And a horrible person." She exhaled a long breath. "So horrible in fact that the only way to get my mate to interact with me is pity-"

Devlon banged his knee on the table so hard that the cups of coffee rattled. Sorcha fell silent, twirling a fork needlessly between her fingers.

Devlon was always a male of few words. And so now he said nothing while he pushed the book towards her.

Sorcha glanced at it, "More reading?"

"That's-" Devlon cleared his throat. "Well, it is my diary, I suppose."

"What?"

Devlon nodded.

"You want me to read your diary?" Her fingers caressed the old thing gently.

What did Devlon want?

"It contains details of my own Blood Rite," he said, starting with the things he knew. "As well as some personal information that you ought to know. Besides-"

"Why?"

Devlon blinked at her. He picked up his glasses, examining them.

"If you believe yourself to be a terrible beast," Devlon said, "then read my thoughts and feelings, and understand that the real monster is me."

Sorcha's chin lifted, some of the ire returning to her eyes, "If we are mated, then aren't you and I made the same?"

Devlon laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound, only coldness. "Whatever our souls are made of, they are decidedly not the same. For in truth I am a terrible brother, and a lousy son-"

Sorcha scoffed as if in disbelief.

"Read it." Devlon eyes flashed. "Read everything and know that you are shackled to a mating bond with a horrible person. Then you'll understand."

Sorcha grabbed his diary and brought it to her chest.

Devlon could have sworn that her eyes shone with challenge.

Cauldron boil him.