The Kwisling [The Isbjørn book 2]

Twenty-seven

The dining room table held four individuals, two more than the usual crowd at breakfast and one more than the occasional dinners Luce would attend. At the table there was a silence, but not one of happy eating. There was tension and the few words spoken fell like dirty pebbles onto the table.

John picked at the food on his plate; it was his first dinner outside of the clinic and the occasion was entirely without the air for celebration.

Luce had sat through his fair share of tense dinners at the Glass household. The heavy gazes moving around the table then did not even touch the evil eye John was shooting at his plate.

Sri wouldn't look at Luce, knowing if she dared a glance upward he would be making silent demands, looking between she and Daire. She wanted to stall, she wasn t ready.

"So how did the meeting go?" She asked lightly.

The question was either for John or Daire. They were both distracted. John's fork lingered across his food, leaving streaks across some well cooked sprouts.

"Daire?"

The Isbjørn was silent beside her and the rest of the table followed suit until John gave a heavy breath. "Eon-chos." He spoke in a restrained tone that she could barely catch from across the table.

Luce heard him loud and clear. He was rather serious, Luce noted. And his face was something he was becoming accustomed to: John Glass
devoid of his usual wicked look.

"Eon-chos?" She flipped her eyes toward Daire. "What's that?"

“It's what they've been calling him,” Daire said quietly, daring a sideways look John's way.

John looked up sharply, letting his fork drop onto the plate. "One-leg. They're calling me one-leg."

The corner's of Daire's mouth turned downward. It was John's temper that had first turned the meeting sour and it was rearing it's head once again. "It's an identifying observation," he said smoothly. "They call Sri she-pet and Luce dark-man. It's nothing--"

"It's something to me. I'm more than just a name."

"So what happened?" Sri chirped, pressing for the details they were unintentionally withholding.

John rubbed the back of his neck, leaning back into his chair. "They don't trust us." His eyes drifted over to the Isbjørn. "Especially Daire." His eyes landed on Sri again. "Because of you."

"Me?"

"They're convinced your relationship with him is poisoning his mind." John's new tone was flat, purely factual. "And as long as they believe that nothing will get better."

Sri felt her stomach tighten. They had restrained themselves for just a day and already she was struggling. "What do we do?"

Luce had been silent all through the dinner, until that moment. "Well. . ." All eyes were on him as he took pause. John leaned forward. "You could always convince them that John was her mate instead."

“Wait,” Daire began, slowly removing his hands from the table. “Mate?”

Luce rested hard eyes on Sri, giving her a chance before he forced the truth out into the air. "It wouldn't be hard."

The Isbjørn's eyes shifted to the fidgeting woman at his side. "Do you think it would work?" There was hope in his voice. It killed her a little.

“I, uh, I--” Sri stuttered, looking at anywhere other than Daire’s face. “Yeah. I mean. . . I am. . .”

"What?"

Sri's mouth hung open. She sat like a marionette without someone to work her strings.

The secret had burned his body, hissed through him like a deathly poison. It demanded release in the form of words. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off him with gale force gusts. Like a wild fire, it engulfed his moralities and destroying the boundaries of his loyalty. Luce spoke. "She's pregnant."