Dangerous Temptation (Dark Dream Duet #1)(34)

“I timed it,” I explained to Tiernan. “It was under five minutes, which is the danger zone. As long as he can walk alright, he should be okay to stay home. I’m just worried about this cut…”

“I’ll call my private doctor,” he said immediately, already turning to his phone. “Ezra? Help Brandon and Bianca get upstairs.”

Ezra stepped out from the group that had gathered in the corner of the kitchen, watching us with varying degrees of concern. He offered a hand to Brando, who took it without question, getting up on weak knees to walk a few steps. He looked over his shoulder at me for validation that he didn’t have to go to the hospital, which he hated, and I sighed before nodding at him.

His smile was tremulous, but there. When I stood up, he lifted his arms so I would pick him up. He was getting too big, really, but he liked the physical contact after the trauma.

Ezra followed me out of the room and up the stairs to Brando’s bedroom. Walcott was already there turning down the bed with its new Spiderman sheets, a glass of water placed on the nightstand. I crawled into bed with Brando, mostly because he wouldn’t let me go. Walcott closed the curtains while Ezra lingered.

“I’m okay, Ez,” Brando said before a yawn overtook him. “But you can stay if you want.”

The huge man with hands bigger than Brando’s head hesitated, then took a seat in the large chair by the window.

“Anca,” Brando whispered, turning his entire body into mine, slinging a slim leg over my hips, his arm over my breasts to he could thread his fingers in the ends of my hair.

“I’m here,” I assured him, feeling next to tears but determined not to give in when he was still awake. “You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you go.”

“Promise?” He was half asleep already, but still clinging to me as if I might disappear at any second.

It made my throat burn, my heart flaming with sorrow that scorched up my insides. “Promise.”

“Mom and Dad left. Maybe you will, too.”

“Nah, I’d never leave without you. You’re stuck with me,” I said casually but the words were an oath I’d made the moment I held his tiny, pink and screaming body in my hands seven years ago. “It’s just you and me, buddy.”

“Maybe Ezra, too,” he mumbled, drifting quickly, his fingers loosening their grip on me. “And Walcott and Henrik if they want. Tiernan’s something different.”

“Different?” I croaked, loving the big heart of the little boy in my arms. Overwhelmed by his continued sense of optimism, his everlasting ability to love and accept everyone. I felt so jaded and unsure next to him.

“He chose us,” he said simply, and then seconds later, he was passed out in my arms.

I tucked my face into his hair, hiding my tears as they fell onto him. My strained breathing rattled the pieces of my broken heart around in my chest. Holding my brother, steeped in worry, I’d never felt so acutely alone. Aida hadn’t been much of a mother, but she had been a presence in our home, a failsafe if not a comfortable one. Lane hadn’t been much of a father, but he’d been like God, felt in spirit and venerated, someone to be lived up to.

Now it was just us.

My sweet Brando was protected and supported by me and me alone. The pressure of that responsibility crushed my lungs in an iron fist until I couldn’t breathe without pain.

“Bianca.”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the sound of that voice.

That sinner’s voice that coaxed impure thoughts to the surface of my mind.

In that moment, it was anger.

Here was a man who had dragged us from everything we’d known. Here was a man with his own purpose in taking us into his home. A man with no intention of loving us.

It was worse somehow, to know you were under the guardianship of a man who viewed you as a tool instead of a human, who didn’t beat you or neglect you, but watched you to learn you.

To learn your secrets.

Well, I wasn’t in the mood for him.

Not after he’d hurt Brando by refusing to make pancakes with him.

Not after I’d seen my little brother bleeding on the floor of a house that would never, no matter my efforts, be our home.

“Bianca,” said firmer this time.

A hand pressed into my leg over the covers, squeezing me gently.

“Look at me,” he ordered, the words silk over iron.

I sighed into Brando’s hair, wiping my tears in the strands before I lifted my head, staring at our miserable keeper boldly.

There was a look on his face that halted the stampede of wrath in my blood. It softened his mouth, creased the skin between his brows, and made those eerie green eyes glow like algae. It was a look of guilt and tenderness, utterly incongruous on his harsh, strong-featured face.

“Dr. Crown will be here within the next forty minutes. He’s driving into Bishop’s Landing from New York. He’s the best I know, and he’ll be able to give us an assessment of Brandon’s condition.”

“He has epilepsy that presents with grand mal seizures.” My voice was oddly breathless, torn apart by the sorrow savaging my innards. “He was diagnosed when he was two years old.”

“I don’t know much about the condition, but I was under the impression it could be treated,” he ventured.

“If you have access to the right doctors and the money to pay them. Even then, depending on the type and severity, it can be incurable.”