Deity (Covenant #3)(71)

I poked the bulb, smiling as it swayed back and forth. Deacon was so bizarre. Who had a Mortal Holiday Tree? So weird.

It was late, and I should’ve been in bed, but the idea of sleeping was unappealing. Full of restless energy, I drifted around the room until I came to a stop in front of the door. Curious, and with nothing else better to do, I tried the handle and found it unlocked. Glancing over my shoulder, I pushed open the door and crept inside the softly lit room. At once I realized why Aiden had kept this room off his tour.

Everything personal was crammed into the circular room. Pictures of Aiden lined the walls, chronicling his childhood. There were photos of Deacon as a precocious-looking little boy, head full of blond curls and chubby cheeks that hinted at delicate features.

I stopped in front of one of Aiden and felt my chest tighten. He must’ve been six or seven. Dark curls fell across his face instead of the looser waves he had now. He was adorable, all gray eyes and lips. There was a photo of him with Deacon. Aiden was probably around ten or so and he had one lanky arm draped over his younger brother’s shoulders. The camera had captured both boys laughing.

Moving around an overstuffed couch, I slowly picked up the titanium picture frame that was on the fireplace mantel. My breath caught.

It was his father—his mother and father.

They stood behind Deacon and Aiden, their hands on the boys’ shoulders. Behind them the sky was a brilliant blue. It was easy to tell which boy favored which parent. Their mother had hair the color of corn silk that fell past her shoulders in springy curls. She was beautiful, as all pures were, with delicate features and laughing blue eyes. It was shocking, though, how much Aiden looked like his father. From the almost-black hair and piercing silver eyes, he was an exact replica.


It didn’t seem fair that his parents were taken so young, robbed of watching their boys grow up. And Aiden and Deacon had lost so much.

I ran my thumb over the edge of the frame. Why had Aiden closed off all these memories? Did he ever come in here? Looking around the room, I spied a guitar propped beside a stack of books and comics. This was his room, I realized. A place where he thought it was okay to remember his parents and maybe to just get away.

I turned my attention back to the photo and tried to picture my mother and father. If pures and halfs had been allowed to be together, would we’ve had moments like these? Closing my eyes, I tried to picture the three of us. My mom wasn’t hard to remember now. I could see her before she turned, but my father had the mark of slavery on his forehead and no matter what I did, it wouldn’t go away.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

Startled, I spun around, clutching the frame to my chest. Aiden stood in the doorway, arms straight at his sides. He stalked across the room and stopped in front of me. Shadows hid his expression. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I was just curious. The door wasn’t locked.” I swallowed nervously. “I haven’t been in here long at all.”

His gaze dropped and his shoulders stiffened. He pried the picture from my fingers and set it back on the mantel. Without speaking, he bent and placed his hands over the kindling. Fire sparked and grew immediately. He grabbed a poker.

Embarrassed and stung by his sudden coldness, I backed away. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He prodded at the fire, his spine stiff.

“I’ll leave.” I turned, and suddenly he was in front of me. My heart tumbled over.

He clasped my arm. “Don’t leave.”

I searched his eyes intently, but couldn’t gain anything from them. “Okay.”

Aiden took a deep breath and let go of my arm. “Would you like something to drink?”

Hugging my elbows, I nodded. This room was his sanctuary, a silent memorial to the family he’d lost, and I’d invaded it. I doubted even Deacon dared to tread in here. Leave it to me to just bust on in.

Behind the bar, Aiden pulled two wine flutes out and sat them down. Filling the glasses, he glanced up at me. “Wine okay?”

“Yes.” My throat was dry and tight. “I really am sorry, Aiden. I shouldn’t have come in here.”

“Stop apologizing.” He came around the bar and handed me a glass.

I took the glass, hoping he didn’t notice how my fingers shook. The wine was sugary and smooth, but it didn’t settle in my stomach right.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you like that,” he said, moving toward the fire. “I was just surprised to see you in here.”

“It’s… uh, a nice room.” I felt like an idiot for saying that.

His lips tipped up at the corner.

“Aiden…”

He stared at me for so long I thought he’d never speak and when he did it was not what I expected. “After what happened to you in Gatlinburg, it reminded me of what it’d been like for me… after what happened to my parents. I had nightmares. Could hear… hear their screams over and over again for what felt like years. I never told you that. Maybe I should have. It could’ve helped you.”

I sat on the edge of the couch, clenching the fragile stem.

Aiden faced the fire, taking a sip of his wine. “Do you remember the day in the gym when you told me about your nightmares? It stuck with me—your fear of Eric and his return,” he continued. “All I kept thinking was, what if one of the daimons had escaped the attack on my parents? How would I’ve gone on?”