The Rejected Mate's Rebirth

The Dead Speak

Damon waited for me in the hallway.

Leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, eyes tracking every step I took. I'd found clothes in the closet—black pants that fit too well, a gray sweater that smelled like cedar, boots that had already been broken in.

"Whose were these?" I asked.

"They were yours. I had them brought up last night."

"You had women's clothes in my size delivered before you even knew I existed?"

Damon pushed off the wall. Walked toward me. "I knew you existed. I just didn't know you'd be wearing them in my hallway."

"How long have you been watching me?"

He stopped inches from my face. "Long enough to know you were miserable. Short enough to know I couldn't do anything about it."

"You could have come to the wedding."

"I came." His hand brushed my hair back. "I was in the back. Watching you pretend to be happy."

"That wasn't pretending. That was surviving."

"Same thing."

He took my hand. Led me down the corridor.

The door was at the end of the east wing. Old iron. No handle. Just a keyhole that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

"This was her room," Damon said. "After my father died, she locked herself inside. Stayed there for three months."

"What happened after three months?"

"She came out. Walked to the cliffs. And jumped."

I squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She was already dead before she hit the water. The woman who raised me died the same night my father locked me in that cage."

"You never told me that part."

"There's a lot I haven't told you." He pressed his palm against the door. It creaked open. "After she died, I sealed this room. No one's been inside for fifteen years."

"Why are we going in now?"

"Because she left a box. With instructions that I only open it when I found someone worth opening it for."

I stared at him. "You've known me for less than twenty-four hours."

"And you've already bled for me, killed for me, and slept in my bed." He stepped through the doorway. "That's more than anyone else in fifteen years."

The room smelled like dust and lavender.

Furniture draped in white sheets. A vanity with a silver mirror. A window seat overlooking the cliffs where she'd died.

Damon walked to the bed. Knelt. Pulled a wooden box from underneath.

It was small. Carved with wolves and moons. A lock on the front that didn't need a key—just a thumbprint.

He pressed his thumb to the lock.

It clicked open.

Inside lay a letter, a dagger, and a locket.

"Read the letter first," I said.

He handed it to me. "You read it."

"Why me?"

"Because she would have liked you."

I unfolded the paper. The handwriting was elegant. Feminine. Broken in places where the ink had smeared from tears.

My son,

If you're reading this, I'm already gone. Don't blame yourself. I was broken long before your father put his hands on you.

The dagger is made of silver blessed by the moon. It can kill anything—even the thing that hunts our bloodline.

The locket contains a lock of your father's hair. Use it to track him if you ever need to find him again.

And the letter—this letter—is my confession.

Your father isn't dead. I lied to protect you.

His name is Silas Blackwood. And he's the reason I threw myself off those cliffs.

Don't come for me. Come for him.

I love you.

Mother.

I looked up. Damon's face was stone.

"My father is Silas Blackwood," I whispered.

"Your father."

"Silas Blackwood. The man who's been hunting me. The man who killed my mother." I held up the letter. "Your mother knew him."

Damon took the letter. Read it twice. His jaw tightened.

"He was her mate," he said slowly. "Before my father. He abandoned her. She never told me."

"That's why you didn't know my name. Blackwood. It's his name. My name."

"We're connected." He looked at me. "We've always been connected."

I didn't know what to feel. Fury. Grief. Relief that I wasn't alone in this.

"She left you the dagger," I said. "The locket with his hair. She wanted you to find him."

"She wanted me to kill him."

"Can you?"

Damon picked up the dagger. The blade caught the light. Silver and ancient and hungry.

"I've been waiting for a reason," he said. "Now I have one."

He looked at me.

"Two, actually."

We sat on the window seat. The cliffs stretched below us. Gray water. Gray sky. Gray everything.

"Tell me about your mother," I said.

"She used to sing. Lullabies in a language I never learned. She said the words were too old for my tongue." He stared at the horizon. "After my father locked me in that cage, she stopped singing. Never made another sound."

"Until she jumped."

"Until she jumped." His hand found mine. "I heard her hit the water. I was twelve."

"You were a child."

"We're all children until we're not."

I leaned my head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around me.

"I died alone," I said. "In a cell. With no one to hear me. I used to imagine what it would feel like to have someone hold my hand while I froze."

"And now?"

"Now I know." I looked at him. "It feels like this."

He kissed my forehead. "We're going to kill him. Your father. My mother's monster. We're going to find him and we're going to end him."

"Together."

"Together."

We left the room an hour later.

Damon carried the dagger. I carried the locket. The letter was folded in his pocket, pressed against his heart.

"She would have liked you," he said again.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. She would have seen the fire in you. The same fire she had before my father broke her."

"Your father didn't break her. Silas did."

"Same monster. Different face."

We walked in silence through the corridors. Wolves stared. Whispers followed. I didn't care.

"What's the plan?" I asked.

"The plan is breakfast. Then we find your mother."

"My mother is dead."

"She's not." He stopped. Turned to face me. "The letter. It said Silas killed my mother. It didn't say anything about yours."

"I saw her. In the cell. She was old and broken and—"

"You saw what Silas wanted you to see." He cupped my face. "Your mother is alive, Sera. And we're going to find her."

"How do you know?"

"Because I spent fifteen years thinking mine was dead. And she wasn't. She was just hiding." His thumbs wiped tears I didn't know I'd shed. "Your mother is hiding too. And we're going to find her."

I wanted to believe him.

"Breakfast first," I said. "Then we hunt."

He smiled. "That's my girl."

The great hall was full.

Every eye turned when we walked in. Hand in hand. His dagger at his hip. My locket around my neck.

Rina stood at the high table. Her rust-colored eyes narrowed.

"You're wearing her jewelry," she said to Damon.

"I'm wearing my mother's locket," I said. "He gave it to me."

"She didn't give it to you. She left it for him."

"And he gave it to me." I held her gaze. "Is there a problem?"

Rina looked at Damon. He didn't speak. Didn't defend me. Didn't need to.

"No problem," she said finally. "Sit down. Eat."

We sat. Food appeared. Meat and bread and something that smelled like cinnamon.

"You're not going to eat?" I asked Damon.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're lying."

He glanced at me. "I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"About where to start. The locket has his hair. That means we can track him. But tracking takes time. Time we don't have."

"Why don't we have time?"

"Because if your mother is alive, Silas knows you're looking for her. And he'll kill her before you find her."

The food turned to ash in my mouth.

"Then we move fast," I said.

"We move smart."

"Same thing."

He shook his head. "No. Fast gets us killed. Smart gets us home."

I pushed my plate away. "Then tell me the smart plan."

Damon leaned closer. His lips brushed my ear.

"The smart plan is we eat. We rest. And tonight, we visit the one person who knows where Silas is hiding."

"Who?"

"The witch who cursed your bloodline."

I pulled back. "Morwen? She's Damon's ex—"

"She's also the only person who's met Silas and lived." His jaw tightened. "I don't like it. But she owes me a debt."

"What kind of debt?"

"The kind that involves blood."

I looked at him. At the scars on his knuckles. The shadows under his eyes.

"How many people have you killed?" I asked.

"Enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Enough to know that killing Silas won't be enough." He took my hand. "We have to erase him. Every trace. Every memory. Every drop of his bloodline."

"My bloodline."

"Your bloodline." He kissed my knuckles. "Which is why we're going to need more than a dagger."

"Then what do we need?"

Damon smiled. Sharp. Hungry.

"We need a war."