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So cold, a breath of frost between them. Honor stared at her sister, unable to digest that chilling remoteness, the sheer lack of reaction. Adrenaline was surging through her like water from a burst dam; her skin was flushed, her heart beat like a hammer in her chest.
“Hannah—”
“No,” the woman who towered over her hissed. “My name is Anna. Anna Maria Petrov, daughter to Andrei. He is my family. My only family.”
“I am your only family.”
“You are nothing.”
Honor jerked beneath that blow, felt it acutely. In her ear, Cian murmured, “Steady, lass.”
Tears clogged her throat, stung her eyes. Her hands tightened; her nails dug into Hannah’s cool skin. “Why are you doing this? What happened to you? Why does he call you his daughter? What—”
“You have no right,” Hannah grated harshly, her tone jagged, broken. “You left me to die. My father, he saved me. You are not fit to speak his name.”
“We didn’t leave you to die!” Honor cried, unable to temper the emotion churning within her, a feral and terrified creature. “We didn’t do that. They all died, Hannah. Daddy and Jonas, and almost me. We didn’t leave you by choice. We wouldn’t have done that. We wouldn’t have!”
“You did.”
The words pelted her like sharp stones. “No.”
“You are nothing,” Hannah said again, her eyes hard.
A piercing, mournful cry ripped from Honor’s throat. Cian said, “I’m coming to you,” and Hannah wrenched from her hold.
“I’m your sister,” Honor insisted, her heart shattering. “I looked for you. I always looked for you. And when I finally found you, I came to…”
“To what?” Hannah mocked. “To save me?”
Honor flinched.
“How dare you assume the need,” Hannah said, her voice so cutting fear turned Honor’s blood to ice. “You know nothing.”
Honor stared at her helplessly. “Hannah-banana…”
Hannah flinched, a small crack in her icy reserve. “No.”
“But we’re family,” Honor said desperately. “We’re—”
“Do you know what they did to me? They sold me.” Hannah bared her teeth, her expression dark. Hateful. “I was thrown into a shipping crate filled with other children, and it stank of shit and piss and vomit. We spent three weeks at sea, and in that time almost half of us died from disease and dehydration. When we arrived in Bangkok, they unloaded us like cattle and sold us on an auction block. Andrei saw me, and he saved me. If it was not for him, I would be dead. You stupid fool. He saved my life.”
“Why?” Honor demanded, aware of her voice rising, but unable to stop. “What kind of man buys a child?”
“You know nothing,” Hannah said again, stepping back. “Go home. You should not have come here.”
Honor shook her head; tears slid down her cheeks. Burning, it was all burning. Her dreams, her expectations. Fucking hope.
“But we’re family,” she whispered helplessly, unable to let go.
“She is dead,” Hannah repeated. “I buried her long ago. There is nothing here for you.”
“You don’t even want…to know me?”
“No.”
Honor began to shake. She tried to stem the tears, but there was no stopping them. She stared at Hannah through their blur; she felt…undone. “Please.”
“No.”
“Please!”
Hannah pushed her aside and reached for the door handle. Honor grabbed her arm, ready to beg, furious and terrified and heartbroken. “I came here for you!”
Hannah halted. Her bright green eyes were flat. “That was your mistake.”
And then she tore from Honor’s grip and walked through the door. Cian stood there, his expression so dark, Hannah faltered before sweeping past him.
Honor met his gaze, and pain sheared through her like a red-hot blade.
“I’m sorry, a rứnsearc.” he said softly.
She shook her head sharply, battling to control the violent sobs welling in her chest.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, and his hand caught hers, holding tight when she tried to pull away.
Die. That’s what she wanted to do.
“Home,” she said, her voice raw. “I want to go home.”
Please. Please!
Cian could not get those words out of his head. Simple words and yet…everything.
All of Honor’s hope. Her fear, her desperation. Her pain.
Pain he felt acutely, as if it were his own. Standing in his room, his jacket and tie discarded, his house chillingly silent around him, Honor’s words continued to haunt him.
It doesn’t matter. I always knew better.
Christ, she might as well have gutted him. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but fuck.
Fuck.
The worst part, he’d foreseen it. All of it. Honor’s heart-wrenching response to the realization that Petrov had claimed Hannah as his child; her reaction to being lied to by him. Hannah’s brutal rejection of her. He’d tried to warn her. His omission had been designed to save her pain, but it’d had the opposite effect, and Cian wasn’t certain she would ever forgive him for it.
He understood now that he should have told her. Better she’d been prepared, than to walk into that room, heart in hand, hope her only defense.
Stupid, selfish bastard.
Because he hadn’t wanted to be the one to hurt her. To bear the brunt of the reality he foresaw, and what that reality might do to them. To her. And now, when they were only just beginning, this…this could end them.
And it would be his fault.
Honor’s withdrawal as they’d returned from Petrov’s estate had been palpable, as if she’d donned impenetrable armor while he sat beside her, watching helplessly. Cold to his touch, deaf to his words, her pain and fury an impermeable veil between them.
He hadn’t pushed, unwilling to shove her further into the void. She was already angry with him, but perhaps he should have.
“How did it go?”
He turned to see Akachi in the doorway of his room, tray in hand. On the tray sat a bottle of Irish whiskey and two decanters.
“Badly,” Cian muttered.
Akachi nodded and offered the tray. “You should go to her.”
Cian stared at his friend, his heart a heavy, painful thud in his chest. He wanted nothing more…but Honor wouldn’t want the same. She felt betrayed—by Hannah, and by him. As far as she was concerned, she’d lost everything tonight.
And Cian didn’t know how to change that. Yet the urge to seek her out clawed at him. Instinct told him to forge ahead, not retreat. And he trusted his instincts. But—
“She has need of you,” Akachi said, his black eyes glittering, challenge and rebuke in one. “If you fail her now, you will lose her.”
“Damn it, man,” Cian snarled. “I ken that.”
“Then go.”
For a heartbeat, Cian only glared at him. Then, with a soft curse, he took the tray and swept past him. Honor’s room was next to his, and he didn’t bother to knock, but simply walked in, unwilling to allow her to the opportunity to deny him.
Her shoes sat inside the door, followed by her discarded stockings. She stood barefoot before the windows, still in her dress. She didn’t turn to look at him.
Cian set the tray down on the bedside table and poured a healthy amount of whiskey into one of the glasses. Then he took it to her.
“Drink this,” he ordered and thrust it at her.
She said nothing, staring out into the darkness.
“Please,” he added.
“Go away,” she muttered. “Benedict Arnold.”
“I didn’t betray you,” he growled. “Admittedly, I should have told you that Petrov had claimed her as his child, but I didn’t sell you out. I’d not do that.”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Just like you’d not lie to me.”
“I was wrong,” he said baldly. “But I expect you to understand why I did it.”
She turned and glared at him. Tears stained her cheeks, which were pale but for two angry spots of color. “I do. But it was still wrong!”
“Aye,” he
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