It takes Alex about a minute before he speaks again. “I’d like to say that I’m surprised,” he says, slouching back in the sofa with his hands still on my hips. “But I’m not.”
“So you’ve heard of this Malefiscus?”
He wavers and then hesitantly nods. “When I was little, my father would tell me stories of him.”
“So you knew?” Stunned, I slide back to leave his lap, but his fingers press downward, securing me in place.
“Just stories,” he insists. “He didn’t tell me he was a descendant, only the story of who Malefiscus was and what became of him.”
“But you knew about the mark?”
He shakes his head, his pupils like black marbles as he begins to panic. “No, I really didn’t. I just knew who he was and what he did… my father started telling me stories of him right after my mother left and they kind of became like bedtime stories.”
“He told you of evil as a way to get you to go to sleep.” I’m stunned. Shocked. And kind of disgusted. All this time I’d felt pity for myself for everything I’d went through when I was younger, but I haven’t really thought about what it must have been like to grow up with a murderous traitor. “Alex, that’s horrible.”
He shrugs it off, staring over my shoulder. “That’s minor compared to some of the other shit he’s done to me.” His eyebrows dip together as he zones out on some distant memory.
I place my hand on his stubbly cheek and he flinches. “What did he do to you?”
His gaze slides to me as his fingers travel up my side, along each bump of my aching ribcage, finally resting on my shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about that. It’s in the past.”
“But I want to know,” I say. “I-I want to understand you more.”
He smiles sadly. “No, you don’t. No normal person wants to hear about the bad things that were done to someone by their father. They’d rather stay in the dark.”
“Well, I’m not normal,” I say as his hand covers my hand that’s on his cheek. He traces the folds of my fingers and I shiver from his affectionate touch, experiencing a fleeting moment where I feel like myself again, whoever she was. “Tell me,” I plead.
“That’s another story for another time,” he says gloomily. “Right now we need to work on getting you hidden better, especially if my father can brand people. Jesus, there could be a ton of people out there who have the mark. I mean, who knows how many people he branded.”
“So you think it’s true?” I say, sounding strangled, recollecting all the visions I had about the mark appearing on me. I casually glance over at the spot on my arm where it always appears to make sure I’m still good inside.
“I don’t know… maybe…” He shuts his eyes and his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply. “If it’s true, then my childhood would make much more sense.”
For a split second, I wonder if Stephan marked Alex, but I’ve seen him naked and he doesn’t have the mark anywhere or a severe scar where one might have been cut off.
“I don’t have one if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, sensing my thoughts. He doesn’t sound angry, merely hurt and lost.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, tipping my chin down and staring at my lap while using my hair to veil my face. “I don’t know why I thought it.”
“Because of everything I’ve done to you,” he says straightforwardly. “You don’t trust me or anyone really.”
I shake my head and lift my gaze to his eyes. “No, I didn’t trust anyone, but I’m starting to.”
His eyes flare lustrously as he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. I think he’s going to kiss me, however all he does is shake his head.
“Did he do this to you? Nicholas.” His fingers gently outline a pattern down the bruises dotting on my arm and then his fingers circle my torn up wrist.
I nod, the feel of his touch soothing me. “He did.”
He clenches his jaw, anger storming through him, and his muscles constrict. “I’m going to kill him for it,” he growls.
I nuzzle my cheek against his. “He already paid for it… I beat him up really badly.”
He pushes me back by the shoulders a little and then lifts my wrist to his lips and kisses my injury. “That’s kind of hard to believe,” he says between kisses.
“It’s true.” I shrug, shivering from his kisses. “I beat him with a rain stick.”
He seals his lips tightly to refrain from laughing. “I’ll take your word for it then, but if I do cross paths with him again, I’ll beat him unconscious.”