Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

Now I’ve been taken inside and they've propped me up in front of the fire and they’ve put a nice crochet blanket over my legs and they're all looking at me with concern, though nobody is more concerned than Bryn. I’ve sipped some brandy and nibbled on some snacks and I feel better, but I am still inherently ignorant.

Bryn is crouched by my side. He has not left me since the battlefield. He has held me and touched me, stroked my hair and cuddled me. He has fed me and made sure I drink and told me that everything will be okay. I do not see how that could possibly be true. Things are never okay where I am concerned.

“You were tricked in an incredibly cruel way. I know you’re going to need evidence to explain things. We’ve done some research and found this.”

He hands me a sheet of paper. There’s an old news story printed on it. A story about the accident that happened when I was eleven years old, the one that took my parents and left me and Jonah all alone in the world. I have never been able to bring myself to read any of those stories. They bring back memories I don’t want to relive.

I refuse to read it now. But there's an image of the funeral service. Three graves, two big headstones and one little one between them. At first glance I don’t notice the issue, but then I do a double take.

“What? Why are there three…”

“Nina,” he explains gently. “You were the only one who survived the car accident. Your mother, father, and brother all perished in it. The one you call Jonah is a demon who has been masquerading as him this entire time. He hid himself in plain sight. He put himself in the position he could do the most damage to you. And by slow and steady degrees, he has been torturing you ever since.”

I try very hard to make that fit with the memories I have of my life. After the accident, we were moved across country and were takin in by a very nice older couple who had once been friends with my mother. Everybody my mom ever knew loved her. She was just that kind of person, or angel. I guess the paperwork got messed up or maybe the demon changed it, but they clearly didn’t follow up on the fact that a little dead boy was actually very much alive. I never suspected it. I never questioned it. I was just happy to have Jonah with me. I clung to him as the last bit of love I had left in the world. I was vulnerable, and something of deep evil took full advantage of that misery.

This makes sense. But it also doesn't make sense. We literally lived in the house of an actual fucking demon hunter. How could Bryn let this happen?

“How did you not know? The second Jonah came through the door you must have sensed there was something wrong with him."

“Jonah is an old demon. They’re very good at hiding their true natures. And he had played the role with you for so long I think he'd started to almost believe it himself. But I do think I knew instinctively. Remember the chapel, when I tried to stab him? I didn't think clearly as to why. I was distracted by my lust for you. I should have thought more, but it never occurred to me that a demon could last so long pretending to be human without ever slipping.”

Crichton clears his throat gently.

“Except you, of course, Crichton.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Crichton’s a demon too?” I stare, unnerved.

“Yes, but the good kind,” Crichton reassures me. “I am a service demon. Hoping to gain salvation through acts of servitude. Mrs Crocombe is a similar creature.”

“Anybody else?”

“Just those two that I know of,” Bryn says.

“Exactly. That you know of! Anybody else…”

“I killed him,” Bryn reminds me, gently. “I may not have been thinking straight, but the brighter part of my brain knew what to do and how to do it. So don't worry. If another demon ever comes near you with any intent to harm, I will slay it. Even if I don't know why I am slaying it. The part of me that does the Lord’s work does not need my conscious mind to understand. It needs my body to be obedient, willing, and ready.”

I feel a sexy tingle at the combination of the words body and obedient. This man has twisted me. Or perhaps I was always a twisted, dark little wench waiting to be claimed.

“I blamed you for everything.” I feel a little guilty for that, but only a little because it was reasonable at the time. Fortunately, Bryn appears to be on the same page.