“What happened?”
“Don’t know,” I whisper, nausea sweeping through me at the lightheaded feeling that comes and goes like tidal waves. “Did my thing, looked out the window, next thing I knew the world was spinning and here I was.” I shake my head. I hate the feeling of being out of control.
“C’mere,” he says, taking me by the elbow. “We have to get you back to bed. Doctor said you’d have symptoms like this. Happens with head trauma.”
I get to my feet with his help, hating that I have to rely on him, hating that he sees me as dependent and helpless. But I can’t dwell on it long, for my only real concern right now is getting back to the makeshift bed they’ve made for me.
We walk down the hall, and he’s half-carrying me. I grip his arm tightly, and he’s got one firm hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the yellowish glow of light by the open door.
We hear voices, and they’re close. Men’s voices, deep and harsh. I know the family well enough to quickly identify them. Leith, the eldest Cowen son and leader, and their father, Bram Cowen.
I don’t like Bram and never have. He’s cold and ruthless, and barely acknowledges the existence of anyone outside his close circle of Clan and family members. It’s more than that, though. I don’t like the way he treats his daughters or his wife, like they’re second-class citizens.
Are the Cowen family boys like that? My musings are quickly cut short when the voices nearby rise and fall.
“Don’t want a bloody fucking stranger in our house.” Bram. A chill creeps down my spine when I realize he’s talking about me.
“Didn’t ask you,” Leith says, his voice tight with anger. “It’s my decision. She’s the girls’ best mate, and I won’t allow her to be injured more when a simple show of hospitality could prevent that.”
Aw. Leith, you’re a good man. I wonder sometimes how children can turn out alright when their parents are arseholes.
I like Flora, though, their mum. I suppose a good mum could mitigate the effect of an arsehole dad.
I wouldn’t know.
“Let’s go,” Tate says, tugging my arm to bring me away from the voices and into the room, but before I enter it, I hear one more comment from Bram.
“Did you find who she is yet?”
My ears perk up. “Not yet, but we’re bloody close.”
Find who she is yet? What are they talking about?
I bite my lip as Tate closes the door behind me.
I have a secret. And if any of the Cowen family find out, I don’t think I’d be as welcome here as I have been.
I’ve joked with Tate about how they treat people who betray them and the like, but this is no joke.
The Cowen Clan is deadly dangerous, and if they knew who I really was… I’d be a dead girl walking.
Chapter 3
Tate
I notice when she grows quiet, how she hears bits of the conversation outside this door and how it affects her.
“Ignore them,” I say in a whisper. I don’t want to confront Leith or my father right now. We had our meeting, we discussed what we needed to. Leith is Clan Captain, so he can deal with my father and his disapproval.
I lead her across the room, and she climbs back under the covers. She takes another dose of pain meds reluctantly, but I remind her she can get a different kind in the morning. Soon, she’s softly snoring beside me.
I watch her for a while. She looks as innocent as a child, her brow softened, and body relaxed in sleep. She breathes heavily, one beautiful arm strewn over her pillow with abandon.
I want to touch her. Hold her. Kiss those luscious pink lips of hers. Run my fingers through her thick, wavy brown hair and feel her sigh with every stroke of my fingers.
“Tate?”
It’s Leith, whispering, at the door. She doesn’t move. The drugs have taken effect.
I walk over to him, wondering if his visit has anything at all to do with our earlier meeting.
Tonight, we discovered another book in the Clan Chronicles was released. There was a time when the girls would tell us, would come to us with their concerns. Leith has even read the books, just to see if the concerns they voiced were warranted. But the girls haven’t mentioned anything in months, and we wonder if they know things they aren’t revealing.
It all started with what was probably just innocent fun. Fictional stories—hot fictional stories. Deeply erotic and compelling. They took place in a setting kind of like ours. The characters almost resembled us. Even the way they talked, the way they looked. The fact that they were called The Clan.
Then slowly but surely, over time, it became evident that these were more than fictional tales. There was a reason every woman of the Clan read the books the moment they came out. Islan told me one night, as we drank steaming mugs of tea laced heavily with Irish cream, what drew her to the books.