Radiant Light: A Reverse Harem Romance (Tales From the Edge Book 2)

by Chloe Adler

  “Alistair Elias Rees.” Mom’s nostrils flare. “You will not encourage my only pious daughter to become a harlot like her two sisters.”

  “Now, now, pumpkin.” Alistair leans back in his chair. Kudos to him for his nonreaction. “No one is encouraging anyone to be anything. And we’ve been over this. It’s my opinion that Sadie and Chrysothemis are discovering themselves. No reason to call them names or label them.”

  “Or slut shame them, if that is indeed their choice. Which for Chrys, you know is not. Chrys and Carter are monogamous. And Sadie—”

  “Is a dirty whore!” Her voice rises and her eyes flash. Not a good sign.

  “Sadie is a sex witch. There’s a difference and you know it. Firsthand.” I truly believe that everyone should be free to do anyone they want as long as all parties involved are in agreement but now is not the time for that argument. Sadie is only acting on her true inner nature. And how did she come by that nature? Mom cheated on Dad, her husband, with a sex witch and Sadie was the result. No way will Mom want to pursue this topic with Alistair in the room.

  Aurelia’s facade flickers and she reaches in her sleeve for a hankie, dabbing at the corner of her eye. She straightens. “I just don’t think there’s any reason for you to rush into a relationship, Iphigenia.”

  “It’s my life.” Armageddon leaps into my lap, almost spilling my tea, which I raise high above him, holding it there until he settles.

  “That’s exactly what I was getting at too,” Alistair interrupts. “Date. Have fun. You have plenty of time to figure things out. You’re only twenty.”

  Aurelia growls, low in her throat, like an angry panther.

  “Iphigenia is a grown woman, darling. What better time for her to explore than now?”

  “When she’s eighty.” Mom picks up her cup and saucer, sipping from it with a rigid pinky finger, her back straight as a rod.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dominic

  The Grove at night without my pack is spooky, yes, but that’s not what’s keeping me awake at night. I have to force something down. Not eating and not sleeping can lead to bad decision-making, or worse. In the kitchen, I fill a pot with water and set it to boil on a burner, pulling some boxed pasta down from a shelf. Mac and cheese. Comfort food. I’m sorely in need of some comfort right now.

  Days without Iphigenia, Thorn and Rhys are starting to affect me. The few texts I sent her yesterday and the day before were answered with detachment, not the warm, bubbly Iphigenia we all know and love. She’s trying to work things out, I get that, but it doesn’t stop me from missing her. I’m grateful that Rhys has her back even if he hasn’t reported in, but where did Thorn go?

  I pace back and forth in my tiny home, waiting for the water to boil, wondering when Caspian will return home from work. He’s been avoiding me by putting in extra hours at the station, using the excuse that Sheldon has called for an all-out ghoul hunt. Every time he calls me looking for Thorn, I have to make up some excuse as to why the dragon can’t help their efforts. I leave out the part where it’s my fault he left. At least Nolan is safe and sound at Rhys’s house right now. When I checked on him earlier, he had just ordered dinner in the form of a donor.

  When the water finally comes to a boil, I tear open the box, pull out the cheese packet and pour in the elbow macaroni, stirring slowly with a wooden spoon.

  I can’t stop blaming myself for all the fighting. I keep circling back to Rhys and Nolan too. Why is everyone trying to destroy what I’ve been working so hard to fix? I’m trying to keep the family together and it seems like they’re trying to tear us apart. Rhys starving himself for Iphi and attacking me. Nolan letting himself be captured and controlled by a demon. Thorn trying to claw out my eyes, and now he’s who knows where. How could I lose the three of them and my dream girl in less than a week? Will I find a way to drive Nolan off too? Best laid plans . . .

  My front door creaks open a hair. Iphi’s bright voice slips through the gap between the door. “Dom? Are you home?”

  The house is dark, aside from the light over the stove top, but the porch light outside limns her outline, even the curling of her hair. “Iphi? What are you doing here? It’s so late.” My eyes seek out my clock in the blackness. It’s midnight, and yet, here she is.

  She steps inside, then halts. “I can’t see anything. Can you turn on a light?”

  I switch on the door light for her, dialing the dimmer switch down low for me.

  “I tried calling and texting but you didn’t answer. I was at the station and Caspian said you didn’t work tonight.”

  She must have been visiting him there; did she have a change of heart? “I didn’t hear my phone. Come in. Please.”

  Iphi enters and removes her backpack, which she sets by the door, then she leans against the doorjamb. Her eyes look darker than usual. There are circles underneath. She pulls off her thin coat. I have the heater cranked even though it’s in the sixties outside.

  I turn the simmering noodles off, my meager appetite replaced by a knot in my stomach. Iphi is leaning against the wall, her coat folded over an arm. I pluck it from her and hang it on my coat rack by the door.

  “Where’s your new cat? Is he outside?”

  “My mother threw him out her kitchen window. I’m sure he’ll find his way back.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter too loudly and Iphi disengages herself from the wall, straightening.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You promised to keep that cat with you at all times.”

  “I needed something from my mother and Botting pissed her off. You know how she gets.”

  I walk back into the kitchen and pull the pot off the stove, throwing it into the sink where it bangs loudly, steel against steel. I crank on the cold water, pour the contents down the drain, flip on the garbage disposal and fill the pot with cold water, slamming it back down in the sink.

  “Dom?” Her hand is on my back but there’s no force behind it.

  Calm yourself, man, you’re going to scare her away. I hang my head and let the firm press of her palm soothe my vicious beast. Her palm moves in slow circles and I take a few minutes to ground myself, the anger oozing out of me. When I’ve regained control I turn around to face her, my back leaning against the sink.

  I nod. “I’m glad to see you but . . . it’s really late. Why did you come here?”

  Her bright eyes flutter up to mine, like the electric blue of the Earth’s oceans from outer space. She throws her arms around me, pressing into my chest. I’m too surprised to do anything but hug her back. We stay entangled for a few moments. Longer than expected, but still not long enough for me. When she breaks the hug, she keeps her arms loose around my waist, her gaze fierce like a serpent.

  “It’s not your fault,” she whispers.

  “What’s not?”

  “None of it.” She smiles up at me. “Your brothers leaving or me leaving.”

  How did she know? It’s like she can see directly into my heart.

  “I came back because Mother taught me a protection spell, a ward. I came here to cast it over the Grove. That’s why I texted you. All the lights were off, so I didn’t think anyone was home. I went ahead and cast the spell, but it took hours over such a large area, and when no one came back before I finished, I stopped here to make sure you were okay.”

  Always putting others first, to a fault. Gently pushing her away even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I motion to the couch. “Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

  “I really do. That spell exhausted me.” She sinks into the couch, her arms and neck craning in an all-too-alluring stretch.

  I pull my glasses off and rub the bridge of my nose before realigning them there. I had one simple job, to keep my family together. I stare out the window, trying not to worry about Thorn. About Rhys. About Nolan.

  “Not your responsibility,” she breathes. Then, louder, “I don’t know if the spell will work precisely. My mother cast one on me and then I went
to the station to see if there were any ghouls I could try it out on.”

  The thought of her putting herself in the line of fire to test a spell upsets me. Caspian was there, I reassure myself. “And?”

  She shakes her head. “They didn’t have any in lockup. They’ve been trying but they either elude capture or escape before they can be put in a cell.”

  “I wish Thorn were able to help. I bet he’d round up a few.” I turn on the kettle to keep my hands occupied, then sit in the chair farthest from her.

  “Why can’t he?” She hunches down lower and it’s obvious how truly tired she is.

  “He’s been in his dragon form for too long. I don’t think he can take orders right now.”

  She nods and worries her hands in her lap.

  “I’m glad you stopped by.” I wish she’d asked me to stand watch while she cast the spell here but it’s done now and I don’t want to push her away by saying anything.

  The kettle boils and Iphi jumps up before I do. “Let me.” Even on the verge of collapse, she’s a giver. In the kitchen she pours the hot water into two mugs, rummages through the correct cupboard for tea bags and brings me a cup of chamomile without asking what kind of tea I want first.

  I wait until she sits down. “How long have you been an empath?”

  She looks up from her tea, her face suddenly white. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You don’t have to hide from me, Iphigenia. I’m a Signum and a licensed psychologist.”

  “But—” She stops and bites her lip, brows furrowed.

  “We had a course on HSPs—highly sensitive people. True empaths were covered.”

  The stark panic ebbs away, but her eyes widen and the vein on her neck pulses.

  “There wasn’t a lot our teacher could actually tell us, having never met one in the flesh before, but there have been accounts. It’s a rare trait, but it does exist.”

  She looks back down at her tea to hide the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  “I’m sure you regard it as a curse, but if you didn’t have to hide it, maybe it would be easier?”

  Her voice is whisper-quiet. “If people find out, they’ll shun me. It’s happened before.”

  I’m not surprised, but I am saddened. “Anyone who shuns you for possessing a gift you have no control over is not fit to be in your life.”

  “It’s not that simple, Dom. I can see people’s true motivations, their darkness, their lies.”

  “And you think they’ll hate you for that, because you can see what they’re hiding?”

  She let’s out a soft sob but then I realize it’s more an anguished cry. “I hate them for it.”

  “Oh, Iphi.” Everything she’s been holding back, everything she’s been hiding, breaks loose.

  “I hate them for their weaknesses. I despise their lack of control. It’s too much to bear, knowing what’s truly in people’s hearts. What they’re hiding from themselves and others. How they rationalize and even excuse their own bad behavior. Disgusting behavior.”

  Tears fall and if I could let my man flag fly, I’d run to her, crouch at her feet and wrap my arms around her. But that’s the last thing she needs from me right now. She needs to express her emotions without caring for mine too.

  “And I have to pretend. I expend so much energy pretending not to know those horrors even exist at all.”

  She collapses in on herself, both from exhaustion and the anguish of holding on to this secret for so long.

  I rescue the tilting mug from her and put it on the table. “Have you ever heard of ‘first thought wrong’?”

  “No.” Her small voice is thick and wet.

  “It comes from the sober community, the twelve steps, and it’s just like it sounds. So many people have destructive, hurtful and ugly first thoughts. Not just addicts, everyone. People in recovery are taught that the first thought is wrong. Instead, they’re encouraged to look at their second thought or sometimes their third. Having a bad thought and acting on it are two completely different things.”

  She looks up, her eyes sparking in the light.

  “Have you experienced that with other people? Where their second or third thought is the noble one?”

  She nods once, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “And out of all the people you’ve overheard, how many have acted on that first wrong thought?”

  Her head shakes once this time, my point getting through even though she doesn’t answer.

  “What about their second or third thought? The right one? How many have acted on that thought instead?”

  Her brows twist together and she chews on her lower lip before blurting, “Most of them.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Who keeps you accountable, Iphi? Are your thoughts always saintly? What about when you’re angry at someone? You wouldn’t act on it, but is your first thought always loving?”

  Her eyes fill up with tears again and she shakes her head, looking down at her hands. “No, of course not.”

  “You’ve been busy comparing your best thinking to the worst of others, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No wonder everyone’s come up short.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Iphigenia

  Wow, he’s right. How did I miss all of that? I didn’t just miss a part of it either, I missed all of it. I can’t blame it on my current state of fatigue either. I’ve missed this crucial fact throughout my life.

  “Let me guess,” he says. “You’re beating yourself up about it now, aren’t you?”

  “Are you an empath too?”

  The corner of his mouth tips up, the movement small and yet so warm at the same time. “The look on your face says it all. I’m trained to pick up body language cues and facial expressions, remember?”

  He’s nailed it. He gets me, truly gets me in a way no one else has ever come close. He also has no trouble calling me on my own crap. Now that he’s holding up the mirror, even more becomes clear. My thoughts race forward, carrying his words farther. The fact is, I’ve spent my entire life treading carefully around everyone so I’d never get too close, never be disappointed when their first thoughts let me down. It was easier to believe that if I couldn’t hear their thoughts, see their secrets or experience their lies, I could live in blissful ignorance like the rest of humanity. It was so much easier than admitting that people are fallible, including myself. No wonder I’ve preferred animals to humans for so long.

  If Dominic weren’t handling this in such a forthright manner, I’d keep crying, let my tears wreck me, punish me. For atonement. If it were Rhys or Caspian, they’d be at my side right now, hugging me close and promising everything would be okay. Thorn would stomp outside in search of something to kill to make it better. No, that’s not fair. He likes to act the hothead, but he couldn’t have raised his brothers and cousins into such excellent men by letting his anger rule him. No, he’d be in the kitchen, quietly nodding at Dom’s words and making more tea to help the medicine go down.

  If I could keep crying, I’d cry for my inner child, the little girl who wanted to be loved and accepted for who she was but instead got rejected by my peers for being a freak. I’d cry for the years I’ve had to hide my gift, fearing the loss of my family and friends. I’d cry for the pain I’ve physically experienced from everyone around me. And for misjudging them. For being their silent jury and their judge. I’d cry for not seeing how much I’ve alienated myself from everyone around me.

  “You don’t need to hide from everyone anymore. You don’t need to hide from me.” He puts a box of tissues on my lap but the tears have dried and I’m starting to gain back a little more strength, as if the truth has set me free.

  He goes into the kitchen and makes a show of clanking the dishes around. Maybe he’s trying to lure me back into the present moment. He’s still here and he’s accessible if I need him, but he’s also giving me the space I need to figure t
hings out. Or try to.

  I can do this. I can stop beating myself up and move forward with the knowledge he’s uncovered. It’s like when I was a little girl and collected beautiful rocks. The first time I picked one up that was half buried in the dirt at the water’s edge, I screamed and dropped it because the bottom was crawling with bugs. But the rock glittered and winked at me in the spreading sun, and cautiously, I picked it up again. I brushed off the creepy crawlies and dunked it in the ocean water, where it lit up with a prism of colors. Something so beautiful that was half buried. Something so pure and clean underneath a layer of grime. Something special that no one else had noticed. I put it in my pocket, and I still have it on my altar all these years later.

  Dishes clank again and I look up, squinting. Dom’s cooking. For me.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He doesn’t look away from the sauce he’s stirring on the stove.

  “Not judging me.”

  “I will never judge you, Iphigenia.” He stops stirring and moves into the living room, crouching next to me. “I’m honored that you were able to confide your true feelings. I hope that I was able to hold the space for you. Please don’t ever be afraid to share anything with me.” He sits up on his knees and brushes a strand of sticky hair out of my eyes. I force myself to look at him. I know he’s telling the truth. I also know he wants to kiss me. Not to make me feel better, but because he thinks that right now, I look beautiful. I also know he won’t do it.

  So I do it for him. Temporarily putting aside my worries about Caspian and Rhys. Stripping away my self judgment and doubt. Listening to my own instincts. I lean close and breathe him in, brush my mouth against his, taste his scent on my lips. The faint smell of aftershave and something else citrusy and clean like a meadow after it rains.

  He sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away. The man holds completely still, like a statue. As if moving will spook me. My tongue darts from between my lips to taste his, to see if he tastes like fruit, and to my surprise the tart taste of oranges explodes on my tongue. But he still doesn’t push toward my face. His breath is steady, purposeful.