Page 73 of The Devil We Crave
Lochlan and I once threw aninsaneparty there when we were in high school. Unsurprisingly, that was the last time I got asked to cat-sit. Luckily, my younger sister Iris who’s a senior in high school doesn’t have the same “fuck around and hope youdon’tfind out” leanings that Lochie and I had when we were her age.
“And how are the fur babies?”
Mom snorts. “Ghost and Diablo are adorable. Bones is his usual grumpy self.”
Speaking of immortal vampires, my aunt Una’s oldest cat, Bones, hasgotto be pushing thirty at this point, which I think must be some sort of world record.
“You're still dodging questions about the girl,” dad sighs.
I roll my eyes. “There is no?—”
“How’s everything else, then? Tell me all about it.”
Dad always geeks out on hearing about Knightsblood stuff. He and most of his siblings went elsewhere for college—Dad, my mom and Aunt Callie to NYU, albeit at different times, myuncle Hades to Harvard, and Uncle Kratos to Lords College in the UK. In fact, the only Drakos before our generation who attended Knightsblood was our uncle Deimos, who ended up as the fuckingpresidentof The Reckless.
I fill my parents in on Para Bellum stuff, and football, and classes, never feeling like I’m wearing a mask.
Don’t get me wrong: Iamwearing one. But I suppose it just never feels like I am with Dad, Mom, and Iris because I’ve been doing it my whole life, and I don’tminddoing it.
Dad finally clears his throat and gives me “the look”.
I know this look so well that I know what he’s going to say before he does.
“So…” Dad cocks a brow. “You want to tell me about this cabin of yours?”
Mom gets a sudden, faraway look in her eyes. “What cabin?” she says quickly.
I know whatthatlook is, too.
Again, thereisa fair amount of crazy on both sides of my family. Some of it is dangerous, some is not. Cillian, for example, is a literal diagnosed psychopath, but he’s also protective to a fault when it comes to family.
On the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got pieces of shit like my grandfather Aeneas, Dad’s father, who, mercifully, I never met. Same with my uncle Atlas, who incidentallykilledAeneas.
Hey, Ididsay “a fair amount of crazy”.
But there’s a whole other level of monster in the darker reaches of our family tree: the infamous killer Seamus O’Conor, who was part of my parents' story.
They both have the physical scars and horror-show memories ofanothercabin to prove it.
So that’s what was going on with Mom when Dad gave me “that look" and mentioned a cabin that she’s never heard of. She was remembering the nightmares she and Dad lived through.
“Just a place that our son bought to drink with his buddies,” Dad chuckles, instantly erasing that look in Mom’s eyes when he grabs her around the waist and aggressively kisses her neck.
Puke.
“How come I never heard about this?” Mom laughs. “Is it nice?”
“It’s a piece of shit,” I grin. “But I’m fixing it up.”
Dad gives me a quick look, then turns back to my mother. “Hey, baby, why don’t you go jump in the shower and…” He clears his throat, glancing at me sheepishly. “Uh, you know, have a totally normal shower, alone, and then…uh, definitely get fully dressed, not on all fours on our bed.”
“Forfuck's sake,” I groan. Mom cracks up and playfully slaps my dad’s chest.
“Okay, Iamgoing to go shower,” Mom sighs. She slaps Dad’s chest again. “Alone.”
“Where’s the fun in that,” he mutters darkly as she takes the phone for a sec.
“Achilles, I love you! Call again soon, please!”
