The door opened, and I felt her before I saw her. And she looked at me.
She didn’t blink. Her gaze swept down to my hands, the hands that had killed her other son, and lingered there before lifting back to my face.
“You didn’t come,” she continued, her chin lifting, her eyes narrowing like blades being sharpened. “Your brother’s and daughter’s funeral was held, and you were not there.
“They buried him without you. Do you know what that did to me? To stand over the coffin of one son while the other stayed away as though the dead meant nothing?”
Did she expect me to mourn Darren? Did she expect me to stand over a grave and pretend he had been my brother when he had buried me alive with his own hands? When he had laughed as my mate bled out?
When he had told her that my unborn children deserved to die? I felt my claws itch to come out just at the thought.
“Do you know what it did to me, Mother, to stand in the dirt with his knife buried in my chest? Do you know what it did to me to claw my way out of the grave he put me in, while he laughed and spat on the woman who carried my soul in her body?
“Do you know what it did to me to tear his heart out of his ribs with my own claws because he left me no choice? Do not speak to me of coffins. Do not speak to me of mourning. You did not see what I saw.
You did not bleed as I bled. You did not crawl out of the dirt with worms in your throat. You did not hear your mate scream while your brother smiled.”
Her lips tightened.
“You should have forgiven him but you killed him.she said at last.
“And I’ll do it again mother. I killed the man who stopped being my brother the moment he chose betrayal over blood.
“Do not call him that to me. Do not put that word in your mouth whèn it does not belong. He lost the right to be my brother the night he put me in the ground; He lost it the second he touched what was mine.”

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