Daughter of Nyx (Book Three)

Chapter Ninteen

Slowly, Chevonne stretched, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun against her skin.

She could already tell she was alone and that was fine. Kian's words still rang in her ears. He loved her. She loved him. And maybe there was something to be said for being brave enough to be able to say what was in one's heart.

Kian didn't have to be dying in order for her to be able to say those words that left one so very vulnerable and she owed Caleb so much more than an apology.

The slight ache only brought a smile as she slid out of bed and headed for the shower.

There were things she had to do today.

A half hour later, in jeans and a t-shirt, she headed to the kitchen and the coffee machine. It was early in the afternoon and she hoped to get a lot accomplished before her lovers began to wake.

Getting the coffee brewing, she turned and studied the dismal notebook that lay in the island.

She knew what was in it. Knew that she had lived through the pages in it. It wouldn't hurt her. Couldn't hurt her.

She made her cup after the beep and unflinching, she picked it up and carried it with her to Draven's office.

That was something that bothered her. How... comfortable she was here. How she didn't think twice about opening the door and stepping in. In fact, it was almost painful to find he wasn't sitting behind the desk, looking at her with his beautiful eyes. But, it was far to early in the day and there were things she needed to do.

Sitting in his chair, she could imagine his scent closing around her. She leaned her head back and thought about the time they spent together the night before. Watching the stays and how calm and peaceful she felt being with him. Being with the one who wanted her screams. The contradiction was one that brought a smile.

But, she didn't have time to to dwell on that.

She had phone calls to make.

Phone calls that never got made as her eyes fell on that note book. Curiosity was never good for anyone, it seemed and yet, she reached for it. What went through the mind of the woman who looked over her as a mother. Pretended to be that mother. For so many years. Then offered that life, that she had protected, up for something that no one should ever think was real.

With a deep breath, a quick thought back to Elliot finding her after the last time she opened a book that felt like distilled evil, she opened the cover.

Tight, packed familiar handwriting met her eyes and she read about her childhood.

~~~ 

Two more cups of coffee later and she had to close the cover. Anne was certifiable, aside from the fact that everything she wrote down was true.

And worse.

Her friendship with Jonathan was everything to her. And she had to read, no, didn't have to, chose to, read about how often Anne came to hurting him, because he would interrupt something she had planned. Such as one of her birthdays when he rode his bike over to surprise her and his parents followed in their car because he loved that bike and his parents felt sorry for her.

There was no denying the ache in her heart at those words. She wasn't given the chance to leave home often. And she had no idea how many times they, his parents, had tried to influence her life. Time that she only knew about because Anne would write down ways that she would want to punish them for getting in the way. But she had to pretend to be the saddened mother figure, because no one wanted to come to her birthday.