When we return from the shooting range, Liam disappears to shower while I drag myself to my room. Facedown on the bed, I float in the echoes of muted gunshots, the tingle in my muscles from repeated recoils, and the lingering smells of oil and gunpowder.

Somewhere within me, behind layers and layers of ice, is the old me. Braids and flannels, her nose always in a book. I’m sure she’s screaming down there, past the cold. Screaming and crying at what’s become of her.

I liked firing a gun.

No, I loved it. The first time I hit the target, I felt like a goddess. Like a Valkyrie of old with a sword in her hands, defending what was rightfully hers. I didn’t fully understand just how afraid I was until I wasn’t anymore.

Liam was stoic throughout, barely responsive to my ecstatic shouts when I tore the target to shreds.

“You’re a natural,” he said, unreadable eyes moving from the target to me. “I think we’re done for the day.”

The drive home was another silent trip, each of us lost in thoughts. The thrill I’d felt soured by the time we arrived home. Now, with my face in a pillow, I acknowledge that the look in his eyes had been disappointment.

Against his own logic, he’d been hoping I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

That I wouldn’t be like my father.

* * *

Liam finds me some time later. I don’t move, just rotate my head on the pillow to watch him walk toward me. He doesn’t turn on a light, sitting on the edge of my bed with his back to me.

Elbows on his knees, he bows his head. “Can I tell you a little story, dove?”

“Sure,” I whisper.

“For my sixth birthday, my grandparents took me to Dublin for the weekend. They told my mother we were going to Cork because they knew she hated Dublin. She was working that weekend. I remember how glad she was that I was going to have a celebration, even if she couldn’t be there.

“I don’t remember where we were, somewhere downtown browsing shops, when a man saw me. He looked at me and turned white as a ghost. As we walked back to our hotel, he followed us. My grandparents didn’t see him, and I thought I must be imagining things. Why would this man be following me?

“We were almost to the hotel when he confronted my grandparents. He asked them a bunch of questions—my name, who my parents were, where we lived. They gave him nothing. Late that night, three men in ski masks broke into our hotel room. They shot my grandparents and took me.”

I jerk upright. “What? Oh my God, Liam—”

“It’s okay,” he says, “just let me get this out. I lied to you, about coming to the States when I was eight. I was twelve. From age six to twelve, I lived with a man I came to learn was my father. He… he’s to Dublin what Maddoc is to Los Angeles.

“My mother, like yours, ran away. But she didn’t run far enough. He hadn’t known she was pregnant, so she thought we’d be safe with her parents.” He makes a harsh sound. “The man who saw me was one of my father’s. I looked uncannily like the bastard, even at six years old. For nearly seven years he kept me. Trained me. Tortured me when he had to…”

He trails off, breathing heavily. When I touch his back, he flinches. I pull away, hugging my arms to my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I say helplessly.

Liam shakes his head. “I never gave up my mother, and he eventually let it go. He didn’t have much to complain about, anyway, as I excelled in every challenge he presented. You asked me once if I killed people. I have, Eden. I killed for my father, and I killed when I escaped him at twelve.”

I release the breath I’ve been holding. “Is that why Maddoc leaves you alone? He’s afraid of you?”

Liam snorts. “Hardly. He leaves me alone because I’m a Rourke. A fucking prince of the old world. He’s not afraid of me. He’s afraid of my father. They’re both lunatics.”

“You still talk to your father?” I ask hesitantly.

He pivots to face me. “Aye. He found my mother. It’s the deal I made to keep her alive. As long as I answer when he calls, she stays unharmed.”

I swallow a spike of misplaced horror. “That’s terrible. I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs. “A consequence of my blood. If Maddoc had his way, I’d already be married to his daughter and pumping out heirs.”

My breath dies. “Already?” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine. “The price of your freedom has been set. I’m to marry Alexis.”

“What? No way! That’s—”

“Medieval? Archaic?” He smiles grimly. “Welcome to the underworld, dove.”