“Jokes,” Garrick corrected.
“Why are you so sure you are not the female?” Salem asked her quietly, ignoring Tegan’s mutinous glare at the Prime Castor. “This is the third time you have said this. You are so convinced.”
“I cannot bear young.” Tegan shrugged as she told them. “When I was younger, during a fight on patrol, a Drakhyn injured me. I defeated it, but after I burned it and was returning home, I startled a stag. I was too slow to move out of his way, and his antler gored me. As a result, I am unable to have children. I always knew I was not the female.”
“I am so sorry, Tegan,” Salem said softly.
“It is a loss I do not know,” Tegan told him quietly. “Also, I am not good with babies. It is probably the Ancient’s work.” Tegan sat on her bed again. “I take it you have not tested Talia yet?”
“No, I came looking for her,” Salem admitted.
“And Zahra?”
“Zahra?” Salem asked curiously.
“Have you checked she is not with Zahra?” Tegan questioned. “Zahra was with Michael.”
“I passed Michael on the stairs,” Salem groaned. “I did not see Zahra.”
“Then maybe you will find her there.” Tegan looked at the three males in her room. “I would like to take Reflection,” she added pointedly.
“Of course.” The spell seemed to be broken, and the three older Akrhyn left her room.
Tegan lay back on her bed, her hand rubbed her lower abdomen softly. She had never wanted to be a mother, so when Leonid told her that her womb was not strong enough to bear young, she had not felt loss. Tegan smiled in the quiet of her room. She had not lied to Salem; she truly was terrible with children. They were soboringand needy. Her mind drifted to the thought of Cord being a father and then instantly shied away from the images of the Castor and how children came about it in the first place.
With cheeks flaming, Tegan rose from her bed and headed to the small bathroom. Peeling off her clothes from earlier, she started the shower. A shower, a meditative Reflection in the library, and then dinner. It sounded like a normal routine, and the Ancients knew she sorely missed her normal routine.
* * *
Zahra sat on Michael’s bed as she watched him put away his outerwear and pull out his formal Sentinel fatigues. He meticulously checked over his hooded coat, checking the zippers and fastenings. As he picked up his boots, Zahra bit her tongue to stop her impatience from exploding within her.
Michael took his boot shining kit to the middle of the floor and began to clean his boots. “Go on, tell me again,” he said as he dipped the sponge in the polish.
“Are you ready to listen?” Zahra demanded, throwing her hands up in the air. “Or are you going to pretend to listen to me like you did outside?”
Michael kept polishing his boots, but she saw his teeth clench. “I did not pretend; I just will not listen to you when you are being unreasonable about Tegan.”
“You love her more than you love me.”
Michael stopped polishing and looked up at his sister. Her blonde hair was meticulously styled, the curls looking bouncy and effortless when he knew how long it took Zahra to get ready in the morning. Her make-up was also flawless. Made to look like she was natural or whatever it was she aimed for. The irony was that his sister was naturally beautiful, she just found fault with herself constantly. Zahra was wearing ripped skinny jeans and a fitted V-neck sweater. She was so far removed from Akrhyn life that he was finding it harder to connect with her. He still loved her—he always would, she was his little sister—but the gap in their relationship happened long before Tegan walked into their lives.
“I love you both,” he answered honestly. “You do not need to play your human guilt games to try to make me feel bad.”
“Human guilt games? You know, humans are better than you think.”
“I know that, why else would I spend so much time trying to stop them from being Drakhyn fodder?” Michael resumed cleaning his boots.
“You think you are better than them,” Zahra continued stubbornly.
“No.” Michael shook his head in despair. “The only species in this world that I am better than is a Drakhyn.”
“Well, they do not even count,” Zahra snapped.
“I know.” Michael sighed as he glanced at his sister. “You try so hard to stand apart from us, Zahra, but are you happy?”
“I like the school I go to, and the people there are my friends.” Zahra picked at the threads on her jeans. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I wouldn’t understand you want to have friends, be good at things and be respected for it?” Michael snorted as he blew a speck of dust off his boot.