Authors: Joanne Brothwell
Kalan’s whole frame slumped forward, and he gently laid his head on my chest. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Heat built up in my cheeks.
Kalan pulled back to look at me, his eyes glossy. “I don’t know what to say. That my heart is beating so fast right now I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest? That I feel like running around this room and screaming at the top of my lungs? Words don’t describe what I feel right now.”
I looked up at him. “Try.”
“I don’t know what to do, how to deal with these feelings. We’re related. What does that mean for us? I’ve spent the majority of my life thinking only sick, banjo-playing hillbillies were incestuous. People who grew up in the sticks and never left. But now, I’m in love with my cousin. Now I’m one of them.”
If he didn’t look so dejected, I would have chuckled. “We’re not brother and sister. We’re what—second cousins?”
He shrugged, his shoulders curled. “Does it matter? We’re still related.” Kalan yodeled the dueling banjo riff from the movie Deliverance. “It’s sick. Isn’t it?”
It was a legitimate question, not a rhetorical one. “Says who? God? That’s where most incest laws come from, the Bible. But I think we know those Biblical rules were a way to prevent people from marrying and having babies with hereditary diseases. Clearly Malcolm has no such concerns. Hell, that was his master plan all along. Consanguineous.”
Kalan’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t even hear that man’s name without wanting to punch the wall.”
I grabbed his hand, which was shaking. “Under normal circumstance, incest is wrong. But we aren’t in this world because of normal circumstances. We’ve never met before. We’re distantly related. And if there is a question of abnormal children, there are ways to prevent
that
, aren’t there?”
“You’d give up having babies to be with me?” Kalan didn’t blink as he waited for my response.
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his fingers. “I would give up a lot for you. You can’t even imagine how much I’d give up, just to be with you.”
Kalan closed his eyes, his head dropping down to my chest once again. “Oh, God. How did I get so lucky?”
I kissed the top of his head this time, the scent of hair like cedar and musk mixed together. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Adriana, you are my life. All I’ve ever wanted was a family, people to validate me, confirm that I’m real, that I
belong
. But what I’ve come to realize is that blood isn’t what binds people together. It’s love. It’s sounds cliché and hokey, I know, but I don’t care.” Kalan blinked rapidly. “You are my family now.”
“Now
I’m
speechless,” I said.
Kalan lay down beside me and snuggled in so we were face-to-face. I suddenly wondered what I looked like to him right now, horizontal, in a hospital bed, a white hospital gown on, white hospital sheets. The image of Adriana’s cold, white body flashed through my mind.
“Do you think Malcolm had something to do with Analiese’s body going missing?” I asked.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” Kalan said. “But how it happened, where her body went in the interim, and why it was gone in the first place will bug me until the day I die.”
“Me, too.” I pushed her image from my thoughts, and focused back on the here and now, on Kalan, on life.
He stroked my hair from my head all the way down my back. A shiver ran through me. He pressed his lips to mine. It was a gentle, chaste kiss, and all the oxygen left my lungs. I craved more. When Kalan moved away, I pulled him back onto the bed.
“We’re in a hospital here,” Kalan’s voice vibrated through my lips.
“Does it look like I care?” I smiled and wrapped my arms around his waist.
“Not really.” Kalan kissed me again.
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Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my husband and my children, who patiently listen to the problems of my fictional people. I’d like to give a special thank you to my brainiac big brother, Dr. Doug Brothwell, for helping me piece together science that is way over my head. Thanks to Joanne, Tanjia and Dorothy for giving me insight into what an emergency room situation would look (and smell) like. To
Karyn Good
,
Diane Rinella
,
Rebecca Florizone
,
Jefferson Smith
and
Heather Sowalla
who agreed to take a look at an earlier draft and were polite enough not to crush my self-esteem. To
Karen Rought
, for lightning-fast editing. To
Ravven
, for her stunningly gorgeous cover art. I have never seen another cover that comes even close.
And most of all, I'd like to thank my readers. You are loyal, and I am so happy you took a chance on me and purchased my work. Thank you!
JOANNE BROTHWELL
JOANNE BROTHWELL lives in the country on the Canadian prairie with her family where her stories are inspired by the dead things that appear at her doorstep on a daily basis.
You can find her online at
www.joannebrothwell.com