The word "brother" seemed to suck all the air out of the vault.
Reia's chains rattled as she strained to see. Silas just stared, his mind refusing to piece it together. On the floor, Marc groaned, starting to stir.
Lucian didn't move. His eyes, locked on Eron, were like chips of obsidian. "Keep talking," he said, his voice dangerously low.
Eron savored the moment, leaning back in his chair like a king holding court. "Your parents," he began, "Alistair and Isabella Black... they were brilliant. And like all brilliant people, they were arrogant. They believed their bloodline, their 'legacy,' was the only thing that mattered."
