completely as you've always wanted. The twins are your sons, just not children you birthed, as will be Justin because I can testify to your chastity. More telling to the utter impossibility of your being Justin's mother is the fact that if he were born of you he'd be dead now, because you've never held the ability to save your pure-blood kin, not your parents, nor Ciaran.” Patrick shifted his attention to Dylan, “Even in the womb she had a sense of her power but she didn't understand its limitations. Impossible as the occurrence was for the doctors to believe she was born breech holding her dead twin's hands, trying to enliven him.”
Carolina shot Patrick a pleading look before desperately telling Dylan, “Don't listen to him, he's drunk.” She knew what he was revealing wasn't her whole truth. Not even after all their years together did he truly know or understand who and what she was and even though he'd deceived her she didn't ever want the truth revealed to him or Dylan fearing their rejection.
“He sounds sober to me,” Dylan countered looking squarely at her. Giving his full attention back to Patrick, he signaled the other man to continue.
“Our first meeting was due to her literally stumbling upon my murdered human shell, a vulnerable child's form having suffered torments akin to Justin's But maybe I was drunk then instead of hovering, waiting to either be called home or sent to fill another vessel, right Carolina? Perhaps every orifice of my worldly form hadn't been ravaged, body beaten and broken until it no longer looked human? Is that your recollection because my memories are horrific?”
Remembering his physical state when she'd first stumbled upon him made her feel ashamed of her current state of anger and resentment. He'd been naked, filthy with dirt, dried blood and the secretions of the many men who'd used, then tossed him away. Finding Patrick, as a little boy, dead in the woods had made her heart instantly fill with love. She'd wanted to save and protect him. Sitting by his side, she'd brushed insects from his skin, removing her sweater and dress to cover him. Taking his hand in hers, she'd talked to him in Gaelic, Irish and English, promising everyone and everything she believed in, of this world and another, that if she could have him back she'd always care for him. Her wish had been granted. In a trembling voice she started, “I'm sorry.”
Patrick bit out, “Sorry, like Justin