Then he left because that’s what Sebastian does best after we share an intimate moment. I’m still fuming over his behavior, and it’s possible my rocky emotional state is bleeding into this conversation with Landon, but I can’t find the will to rein in my anger.

Not after the sleepless night I spent in bed, alternating between the memory of Sebastian’s sculpted body standing over me and his parting shot as he left my room.

My feet carry me to the bar set up on one side of the main living area, and though I’m not in the habit of drinking, I pour one now and take a long sip. The amber liquid burns a path down my throat—same as the scorching memory of my encounter with Sebastian.

“You shouldn’t be drinking.”

I whirl on my brother, alcohol splashing over the rim of the glass. “Don’t lecture me on what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I want the truth. All of it, Landon.” It’s been two weeks since I learned about my father via my mother’s journal—now locked away in Landon’s safe, where no one else will read her words and discover the truth.

But there’s more to be told. I’ve sensed it, and Sebastian confirmed it last night.

Displaying the type of patience required of parents, Landon gets up and carefully works the drink from my stubborn grip. “You’ll need a clear head when I tell you this.”

As he sets the glass on the bar, I let out a slow breath. All the fight seeps from my bones.

“Tell me what?” Now I’m terrified of learning the answer. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

His expression tightens with reluctance. “Maybe you should sit down.”

I shake my head. “Just tell me.”

“After Sebastian wins your hand in the auction—assuming everything goes as planned—he’ll have to share you.”

“What do you mean share me?” My voice goes up an octave. “Isn’t that what this year is for?”

Landon casts a glance at his feet. “Sebastian’s right. It doesn’t end with the auction. Each member of the Brotherhood will have you in his bed for one night during his zodiac month. It’s an…ongoing tradition.”

My head spins, tumbling end over end with the mental pictures his confession just projected in my mind. “You mean it’s a monthly tradition…every month, Landon?” Panicked disbelief strangles my throat. “For the rest of my life?”

The downcast nod of his head betrays his shame.

I pivot, fingers gripping the bar, and dry-heave into the sink. He places a hand on my back and rubs in comforting circles.

“I’m sorry, Novalee,” he says after I spew what little food I had in my stomach, since eating was impossible as I waited for him to return and give me answers.